people, you may tell them that Asimuddin is my son—and your brother."
"What?" exclaimed Bipin in painful surprise. "From a Musalman's womb?"
"Even so, my son," was the calm reply.
Bipin stood there for some time in mute astonishment. Then he found words to say: "Come home, father; we will talk about it afterwards.”
"No, my son," replied the old man, "having once relinquished the world to serve my God, I cannot go home again. I return hence. Now I leave you to do what your sense of duty may suggest." He then blessed his son, and, checking his tears with difficulty, walked off with tottering steps.
Bipin was dumbfounded, not knowing what to say nor what to do. "So, such was the piety of the older generation," he said to himself. He reflected with pride how much better he was than his father in point of education and morality. This was the result, he concluded, of not having a principle to guide one's actions.
Returning to the Court, he saw Asimuddin outside between two constables, awaiting his trial. He looked emaciated and worn out. His lips were pale and dry, and his eyes unnaturally bright. A dirty
