Later on he drove along the sinuous road on the top of the ridge, and as he looked over Delhi, hidden amongst its foliage, he saw the great white dome of the Jumma Musjid rising above the tree-tops, like a balloon.

"The Mosque," he said, standing up in his carriage.

"To-morrow we will worship there." Before noon the next day he mounted the steep broad flight of steps and passed under the red sandstone arch into the vast enclosure.

He performed his ablutions at the fountain, and, kneeling upon the marble tiles, waited for the priest to ascend the ladder on to the wooden platform.

He knelt with Ahmed Ismail at his side, in the open, amongst the lowliest.
In front of him rows of worshippers knelt and bowed their foreheads to the tiles--rows and rows covering the enclosure up to the arches of the mosque itself.