Holy One, I grieve that I slept in the midst of thy preaching.

Forgive me.' 'We be two old men,' said the lama.

'The fault is mine.

I listened to thy talk of the world and its madness, and one fault led to the next.' 'Hear him! What harm do thy Gods suffer from play with a babe?
And that song was very well sung.

Let us go on and I will sing thee the song of Nikal Seyn before Delhi--the old song.' And they fared out from the gloom of the mango tope, the old man's high, shrill voice ringing across the field, as wail by long-drawn wail he unfolded the story of Nikal Seyn [Nicholson]--the song that men sing in the Punjab to this day.