You know
Dravot, Sir! You knew Right Worshipful Brother Dravot! Look at him now!"
He fumbled in the mass of rags round his bent waist; brought out a black
horsehair bag embroidered with silver thread; and shook therefrom on to my
table--the dried, withered head of Daniel Dravot! The morning sun, that had
long been paling the lamps, struck the red beard and blind sunken eyes;
struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold studded with raw turquoises, that
Carnehan placed tenderly on the battered temples.
"You be'old now," said Carnehan, "the Emperor in his 'abit as he lived--the
King of Kafiristan with his crown upon his head. Poor old Daniel that was a
monarch once!"
I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements manifold, I recognised the head of
the man of Marwar Junction. Carnehan rose to go. I attempted to stop him. He
was not fit to walk abroad. "Let me take away the whisky, and give me a little
money," he gasped. "I was a King once. I'll go to the Deputy Commissioner and
ask to set in the Poorhouse till I get my health. No, thank you, I can't wait
till you get a carriage for me. I've urgent private affairs--in the south--at
Marwar."
He shambled out of the office and departed in the direction of the Deputy
Commissioner's house.
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