Then Parduman, who hated all Christians, and most especially such as were real ones, burst into a torrent of abuse. Every bitter and insulting epithet that he could think of flowed from his lips, as venom from the mouth of a snake. Bál Mukand, from his dark corner, watched to see how his friend would endure the provocation which he was receiving. “Shib Das is of a fiery temper,” he said to himself; “he is also strong and bold. He will give that foul-mouthed wretch sharp words back, or something sharper than words.” Bál Mukand saw that the angry blood was rising to the cheek of Shib Das, and expected a burst of passion to follow. But the servant of Christ pressed his own lips firmly together, and returned not railing for railing. He only said, as his enemy, still pouring forth abuse, turned to depart, “It is a fortunate thing for you, O bearer, that I am a Christian.”