Title: The Star of India
Author: Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Language: English
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  THE STAR OF INDIA


  EDWARD S. ELLIS, A.M.



  CHICAGO:
  M. A. DONOHUE & CO.



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1888.

By Edward S. Ellis, A.M.



  TO MY CHILDREN
  LILLIAN, WILMOT, MIRIAM AND HELEN,
  Each a "Star of India" to me,
  THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED.



  INDEX.


  CHAPTER.

  I. "A Man May Smile and Smile, and be a Villain Still."
  II. Luchman
  III. Within Delhi
  IV. On the Threshold
  V. The Opening Tragedy
  VI. An Incident by the Way
  VII. The Pursuit
  VIII. In the Garden
  IX. "The Inglese Loge!"
  X. Ali Khan
  XI. The Cashmere Gate
  XII. Proclamation of the Mogul Empire
  XIII. A Model Commune
  XIV. Toward Kurnal
  XV. The Star of India
  XVI. "No, Sahib, Not I."
  XVII. The Burra Bagh
  XVIII. George Harkins
  XIX. Carried Northward
  XX. A Failure
  XXI. One Incident of Many
  XXII. The Ghoojurs
  XXIII. The Ruined Temple
  XXIV. Wana Affghar of Puneput
  XXV. Buktar Sing
  XXVI. A Couple of Shots
  XXVII. A Grim Sentinel
  XXVIII. "I Did Not Say That, Sahib."
  XXIX. An Intruder
  XXX. The Last Resort
  XXXI. The Pledge
  XXXII. The Ransom
  XXXIII. Asiatic Honor
  XXXIV. Too Late
  XXXV. Eureka
  XXXVI. From Darkness to Dawn
  XXXVII. From Dawn to Daylight
  XXXVIII. Salaam



THE STAR OF INDIA.



CHAPTER I.

"A MAN MAY SMILE AND SMILE, AND BE A VILLAIN STILL."

One morning in the month of April, 1857, Baird Avery, an assistant
surgeon in the employ of the Honorable East India Company, was on his
way to Delhi, the ancient capital of the Emperors of Hindostan, and
at that time the residence of the royal pauper known as the "Great
Mogul" of the Empire.

The distance which the young gentleman had to travel was near one
thousand miles, and he was fairly upon the frightful hot season,
during which the thermometer creeps up day after day to over one
hundred in the shade, and stands at one hundred and forty in the
flaming sun.

Avery left the metropolis of British India on the Hooghly nearly two
months before, and had traveled leisurely to the northwest since that
time.  Most of his journey was made by the Ganges in a budgerow, a
craft of some fifty tons burden, one half of which consists of a
decked cabin, several small rooms and awning.  The front of the
vessel was occupied the crew, including a manjee, or steersman, and
eight dandies or boatmen, whose duties were to work the sails, or row
or drag the vessel as necessity required.

Avery was now in the neighborhood of Cawnpore, and was journeying by
dawk or palanquin, a slow but pleasant means of conveyance, and one
that has been long peculiar to the country.

The box-like structure was borne on the shoulders of four men, with
the same number walking beside them, ready to serve their turn.  The
palanquin was large enough to allow the occupant to stretch out at
full length on the well stuffed mattress, covered with morocco
leather, while a shelf and drawer contained books, a telescope,
writing material and a bottle of diluted brandy.

In the morning the heat became so intolerable that a halt was
generally made at the roadside in the shade of a friendly grove of
mangoes, or at some bungalow, where the traveler awaited the lesser
heat of evening before moving forward again.  The greater part of the
trip, therefore, was performed at night, when a Mussalchee ran by the
side of the palanquin with a lighted torch to guide the bearers
through the jungles.  Wild animals and serpents were kept away by the
flare of these torches and the shouting of the natives.

Avery had visited this section more than once before, and it was his
intention to repeat a call upon a Rajah, between whom and himself a
strong friendship existed.  This Rajah had for some time attracted
attention by his pretensions to the title and possessions of his
adopted father Bajee Rao.  Leaving his palanquin by the wayside, the
surgeon went forward, up a broad avenue, on the right of which was a
well preserved parterre.  Reaching a house built for a former
Commissioner, he sat down and sent forward his favorite attendant,
Luchman, with his compliments to the Rajah, and a request to know at
what hour it would be agreeable to receive a call.

The response was overwhelming.  Three of the most distinguished
attendants of the pretender, accompanied by an escort of native
sowars on prancing steeds and with drawn swords and brilliant
uniforms, came down the driveway, covered with cunka (a sort of
clayey marl), at a showy pace, and halted in front of the young
surgeon, who was waiting to receive them.

They were sent, as he was informed, in answer to his message, and the
Rajah, in the usual extravagant language of the Orient, begged the
favor of the gentlemen's company at the palace in the evening, when
the air would be cool.

Left to himself, Avery spent the hours in looking over the grounds,
while the palanquin bearers, having traveled all night, withdrew to
cook their food for the morning meal, after which they passed the
time in smoking their hookahs and in sleep.  These fellows with their
scant clothing and bronzed skins could have withstood the fervor of
the Asiatic sun for hours when a European would have succumbed in a
few minutes.

Just as the sun was setting, a gaudily caparisoned elephant, crowned
with a towering howdah (the ordinary box-like saddle) swung down the
avenue to the Commissioner's house, and Avery climbed to the seat by
means of a small ladder.  He was then borne through a score of bazars
and native streets to the house of the Rajah, who was seated upon a
charpoy or native bedstead made of wood, with feet highly gilded.
His dress was of white muslin, consisting of two coats of that
material and a drapery of muslin with a fanciful border.  His turban
was of the same light fabric, through which golden thread was
interwoven.

The instant the Rajah caught sight of his visitor, he extended his
hand.  Avery made a graceful salaam, and felt a thrill of genuine
regard for the barbarian, whose coppery face seemed to glow with
delight because of his visit.  Since the Rajah spoke only Hindustani
he was obliged to employ his moonshee.

"Rajah sahib salaam.  Ap ka mizay kaisa hai?" (Peace to you,
honorable sir.  How is your temper today?)

"I have hastened hither," was the response of the guest.  "I have
come a long way to grasp your hand."

The Rajah smiled when Avery uttered the sentences I have given in
pure Hindustani, but since they included about all that the young
gentleman understood of that language, the services of the moonshee
were not cast aside.

"Will not my brother live with me always?" asked the host; "then the
tears shall never come to my eyes."

"Great would be my happiness could I do so," replied Avery, who felt
no compunctions in drawing the long bow; "but my Queen will not
permit me to accept your gracious hospitality."

"Your Queen is the greatest and best of earth; I love her and her
children, the Inglese.  'Twould be my heart's delight to be their
servant all my life."

"That could not be, for the Rajah is her brother."

The eyes of the Rajah sparkled when this remark was translated to
him, and there could be no doubt that it gave him much pleasure, for
it was a tacit recognition of his claim as a ruler, which the East
India Company would never admit.

The host was a little more than thirty years of age, with sallow
complexion, strong, coarse features, with head and face closely
shaven after the fashion with all Mahrattas, and he was quite fat,
his corpulence being the unhealthy bloat of the Eastern voluptuary.

In his distant home in Calcutta, Baird Avery had heard of the
mutterings in the Bengal Presidency, caused by the spread of the
report among the sepoys that the cartridges for their new Enfield
rifles, furnished them by the British government, had been prepared
with the grease of the hog, abominated by the Mussulmans, and that of
the cow, the sacred animal of the Hindoos.  He sought to draw out his
host, who, he hoped, would speak the truth, since he had some grounds
for complaint because of the treatment he had received from the East
India Company.

"Is it true that among the sepoys and natives there is
dissatisfaction with the rule of the Inglese?"

"They never knew happiness until you came across the ocean and ruled
our country for us.  We are happy and content."

This sounded like oriental exaggeration, but the speaker was the
picture of sincerity when he spoke the words, which he immediately
followed with the remark:

"Evil persons have spread reports among the sepoys which are all
falsehoods."

The Rajah, who had caused his hookah to be filled and lighted, bowed
his head several times by way of emphasizing his last remark.

"It gives me great happiness to hear the words of my beloved friend
Maharajah, and our blessed Queen will be pleased to receive such
assurances from her brother."

"We will stop the lies; we will not allow the best queen and the most
virtuous people in the world to be slandered; we are ready to lay
down our lives that we may but gain a smile from the illustrious
ruler.  'Tis my prayer night and day that the way may be opened for
me to prove my devotion to her and her people."

The conversation went on in this fashion for an hour, when Avery made
his salaam and withdrew, borne by the same gaudily caparisoned
elephant and attended by the same showy escort that had brought him
thither.

"I wonder whether there can be any foundation for the rumors that are
in the air of Calcutta, of an impending revolt of the sepoys.  Can it
be that the whole country is on the verge of mutiny?  Possibly such
is the fact, but if the tempest of fire and blood comes we are sure
of one friend, the Maharajah; nothing can swerve him from his loyalty
to the Queen."

Now, let it be known that the Rajah from whom Baird Avery had just
parted was Nana Dhoonda Pant, known in history as Nana Sahib, the
most perfidious wretch since the days of Judas Iscariot.  And yet,
fiend as he proved himself to be by his massacre of the women and
children at Cawnpore, only a few weeks after this interview, the Nana
had his grounds for his fierce hatred of the British government.

Bajee Rao, the Peishwa of Poona, was the last ruler of one of those
Mahratta dynasties which for centuries had shared the sovereignty of
the Central Highlands and the plunder of all Hindostan.  He was so
vicious that the East India Company dethroned him, confiscated his
territories, and forced him to take up his residence at Bithoor, a
small town up the river from Cawnpore.  His allowance was four
hundred thousand dollars annually, enough to afford the old
voluptuary all the magnificence, ease, amusement and enjoyment for
which he yearned.

The Mahratta had one grief; he was without a son to inherit his
possessions and to apply the torch to his funeral pyre.  He therefore
adopted a son, to whom, by the Hindoo law, belonged all the rights
and privileges of an heir born of the body.  This son was the one
upon whom Baird Avery made his call in the month of April, 1857.
Bajee Rao died in 1851, and Nana demanded a continuance of the
pension which his adopted father had received from the Company, but
it was refused.  Although Nana was possessed of great wealth, he
never forgave the Inglese for their treatment.  But he dissembled
well, and no one suspected the treachery of the wretch, until he
plunged heart and soul into the sepoy mutiny and proved himself the
nearest approach to a fiend ever attained by a human being.



CHAPTER II.

LUCHMAN.

A few days later, Dr. Baird Avery found himself nearing the great
city of Delhi, led by an attraction like that of the lodestone for
the steel.  It was there that the missionary, Reverend Francis
Hildreth, lived with his family, consisting of his wife and daughter
Marian; and twice during the past three years had the young surgeon
gained a leave of absence, extended enough to allow him to spend
several weeks in the society of the delightful old gentleman and wife
and still more delightful daughter.

He had formed the acquaintance of the family on the steamer
Marlborough, of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, while making the
passage from England to India.  The voyage up the Mediterranean,
sometimes so monotonous, was charming in this instance, and the
mutual interest of the surgeon and daughter deepened until with the
consent of the parents, Marian became the betrothed of Dr. Avery,
though the circumstances were such that the date of their marriage
hovered uncertainly in the future.

In pushing toward Delhi, the palanquin bearers had been changed
several times.  Luchman was what is known as a bearer, that is a sort
of valet or body escort who had accompanied Avery all the way from
Calcutta, whither he was sent by the missionary, Mr. Hildreth, for
that purpose.

It was this fact which led the occupant of the palanquin to look upon
the native with special liking, though he could not free himself of a
certain distrust, when the serpent-like eyes of Luchman that were
fixed upon him, darted aside with lightning quickness as the sahib
turned toward him.  What strange thoughts were stirring within that
bronzed skull were known only to the sepoy, who took care that they
should be known to no one else.

Luchman had been a high caste Hindoo, who, converted through the
labors of the missionary, prayed the latter to take him into his
service.  He was tall, thin to emaciation, very dark, with a long
curved mustache, which, like his eyes, was of intense blackness.  He
was muscular and agile, and it seemed to Avery was inclined to be
moody and sullen.

The dress of Luchman was of a mongrel character.  He wore the dhotee,
consisting of a single breadth of muslin, folded in heavy pleats
around the loins, and descending gracefully to the ankles.  The upper
part of the body was almost entirely covered with a coat of muslin.
Despite the blistering sun of India, many of the Bengalis go bare
headed, but Luchman was never without his turban, gathered and folded
with a skill scarcely admitting of description.

In obedience to a feeling that this converted Hindoo was to play an
important part in near events, Dr. Avery tried hard to gain his
confidence.  He was a master of the English tongue, and the surgeon
offered him a liberal sum to instruct him in Hindustani.  The proud
fellow refused the proposition with something like scorn, and was so
sparing of his words that the Englishman learned more from the other
natives than from him.

It would have been better for the surgeon's peace of mind had he been
entirely ignorant of the Hindustani language, for now and then he
caught an expression among the palanquin bearers which bore some
relation to the coming trouble in India, but it was impossible to
hear or rather to understand enough to discover what was meant.  Had
he known more he would have learned something definite; had he known
less, he would not have been alarmed; as it was, he was exasperated
because of his helplessness.

The sun still flamed with unbearable splendor, when early in the
morning the palanquin was set down at the side of the highway leading
to Delhi, it being the purpose of Dr. Avery to follow his usual
custom of resuming his journey in the evening.  Not unnaturally, the
nearer he approached the home of his betrothed the greater became his
haste.  He made his way into the bungalow or rest house furnished by
the government for travelers, and enjoyed a refreshing bath.
Breakfast was furnished by the khansaman, who, on observing the
palanquin in the distance, had hurriedly seized two of the fowls that
were dozing contentedly in the shade of the veranda, wrung their
necks, plunged them into a pot of boiling water, and by the time the
sahib was ready, placed them before him in a most savory dish.

Avery now reclined lazily in a long wicker chair, on the veranda,
from which the scorching wind was shut out by heavy grass tatties,
completely inclosing the three sides and softening the glare in a way
that was conducive to a siesta.  He was sinking in that state of
delicious languor in which he cared little for what was going on
around him, and yet all his senses were at an unusual tension.  In
the dim twilight by which he was infolded, he became aware that
another person was on the veranda, and standing within a few paces of
him.  He had not heard him approach, though he was sure he would have
detected the gliding of a serpent over the parched grass outside.

In the same second that the figure of a man took shape in the faint
light before him, Avery became as wide awake as when hunting tigers
in the jungle.  He saw that the intruder was Luchman, who was
standing motionless and looking intently at him.  Without opening his
eyes any wider and without any start or sign of fright, the surgeon
moved his hand in a lazy accidental way to his side, until it rested
on the handle of his revolver at his hip.  Then he felt safe.

The native might leap upon him with the quickness of a serpent, but
Avery would meet him half way with a bullet from his pistol.  No
untamed cowboy from the plains of Texas could "get the drop" on an
antagonist more promptly than could the surgeon.

"Well, Luchman, what is it?" asked Avery, slowly opening his eyes and
yawning as if annoyed that he should be disturbed.

"Sahib, is the daughter of the missionary in Delhi to be your wife?"

This question was the amazing answer to the query of Dr. Avery, who
however showed no surprise, as he said:

"Since you seem interested, I am proud to declare that with the
approval of Heaven she shall be my wife: have you any objections to
offer?"

The Sepoy was as impervious to a sense of humor as was Osceola, the
Seminole, when he drove his hunting knife with such force into the
paper containing the hated treaty that the implement went through the
table also.  Luchman was never seen to smile.  He continued to look
sharply into the face of the surgeon, who had come to distrust him so
thoroughly that the latter straightened up in his seat and still kept
his hand on his pistol.

"He is a scoundrel;" was his thought; "he was standing there and
considering the best way of killing me, when he discovered that I was
not asleep.  I don't see why he should hesitate.  He carries a knife
as sharp as the sword of Saladin, and one sweep with that would have
been enough.  He needn't have any fear of the khansaman and the
others are in with him."

Dr. Avery with his senses still strung to the keenest point, became
aware of a peculiarity in the action of Luchman that was significant.
While staring so fixedly at the surgeon, he occasionally darted a
quick glance to the left, as though he was looking and listening for
the approach of some one.

"He is waiting for the rest," was the conclusion of Avery, "because
he hasn't enough courage to attack me alone.  Well, both my revolvers
are loaded, and if they want to make things lively, I think I can
give them a little help."

Luchman stepped into the door of one of the rooms opening on the
veranda, and still looking at Dr. Avery, silently beckoned with his
finger for him to follow.  The surgeon did so without hesitation,
half suspecting that the palanquin bearers were crouching within and
awaiting the chance to spring upon him, but the certainty of his two
loaded revolvers being within instant call was a great solace.  He
was an expert pistol shot, and he did not mean to be taken unprepared.

"Where are the palanquin bearers?" asked Avery, as he reached the
open door and saw Luchman in the faint light standing in the middle
of the room, a sweeping glance having satisfied him that no one else
was in the apartment.

"They have gone, sahib," was the answer of Luchman.  "If they come
back it will be to kill you.  They hate you.  They hate all the
Inglese.  They would try to kill me if they knew I was your friend.
But I have something else to tell you."

"I am listening."

"Sahib, the daughter of the missionary will never be your wife."

"Why not?"

"You, sahib, will never see her again."

Dr. Avery flushed.  All disposition to jest was gone, and he was
indignant that this native dare utter an expression that sounded very
like a threat.

"How dare you show such insolence to me?  Do you imagine that you and
all your brother scoundrels are strong enough to turn me back?
Naught but the will of Heaven itself shall keep me from entering
Delhi tomorrow, and seeing my intended wife face to face."

But the young surgeon was in error.  Luchman did not mean to
threaten, but to warn him of a danger which as yet was only dimly
suspected.

"This is the month of May, sahib," said the native, looking him
quietly in the face and paying no heed to his angry words, "and on
the last day there will be a rising of the Mussulmans and Hindoos of
India.  All the regiments will turn on their English officers and
kill them, their wives and children.  The Mogul Empire will be
proclaimed, and the Raj of the English will be rooted out of
Hindostan."

These were fearful words, and the native was sincere, though why he
should have taken this means of making known, or why he should have
made known the impending revolt at all, was more than Dr. Avery could
understand.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" he asked.

"I did not know the date fixed for the rising until last night, when
by chance I overheard some words between the palanquin wallahs.  It
is their wish to kill you tonight."

"I don't doubt it.  How do you feel on that question?"

"Sahib, I am the friend of the missionary and his family; you are
their friend."

This was Luchman's way of expressing his good will toward the
Englishman, who, it cannot be said, was strongly impressed by his
words.

"What are your intentions?" asked the latter.

"Sahib, I shall go to Delhi and give up my life in the hope that I
may save the missionary and his family."

"And what do you expect me to do?"

The brown face of the native was eclipsed by what seemed a passing
cloud of regret, as he answered:

"You must turn back, sahib.  At the cantonment of Lucknow, or
Cawnpore, or Allahabad you will find friends; you can die with them."

It was clear that Luchman looked upon the other as doomed beyond all
hope, and he was in earnest in urging him to withdraw to one of the
points named, where he could perish in the company of his countrymen.

"Why, then, shall I not go to Delhi, now so near at hand, and share
the lot of my friends there?"

"Because your going there will make their danger greater; they may be
saved if you keep away, but if you go they cannot."

This struck Dr. Avery as a heartless view of the situation, but he
saw its meaning.  Luchman so loved the missionary and his family that
he was willing to give up his life for them.  While he may have
wished the young surgeon well, he was not concerned to an extent that
would lead him to neglect those in Delhi; and looking upon him as the
sailor whose additional weight is sure to sink the overladen craft,
he wished to throw him overboard so as to save the rest.

Dr. Avery saw that his presence in Delhi might complicate matters and
add to the peril of that loved family.  If by withdrawing and taking
to the _mofussil_, or interior of the country, he could improve their
chance of escape, it was clearly his duty to do so.

But what true lover can be persuaded that his absence from his
sweetheart is better than his presence with her?  Avery did not
believe the native was honest in what he had said.

"God speed you in your effort to befriend them!  I am sure they need
all that you can do; make haste, therefore, and never leave them till
they are safe beyond the reach of those who clamor for their lives."

"What will you, sahib, do?"

"I will do the best to take care of myself.  If I am doomed to die,
it may be some consolation to have company.  Will you take a letter
for me to the daughter of the missionary?"

"It shall be done."

Tearing several leaves from his note book, Dr. Avery wrote the
particulars of the interview between himself and the native, and
added:


Despite his prohibition, I shall do my best to reach your city and
hope to be on the heels of him who delivers this to you.  I cannot
believe it is better to be away from you.  I credit Luchman's words
when he says the whole sepoy force intends to rise, which renders it
the more necessary that friends should unite for protection.  If I
fail to reach you it will be because my utmost efforts were useless;
and whether failure or success awaits me, be assured, my dearest
Marian, that my last thoughts were of you.  Though separated here,
God will unite us in the great hereafter.  BAIRD.


While writing this note, the surgeon had stepped back on the veranda,
because he needed more light than was in the dim room.  He now
advanced to where Luchman had awaited him, as immovable as a stone
image, and asked:

"Why did you bring me in here, Luchman?"

"The palanquin wallahs, sahib, might have crept up and heard what we
said, or the khansaman might have passed near."

"Well, here is my letter; will you hand it to the daughter of the
missionary?"

"Be shaqq."  (Without doubt.)

With a few graceful turns the voluminous turban about Luchman's head
was unwound and from the interior he drew a small package done around
with heavy but soft paper.

"Sahib, this is a nazr (present) for her, and since she will value
your letter more than the other I will put them together."

"What have you there?" asked the astonished surgeon.

"I will show you, sahib: it is the STAR OF INDIA."

"And what the mischief is that?"

"Dekhna!" (Behold!)

As the native spoke, the envelope of paper dropped off and he threw
up his hand until it was on a level with his own eyes.  Between the
thumb and forefinger, the others elevated so as to be out of the way,
he held poised the most marvelous diamond that Baird had ever looked
upon.

The wonderful gem was cut in rose form, and could not have weighed
less than fifty carats, almost one half of the famous Koh-i-noor,
while its brilliancy was like that of the great Pitt diamond.
Luchman caused his hand, while apparently immovable, to tremble
slightly so that it glowed and scintillated under the eye of the
spectator as if it were luminous.

A ray of light, straggling through a crack in the tattie screen,
struck the diamond, and Avery, changing his own position so as to
relieve his vision, saw all the colors of the rainbow shooting forth
and radiating from the dazzling gem.  Some of the rays were short,
while others darted outward for several feet.  At times it was as if
the native was holding an electric burner between his thumb and
finger, and then the whole gem glowed with the intense brightness of
a star.

"Well! well! where in the name of the seven wonders did you get
that?" asked the astounded spectator; "it surpasses any gem I ever
saw; it ranks among the great diamonds of the world; it is worth four
lacs of rupees."

"Sahib, it is not mine," replied Luchman, as he began wrapping the
paper around that and the missive.

More than once, Avery was on the point of asking the privilege of
holding the diamond for a moment in his palm, but doubtful whether
such permission would be given, he silently watched the native who
folded his turban and its precious contents on his head.

This done, Luchman paused long enough to advise the doctor as to the
best course to take to avoid his enemies, after which he bade him
good by and started toward Delhi, in the hope of befriending those
who were in sore need of help.



CHAPTER III.

WITHIN DELHI.

Imperial Delhi contains nearly a quarter of a million of people, and
the modern city is all of seven miles in circumference.  There was a
time when its population was tenfold greater.  It was captured and
plundered in 1011 by Mahmond; in 1398 by Tamerlane; in 1525 by Baber,
who overthrew the Patan dynasty and inaugurated that of the Moguls;
in 1739 it was pillaged by Nadir Shah, who sat in the mosque of
Boshun ud Dowlah (near the Jumma Musjeed, the most magnificent place
of Mussulman worship in India), and saw a hundred thousand of the
inhabitants massacred.

Delhi is surrounded by an embattled wall with numerous bastions and
intervening martello towers, faced along the entire extent with
massive masonry, which many years ago was strengthened by the
addition of a moat and glacis.

Within this city at the date of the sepoy mutiny dwelt Mohammed
Suraj-oo-deen Shah Gezee, the Great Mogul of India.  His claim to
succeed his father was sustained by the East India Company against a
conspiracy to place a younger brother on the throne, and he was in
the receipt of nearly a million dollars annually from that colossal
corporation.  Yet he had no political power, and made no pretense to
the least authority outside his palaces, whose bounds embraced twelve
thousand subjects, while the royal family itself numbered about one
eighth as many.

Beyond the limits of the narrow streets, where the bazars and native
houses crowd together, yet close enough for easy access to the
mission church, stood the home of the Hildreths.  It was set back
from a road in the middle of a garden or open space, which is so
necessary to European life in this climate.  A hedge partly hid the
house, and there were several trees in the garden, kept alive by the
persistent attentions of the malee, who drew water morning and
evening from a well, and filled the trenches around the parched roots.

The home of the missionary showed the plainness that is a feature of
the Anglo Indian architecture.  It was made of sun dried bricks,
plastered and whitewashed.  Like the bungalow where Dr. Avery held
his parting interview with Luchman, it was surrounded by wide
verandas, shaded by grass tatties.

During the fiery heat of the day the structure was kept tightly
closed against the hot wind which was like a furnace blast.  Late in
the afternoon, the family ventured to emerge from the interior to the
veranda, where the tatties had been sprinkled with water, with a view
of wooing something in the nature of coolness from the scorching air
that stole through them.

This veranda, on the afternoon of May 10, 1857, therefore, contained
the missionary, idly reclining on his long cane settee, with his
daughter sitting more erect in a chair at his elbow, while the wife
rested in her lounging chair at the other end of the veranda.

Marian held a book in her hand, which she was dreamily reading by the
dim light that stole through the tattie, the enervating heat driving
away all disposition to talk.  The burning sun of India had added
depth to the loveliness of the young lady, whose dark eyes and clear
brunette complexion were softened by the climate so often fatal to
foreigners.  Bending over her volume, her figure showed a grace of
outline and form, not surpassed even in Persia, the land of beauty.

The sound of a footfall caused her to look up.  Some one had entered
the compound from the street, and was approaching at a rapid pace.  A
few seconds later, the tattie was lifted, and the gaunt face and form
of Luchman stepped upon the veranda, and respectfully saluted them
all.

"Have you just arrived?" asked Marian.

"I have not tarried, Miss sahib, an hour by the way.  I came straight
from the gates to your house."

"But where is he--Dr. Avery?"

"I have a letter from him to you," answered the native, groping with
his fingers among the folds of his turban.

"Jalde! jalde!" (Quick! quick!) exclaimed the lady, impatient at the
deliberation of Luchman; "tell me--has anything happened to him?"

"No; but, Miss sahib, here is his letter."

Her hands trembled as she took it, and she did not catch the flash of
the diamond, when its envelope was disturbed by the fingers of the
native, who instantly replaced it.

Mr. Hildreth roused from the long cane settee on which he was
stretched and looked inquiringly at his daughter.  He had overheard
the conversation between Marian and Luchman, and he spoke to her,
after waiting until she had time to finish the letter:

"What does he say for himself?  Why did he not come with Luchman
instead of sending him forward alone?"

Marian stepped hastily to the side of her parent and read the letter
in a low voice to him.

"I don't understand it," he said in the same guarded undertone.  "He
says the date of the sepoy rising is close at hand.  Today is the
10th; he speaks as though there is not the slightest doubt of the
revolt."

At this moment, the wife, seeing that something important was on the
minds of her husband and daughter, rose quickly from her chair and
joined them.

"You seem alarmed about something."

By way of reply, Marian handed her the letter from Dr. Avery, the
others in the meantime holding their peace.

Luchman was standing just where he halted when he passed the letter
to the young lady, and there he remained motionless, his arms folded,
while he looked expectantly at the little group.  The missionary
raised his finger and beckoned him to approach.

"Luchman, tell us about this," said Mr. Hildreth, as the native drew
nigh.

He gave the dreaded information asked for.  There could be no doubt
that a general revolt of the sepoys through India had been fixed for
the latter part of the month.  Emissaries had been engaged for months
in inflaming the minds of Hindoo and Mussulman alike, until the
fanatical population were like so many cobras bursting with venom.
The majority believed that the English were determined to break their
caste and convert them to Christianity by means of the defiling
cartridges.  The war, therefore, would be a religious one, which is
another way of saying that the strife would be the most cruel on
which the sun ever shines.

Luchman had learned that the mutiny was fixed for the last day of
May, and he believed that it would come with the certainty of the
rising of the sun.  There had been a revolt at Berhampore on the 25th
of the preceding February, but it was so slight and was so easily
suppressed that all misgiving quickly passed.

"There is another great danger," remarked Luchman.

"What is that?" asked the missionary.

"Many of the sepoys are too impatient to wait for the day fixed."

"How will it be in Delhi?"

The native shook his head.

"They will wait, sahib; but they are ready _now_."

"And what will be done here?"

Luchman seemed surprised at the question.

"Was not Delhi the capital of the Mogul Empire?  Does not the emperor
live with his family in the palaces yonder?"

These queries fully answered the questions of the missionary.  Delhi
was to be the capital of the restored empire, and probably in all
India there was not a more unsafe place for a European to dwell.

When they had talked awhile longer, Luchman, declining the invitation
to eat and rest himself, said he would go forth to learn some things
he was anxious to know.  If he found the danger immediate he would
return without delay; otherwise he might be gone until morning.

The native then lifted the tattie and quickly passed out of the
compound upon the street, while the little group left to themselves
talked in low tones of the dreadful news.  They felt that the shadow
of death was over them all, and there was no saying that one dear to
each had not already given up his life.

"He speaks hopefully," said Marian, unfolding the letter again.
Before she could do more than glance at the first lines, the father
exclaimed:

"Luchman is returning!  He brings important news!"

"It is Baird!" whispered Marian, leaping up and into the arms of the
young surgeon, who, at that moment, lifted the tattie and bounded
among the party like a burst of fresh mountain air.



CHAPTER IV.

ON THE THRESHOLD.

Who can be so welcome as the cherished one that comes to us from the
jaws of death?  The arrival of Baird Avery turned all the gloom into
radiance, and lifted for the moment the shadow that hung over the
doomed household.  He paused only long enough to hold Marian for a
moment in rapturous embrace, when he turned and warmly greeted her
father and mother, trying in the meanwhile to answer the questions
that each one rained upon him.

It took but a few minutes to give all the information at command, and
then, as he was dusty, sun-burned and tired, he was glad to plunge
into the house and into the bath.  That refreshing luxury over, it
was dark, and shortly after the evening meal was eaten.  Emerging
once more upon the veranda, Avery occupied one of the cane lounging
chairs that were at the command of any one who chose to use them.

"Ah," he sighed, puffing at his cheroot and stretching out in the
delightful support, "this is what I call luxury and no mistake.  I
walked all of last night, up to sunrise this morning.  I was so tired
that I thought I never would become rested, but now the feeling is so
delicious that it is worth all the labor that produces it.  I fancy I
could spend a week here without wanting to change my position."

"Where is your luggage, doctor?"

"All the property subject to my control is resting in this chair.
When Luchman told me that the palanquin bearers meant to kill me, of
course I was careful of my movements.  I did not give him any hint of
my intention, but tried to mislead him, for he was strongly set
against any effort on my part to join you.  After he had gone, I went
out of the bungalow with the intention of taking the most valuable
things from the palanquin.  I looked for the khansaman, but he was
invisible.  While trying to find him, I came upon two of the natives
lurking near the corner of the bungalow, and no doubt on the watch
for a chance to bury their knives in me.  When I saw them, the
cowardly scamps broke and ran in such terror that they were off
before I could get any kind of aim."

"Did you have trouble on the road?" asked the missionary.

"None at all, though I think it was due to the pains I took not to
attract attention.  There is no molestation at present of foreigners,
and until there is, a little care will take you through many places
where in a few days it will be certain death to show your face.  I
called on General Graves at the cantonment and told him that a revolt
of the sepoys was sure to come before the first of next month."

"How did he receive your information?"

"He thanked me like the gentleman he is, but I saw that he thought
very little of what I said.  He remarked that the same thing had been
told him again and again within the past few weeks, and added with a
laugh that the dog that barks the most bites the least.  I tell you,"
added the surgeon, rising to an upright sitting posture and speaking
with great emphasis, "one of two things is certain--this impending
mutiny is the most prodigious hoax of the nineteenth century, or it
will be the most appalling massacre of modern times: I am inclined to
believe it will prove the latter."

"So am I," added the missionary impressively.  "We are standing on
the threshold of judgment, and naught but the hand of God can save us
from a terrible fate."

"But He will save only those who try to save themselves," ventured
Marian, both she and her mother awed by the dreadful shadow that
darkened their hearthstone.

"We will do all that lies within our power, but we are worms
encircled by a ring of fire.  Where the revolt is so widespread there
is no safety this side of Calcutta, almost a thousand miles away."

"Delhi will be the headquarters of the sepoys," said Dr. Avery, "and
the very hour they occupy the city the massacre of the Europeans will
begin.  They will assail them like tigers.  Can you not hide
yourselves in the house of some faithful native where no one will
think of looking for you?  There you can stay until the flurry is
over and our soldiers retake the city as they will soon do."

"Your proposal has been in my mind ever since Luchman told us of our
danger; but I have misgivings that many of the converts will find
themselves unable to stem the whirlwind of fanatical excitement.  If
so, they will be the fiercest of our enemies.  Even if faithful, they
will be suspected and are likely to be destroyed by the Mohammedans."

"What about Luchman?"

"I ought to feel sure of him, for we shall be at his mercy.  But he
was a high caste Brahmin, and he may become the most venomous Hindoo
when caught in the swirl.  I hope differently, however, but we shall
soon know the worst."

When the night had advanced, the little group knelt around the family
altar, while the missionary poured out his supplication to the
Heavenly Father who had been so merciful to them in the past.  He was
one of the most devoted laborers that went forth in his master's
vineyard, and he was ready at all times to answer the summons: "Come
home," but he loved those who were kneeling with him, and he pleaded
for their care with an earnestness and faith that it would seem must
prevail.

The lovers lingered after the departure of the parents.  Many months
had passed since they met, and these sweet minutes could not but be
happy ones, despite the overpowering gloom outside.  Could the
moonlight have stolen through the tattie it would have seen them
seated side by side on the cane settee, her hand folded in his, while
the murmur of their voices was so soft and low that no listener could
have caught the syllables that fell from their lips.

This was the hour for which both had sighed during the weeks and
months that were past.  The belief that such blissful communion
awaited him cheered Dr. Avery during that long, dusty, laborious
journey up the valley of the Ganges.  It was her picture which
haunted his dreams, when fitfully slumbering in the palanquin or
watching for the treacherous tiger in the fever smitten jungles.

And now after all these perils the dream was realized.  He knew the
sacred thrill as he pressed the small white hand and touched his lips
to the smooth, warm cheek, and drew the willowy form still closer to
his own.  Ah, if it could but last!  But such meetings were too
blissful to continue long.  Again the sweet vows were repeated, and
Avery felt that if he could but hold that dear form by his side
forever he would care not for storm or sorrow.

They were still talking in their soft low tones, when Marian raised
her head.

"It seems to me that a great many people are going along the roads
tonight."

"I have noticed the same thing," replied Avery.  "Delhi has no
pavements, and few of the people have shoes, so they make mighty
little noise on the soft cunka of the road, but when it is so still
around us we can hear the sweep of the myriads of feet--_Sh!_"

While the two were listening to the faint but unmistakable noise made
by the multitudinous tramping, some one entered the compound and
walked rapidly to the bungalow.  Dr. Avery instinctively rose to his
feet, grasped his revolver, and drew aside the tattle, just as
Luchman stopped in front of it.

The native showed no surprise on seeing the surgeon, from whom he
supposed he had parted forever, but respectfully saluted him and the
young lady, who had also risen and stood by his side.

"What news do you bring?" asked the doctor.

"Bad news, sahib,--bad news; the natives are so impatient that they
will not wait for the day fixed by their leaders.  The streets are
full of people; I have heard threats made against this house; they
are afraid to make the attack, but before long they will gain the
courage to do so."

"Then it is unsafe to stay here."

"Every hour increases the danger, sahib."

The native spoke the truth.



CHAPTER V.

THE OPENING TRAGEDY.

The city of Meerut stands on a grassy plain, to the northeast of
Delhi, and distant some thirty two miles.  At the date of the mutiny,
its population was about forty thousand souls.  The cantonments lie
two miles to the north of the town, and contained accommodations for
twenty thousand troops.

On the afternoon of Sunday, May 10, the native troops at Meerut
mutinied, and the first massacre of the lurid series began.  The
slaughter of all the Europeans was determined on, and would have been
carried out but for the lack of unanimity among the mutineers, though
there is good reason for believing that the outbreak was not
premeditated, but the result of a rumor that arrangements had been
made to seize their arms.

The Third Cavalry and the Twentieth Regiment clamored to begin the
massacre at once, but the Eleventh Native Infantry held back so
persistently that the exasperated Twentieth fired a volley into them.
This did what was wanted, and the Eleventh joined the other two
bodies in a rush for the parade ground, with frenzied execrations
against the "sahib loge."

Colonel Finnis, commanding the Eleventh, spurred his horse on a run
to the parade ground, where he made an impassioned appeal to the
soldiers to stand by their colors and to refrain from entering into a
useless revolt.  In the midst of his fervid harangue, a sepoy of the
Twentieth raised his musket and shot him in the back.  A volley
followed, and he tumbled from his saddle riddled with bullets.

Seeing him fall, the other officers knew it was death to stay, so
they galloped to the Rifles and Sixth Dragoons.  The less murderous
Eleventh helped to get them away from their enemies.

Meanwhile a party of soldiers had ridden to the lockup, where a
company of mutineers had been confined by the English officers for
refusing to use the new cartridges.  They numbered eighty five, and,
in accordance with the sentence of the court martial, were in irons.
These were quickly knocked off, and the men released.  In addition, a
thousand other prisoners undergoing sentence for various offenses
were set at liberty.  Then pandemonium was let loose.

Murder, fire and outrage reigned supreme, and no pen dare write the
atrocities that marked the opening scene of the awful drama of the
Sepoy Mutiny.  The officers' bungalows, public edifices, the mess
houses of the troops, and in short the structures between the native
lines and Meerut were fired.  Night closed in while the conflagration
was raging, and the yell of the frenzied wretches mingled with the
roar of the flames, which carried millions of sparks upward, and
filled the sky with a glare that was seen a score of miles away.
Wherever there was a chance for plunder, there rushed the mob like so
many tigers.  Age and sex were not spared, and the scenes which
marked the first revolt in India were a forerunner of what was to
follow.  The telegraph lines to Delhi were cut, so that no news of
the revolt reached Delhi until the following day, when it was carried
thither by natives on horseback.  General Hewitt had neglected to
place a guard over the disaffected sepoys in irons, and he now
failed, although quite a force remained at his disposal, to attack or
follow the mutineers, who were marching toward Delhi.

Thus the misgiving of Luchman was confirmed.  Instead of waiting
until the 31st, the preconcerted time for the general rising, the
sepoys at Meerut precipitated it three weeks in advance.  The Rubicon
was crossed, and the rebels could only push on to the end, whatever
that might prove to be.

Sated with plunder and murder, the rabble drew off and took the road
to Delhi, which was now their rallying city.  To express their scorn
of General Hewitt and his soldiers, they went into camp only six
miles distant and were not disturbed.

The excitement in Delhi was intense when the news came of the
massacre at Meerut.  Luchman was one of the first to receive the
tidings, and he lost no time in hastening home to the missionary.  It
was about the middle of the forenoon, and an anxious consultation was
held.  It was decided that the best thing to be done was to stay in
the house until nightfall.  If they were unmolested up to that time,
an attempt would be made, under the guidance of the native, to get
out of the city.

The day was a most trying one to the little family, who hardly
ventured to show themselves in their own compound.  They knew that
the massacre was likely to begin at any hour and minute in Delhi,
where the "loot" that awaited the impatient fanatics was the most
stupendous known in modern times.  There was untold wealth awaiting
them in the shape of Cashmere shawls, bodies covered with gold lace,
skirts of dresses, watches, jewelry, gold bullion, beds of silk and
down, and the vast treasures in the Bank of Delhi.

Early in the evening, Luchman returned with full news of what had
taken place, and with the still more alarming tidings that the
mutineers had reached Delhi.

"We must leave at once," said Dr. Avery, compressing his lips.

"You are right, sahib," added Luchman; "let there be no delay."

"Whither shall we go?" asked Mr. Hildreth.

Rather curiously, with all his cunning, Luchman was not able to
answer this question satisfactorily to himself.  He explained why.
His first thought was to throw himself and friends on the protection
of the soldiers, but the indecision of the commandant at Delhi caused
him to distrust such a refuge.  The troops would fight bravely, but
with a blundering head and scant numbers, the worst was to be feared.

Luchman stated that the first step was to get outside of the city as
soon as possible.  When that should be done, he would be better able
to decide whether it was wise to rely upon the English soldiery, or
whether they should try to reach Kurnal or some other remote point,
where for a time they would be comparatively safe.

There could be no argument against the counsel of the native, and the
little group prepared to leave.

It was idle to attempt to carry off their property with them as it
would be sure to draw attention and bring an attack.  Such trifles as
could be easily carried and concealed were hastily gathered together.
Dr. Avery insisted that he meant to take all his possessions with
him, inasmuch as he had brought them thither, though he came with
empty hands.

What they needed more than anything else were firearms and weapons
with which to defend themselves.  In this respect, they made a fair
showing.  Avery had his two revolvers, while Marian carried a small
one which he had presented to her on a previous visit.  It was hardly
thought that she would be called upon to use it, but it was by no
means impossible, and she was an expert with the weapon.  Her father
owned a pistol and gun, while Luchman carried his formidable knife
and had also secured a revolver.  This completed the armament of the
company, Mrs. Hildreth being the only member without a weapon.



CHAPTER VI.

AN INCIDENT BY THE WAY.

Before venturing upon the streets, the fugitives, as they may now be
called, had recourse to such disguises as were at their command.  It
so happened that at that time, the only servant with the family of
the missionary was Luchman.  A second servant, Ali Khan, had been
called away two days before by the illness of his wife, and a third
was absent for the evening.  Living in a distant part of the city,
the second had been given permission to remain away until ready to
return, and he had not yet shown up.  Since he was a Mohammedan, who,
while impressed by the teachings of Christianity, had not yet made
profession of the new faith, the family were rather relieved by his
absence.  Indeed they were not without strong doubts of his loyalty,
and they would not have been surprised had he appeared among the
fanatics that were certain to make a move before long against the
missionary and his family.

The first preparation of the ladies consisted in an adoption of
chuddars, or white shawls of muslin, which are common among the
native women.  These are worn over the head and drawn around the face
so that only the eyes are visible when the wearer appears on the
street.  Enveloped by these cool coverings, there was good reason to
hope that they could pass along the roads without attracting notice.

Luchman arranged turbans about the heads of Mr. Hildreth and Dr.
Avery, tied with a skill peculiar to himself.  The servants' quarters
are never without several clean white muslin coats in order that the
menials may make a seemly appearance at all times.  The gentlemen
each donned one of these, and thus the party at night were quite sure
to pass muster, unless suspicion should lead to a close scrutiny as
they sought to make their way toward the Cashmere Gate.

Luchman announced the painful necessity that the friends must
separate, in order to draw less attention.  No woman ever appears
alone at night in any of the bazars, unless directly behind her
husband.  It was arranged, therefore, that Marian should walk behind
Luchman, and Mrs. Hildreth immediately behind the missionary.  They
would part company as soon as the street was reached, and since all,
with one exception, were familiar with the city, they were hopeful of
reaching the Cashmere Gate without molestation.

Dr. Avery, being but slightly acquainted with the capital, was given
the most direct route, which was explained with so much clearness to
him, that he was as hopeful as the others.  Indeed, with the spirits
that were natural to him, he offered to wager Marian and Luchman that
he would reach the rendezvous ahead of all.

The streets were unlighted by lamps, the paunchyats or groups of
natives being gathered around the small fires kindled in many places
on the ground.  It was believed that these could be avoided without
difficulty, though the bright moon in the unclouded sky required
great caution in the movements of the fugitives.

Everything being ready, they stole out upon the nearest street as
silently as so many shadows.  Dr. Avery pressed the hand of Marian as
he whispered a farewell, and begged her to maintain a brave heart,
and to keep close behind her protector, Luchman.  The brave girl
uttered some reply which her lover did not catch, and, almost before
he suspected it, he was threading his way alone through the narrow
streets.

He was amazed by the throngs of people whom he met at every turn.  It
was yet early in the evening, and they seemed to be everywhere.
Everybody was talking, and the chatter of tongues was like Babel
itself.  Now and then he heard an English word, or was able to catch
the meaning of some expression in Hindustani.  He was sure that every
one related to the momentous subject of the mutiny.

All at once a greater uproar than usual broke out directly in front,
and the swarm surged in that direction, led by the same headlong
curiosity which controls a mob in a civilized city.

Avery pushed along with the others, and soon found that the cause of
the tumult was a brawl among several men.  Feeling no interest in
such an affray, he was about to pass on, when one of the combatants
leaped into the middle of the street, closely pressed by the others.
It was then that the bright moonlight showed that the individual who
was striving to disentangle himself was an Englishman, who was hard
pressed by fully a dozen natives.

He was bareheaded, tall, muscular, and of great strength and
activity.  Had anything like fair play been shown, he would have
vanquished the whole party, but it was clear he had been assailed by
the mob, who were determined he should die.

Dr. Avery's bosom heaved with indignation, and it was hard to
restrain the impulse to drive his way through the throng to the help
of his imperiled countryman, but to do so would have been certain
death.  Unable to turn his back on the man that was making such a
gallant fight for his life, he forced his hand into his pocket and
grasped his revolver, in the hope that in the excitement he might
fire several shots for his friend, without diverting the furious
assault to himself.

So far as could be seen, the Englishman was acting on the defensive.
He had no weapons in his hand, but he struck out, dodged and parried
with a skill that showed him to be a master of the art of self
defense.  He would have knocked his assailants over and over but for
the obstruction of the crowd behind them.  But his blows were
terrific, and beyond a doubt he cracked almost every skull against
which he drove his fists with such tremendous force and
lightning-like rapidity.

All the time the pale faced athlete was retreating or rather trying
to retreat, and could he have shaken himself clear of the swarm but
for a second, he would have gotten safely away, but he was so hemmed
in by his assailants that escape was out of the question.

"God help you!" suddenly exclaimed Dr. Avery, unable to stand idle
any longer, "I can't see you murdered like a dog!  Out of my path,
you infernal devils!"

It is hardly possible that this command, shouted in his own language,
was heard by the wretches, most of whom were screeching and shouting
themselves, but there were several close at hand who recognized the
tongue and saw that another victim had run into their net.  These
natives, generally so afraid of foreigners, had become impudent and
aggressive under the belief that all the infidel Christians were to
be exterminated, root and branch, by the sepoys.

Dr. Avery cared nothing now about hiding his identity.  He was
struggling furiously and fighting his way to the side of his
countryman.  He was almost, if not quite, his equal in strength and
activity, and the two would have made a brave battle with their backs
against each other and their arms going like the piston rods of an
engine.

The surgeon was forging ahead like a ship struggling in the trough of
a sea, when a rasping howl from a score of throats told that he was
identified, and the wretches made for him.

At this juncture, the stranger further out in the street did
something which he ought to Have done before, though the act was as
effective at one time as at another.  Finding it impossible to
extricate himself from the throng that pressed him so hard, he
whipped out his revolver and fired five shots in rapid succession,
wheeling quickly on his heel as he did so, by which maneuver he sent
the bullets toward as many different points of the compass.

The natives were so plentiful that it was impossible to miss, and
they went down like tenpins.  The flashing of the weapon in their
faces caused a panic for the moment.  There was a wild scramble to
get away from the desperate man, who had doubtless fired for the very
purpose of creating this diversion.

It was the supreme moment for the Englishman, who bounded forward as
if shot from a catapult, striking fiercely at every one within reach
and clearing a path through which he dashed down the street like a
frightened deer, his yellow hair streaming in the wind.

The sight of the fugitive running for life brought back the senses of
the mob, and they swarmed after him.  Dr. Avery was quick to see that
this diversion gave him a chance to save himself during the moments
that the attention of the heathen was drawn toward the flying
fugitive.

Stepping quickly back into the shadow, he walked deliberately away
without attracting notice.

"I would like to know whether they caught him," he muttered, full of
solicitude for the stranger.  "He knew what to do, and he got along a
good deal better than he would had I reached his side.  For that
matter, it was mighty lucky for me that I failed.  He can outrun all
of those yawping devils, and, if he doesn't get tangled up in the
streets, he has a good chance of giving them the slip--helloa! what's
up now?"



CHAPTER VII.

THE PURSUIT.

That which arrested the eye of Dr. Avery was another crowd, or more
properly the same one.  He had been drawn away from his true course,
and in trying to regain it, he came face to face with the wild mob.
Should he be recognized, he would be set upon at once; but with the
coolness of a veteran he sauntered along, keeping in the shadow as
much as he could.  Providentially he was soon clear from all danger
from that source.

His heart gave a sympathetic throb when he caught the meaning of
enough of the broken exclamations to learn that the fugitive had
escaped from the throng that had chased him only a short way before
he left them out of sight.

"Luchman gave me this street because it is the most direct one to the
Cashmere Gate, and I am less likely to lose my way, but it seems to
me it has more moonlight and the natives are altogether too
plentiful.  I shouldn't wonder now if they are so impatient that they
will not wait for the sepoys to begin their deviltry.  I think I will
turn off and take a road where there are not so many neighbors."

He speedily reached such a street, which appeared to run parallel to
the one he had just left, and certainly was much safer.  He decided
to keep it as long as he could, and when convinced that he was
following a wrong course, he would make his way back to the main road
that Luchman had directed him to follow.

Dr. Avery had gone perhaps two thirds of the distance to the Cashmere
Gate when he made a terrifying discovery.

The portion of the street into which he had drifted was almost
deserted, and he was wondering whether it might not be one of the
most dangerous parts of the city, when he observed three persons on
the other side of the way.  They were less than fifty feet distant,
and the moon was shining full upon them, so they were in plain sight.

They were two natives supporting a female between them, all walking
slowly, while the head of the woman was bowed, and she moaned as if
in pain.

"That is singular," thought Dr. Avery; "she seems to be faint, and
they are supporting her to her home."

Prompted by a natural impulse, he turned and moved toward the trio,
timing his steps so that he was not noticed.  He quickly saw that the
woman was holding back, while the escort was drawing her forward.

"That has a bad look," he said, walking faster until he was close
upon them.  Then, oblivious of the fact that he was using an unknown
tongue, he called out:

"What are you doing with that woman?"

The natives stopped in a surprised way and stared at him, while the
prisoner raised her head and wailed in a faint voice:

"O Baird, save me from them!"

"My God, Marian! is that you?" he asked, springing forward and
catching her arm.

The natives, in accordance with their cowardly nature, were about to
drop on their knees and beg for mercy, when they had wit enough to
see their opportunity.  At the moment the surgeon seized the arm of
the young lady, the trembling wretches slipped noiselessly away.  Had
they delayed their departure a single minute, Baird Avery would have
shot both dead.

"How came you here?" he asked, half believing it was all a hideous
dream, until he felt the warm arm of his beloved grasped by his own
strong right hand.

"I can hardly tell you, but it must have been my fault.  Luchman
walked quite rapidly, never once looking behind to see whether I was
keeping near him.  He had the right to believe that I knew enough to
act my part without any help from him; but at one of the bazars the
crowd was so dense that I was compelled to turn aside.  Then, when I
tried to get back, something caused an excitement in front, and I was
forced still further away.  By that time I had lost Luchman
altogether.  You know that no woman ventures in such a place at night
without her husband, and I was in a sad predicament.  With a view of
not drawing unpleasant attention to myself, I tried to keep directly
behind a stranger."

"That ought to have protected you," said her escort.

"So it did for a time, but I was terrified when I found that a couple
of Mohammedans were following me.  I started to flee, but they
quickly overtook and made me a prisoner.  I pleaded with them and
offered all my jewelry, but they laughed and replied that they would
soon have it any way.  I dared not shriek, for that would have
brought others around me, and made my danger tenfold worse."

"But where was that pistol of yours?" asked the doctor, drawing her
arm within his own.  "Why was it loaded with such care, and stowed
away in the recesses of your dress?"

"Would you believe that I forgot I had it until after they grasped my
arm so tightly that I could not get hold of it?"

"Such forgetfulness cannot happen again; but we shall be a long time
getting out of the city at this rate.  How far are we from the
Cashmere gate?"

"About half a mile."

"Do you know the way?"

"Perfectly; if the moon was not so bright we would go straight to it,
but the whole city is out of doors and we must pick our path.  I
wonder whether father and mother have had any trouble."

"We can only hope that they have not.  What course are you
following?" asked Avery a minute later, when they turned into a still
narrower street.  "If they keep on contracting in this fashion we
shall find ourselves caught like the Man in the Iron Mask."

"I am trying to get away from the crowds of people, but they seem to
be everywhere."

"Helloa!  What does that mean?"

Avery stopped short, drawing his pistol and looking behind him.
Marian knew more about the people than he did.  She understood the
significance of that horrible cry.

"Quick, Baird!  We have no time to lose.

"But tell me," he added, moving on again, "what is the meaning of
those cries?"

"They are those of the natives who have come upon the dead body of
one of their number.  It may be that of one who had been pursuing the
Englishman you told me about, or it may be one who was killed by an
enemy of his own race; but many of them lay his death to the door of
the English."

"But they know nothing about us----"

"See!" whispered Marian, catching his arm with a nervous start; "they
have discovered us, and are running this way."

Avery saw that his companion spoke the truth.  Direct flight was out
of the question, for the natives could speedily overtake them.  The
two walked rapidly, and at the first cross street made a short turn
to the right in the hope of getting beyond sight before their enemies
could see them again.



CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE GARDEN.

Fortunately our friends had entered one of the loneliest portions of
Delhi, where for a time they saw not a living soul, even when so many
thousands were abroad; but this could not last, and some would be
sure to meet them before going much further.

It was this dread that prevented them from keeping up their fastest
gait, even while they were so anxious to increase the distance
between themselves and their enemies.

The latter were gaining rapidly, for that peculiar "monotonous chant
of frenzy," (Allah-ullah) which, once heard, can never be forgotten,
sounded closer every minute.

Although Marian Hildreth had lived a number of years in Delhi, she
was now in a portion that was as unfamiliar to her as the slums of
Cawnpore or Lucknow.  Naturally, therefore, her escort took the lead.

"Follow me as fast as you can," he whispered, increasing his speed.

The young surgeon had caught sight of a piece of broken wall of sun
dried bricks on his right.  One powerful leap carried him to a
projection near the top, and catching the hand of Marian he drew her
up beside him.  The jagged pieces of wall served as well as a stair
could have done, and a moment later both were on the top of a flat
roofed, unoccupied building, partly in ruins.

The couple ran across the flat surface to the other side, where they
found themselves facing an open space, which was the compound or
garden of some wealthy native, whose house was in plain sight a
hundred yards away.

It was not the place that Avery would have selected, but there was no
time for choosing.  Running to the edge of the roof, he dropped to
the earth.  The descent was about a dozen feet, and he was
considerably shaken; but he did not mind that, and, steadying
himself, he looked up at Marian, who was peering hesitatingly down
upon him.

"Jump!" he whispered, "I'll catch you!"

With the faith of the little child leaping into the arms of its
parents, she gathered her skirts about her dainty feet and dropped as
lightly as a bird.  The powerful Avery caught her without trouble,
and placing her on the ground clasped her hand.

"The only thing to do is to hide under those trees; it isn't the best
place in the world, but we have no choice."

There was some consolation in the knowledge that a wall ten feet high
separated them from their enemies, though there was no telling how
long that obstacle would intervene.  They had but a short distance to
go when they stopped beneath the shadow of a number of trees in the
corner of the compound.

The street along which they were passing when observed by the mob,
ran north and south.  Turning to the right, the fugitives sped a
short distance in an easterly direction, that being the course of the
wall up which they clambered.  They took to the shelter of the trees
near where they dropped to the ground, which was in the southeastern
corner.  From this point they had a fair view of the garden and home
of the wealthy native, upon whose property they were trespassers.

The house stood in the middle of the compound, which was surrounded
on all sides by a wall ten feet high, composed of sun dried bricks.
The roof of this house was sloped and thatched and had a long veranda
in front.  The high inclosing wall had but one entrance, which was
from the main street, that is, the one running north and south, from
which the fugitives turned off before taking refuge in the garden.
Their position, therefore, was close to the street, along which the
mob were hurrying in pursuit, though, as has been shown, the high
wall separated the parties.

The hope of the fugitives was that their enemies would continue up
the street without suspecting their refuge.  Would they do so?  A few
minutes must tell.

"I hardly expected to find such fine grounds in this part of the
city," whispered Avery, standing with the hand of Marian clasped in
his own, and using his eyes and ears for all they were worth.

"They are not many in number.  This must be the home of some nawab.
Baird, listen!  They are moving along the street just beyond this
wall to the back of us.  Hear them talking and cursing!"

"There is no doubt that they will search this garden, for the broken
wall will suggest the means by which we eluded them."

"They will not enter there, but by the regular entrance in front of
the house.  What do you think?  Is there any hope?"

Passing his strong arm around her waist, he drew her closer to him,
held her thus a moment, pressed his lips to hers and in a low,
loving, but firm voice said:

"Marian, I do not believe that we shall be alive fifteen minutes
longer."

"Baird, will you do me a favor--the last that I can ask?"

"I will refuse you nothing in my power to grant."

"When all hope of escape is gone, will you shoot me dead?"

"I will," was the instant response that escaped the white lips, "and
that reminds me," he added the next moment, "that one of my pistols
is unloaded."

And while they stood in the heavy shadow of a mango tree, he
deliberately recharged the five chambers of his revolver, as though
he was making ready to engage in a shooting match with a friend.

Meanwhile the rabble on the other side of the wall was increasing in
numbers every minute.  Some of the most significant of their
expressions were translated by Marian.

"Where did the sahib loge go?" asked one.

"They went along this road," replied another.

"They did not do so," said a third; "we ran faster than they, and we
should have seen them."

"Where then can they be?"

"They have fled into one of the bungalows; likely they are among the
trees of a garden; they may be close at hand."

"We will search this garden, but we may not do so without permission
of the nawab."

The last remark convinced the fugitives that they were standing in
the grounds of some native of note, else the mob would not have felt
any hesitation about searching them without asking permission.

A minute later two of the leaders approached the entrance of the
garden, and were met by the porter, who had noticed the turmoil
outside.  When the wish of the intruders was made known, the porter,
sensible of his duty to his master, refused point blank to allow any
of the party to enter the grounds.

He asserted that no one had taken refuge there, and intimated that
the request of the men before him was only a thin subterfuge by which
they hoped to gain plunder.

The leaders became angry, and replied that it would be impossible to
keep out the mob; it was best to give permission when a refusal would
only exasperate the impatient men to violence.

All this time the nawab was quietly smoking his hookah on the
veranda.  He left all such matters to his porter, but inasmuch as he
heard every word that passed, he saw that his personal attention was
needed.  Rising from his lounging chair, he walked slowly forward and
asked what was the matter,--as though he did not know anything about
the cause of dispute.

The two leaders, who were talking angrily with the porter, used few
words in making their business known.  The nawab was shrewd enough to
see that the easiest way out of the trouble was to compromise.

"I cannot have the crowd trampling through my grounds," said he,
removing his hookah from between his lips; "but I hate the Inglese
and will help kill all the Christians.  Select three of your men to
join you two, and do you make thorough search of all the grounds,
taking good care to injure nothing.  I will allow no one else to come
in.  You five can find the Inglese, if they are here, can you not?"

"We cannot fail," replied one of the men, both of whom were pleased
by the condescension of the nawab.  The mob on the outside were also
suited.  Many of them, believing the fugitives had taken refuge
elsewhere, moved down the street, those who remained scattering so as
to surround, as far as possible, the inclosing wall.  The moment the
fugitives should be driven from the grounds and attempt to scale the
high wall, these natives meant to be on hand to secure them.

The fugitives plainly heard every word spoken, and Marian translated
the whole conversation.  The two believed that the decision was
certain death, for it was utterly impossible for five fierce fanatics
to make such a search of the grounds as they were sure to do, without
finding those for whom they were looking.  Indeed it was hard to see
how they could fail to discover them during the first few minutes of
their search.

Avery and Marian were standing erect under a large mango, whose dense
shadow screened them from the sight for a distance of a rod or so,
but was of no use when their enemies should come within a few paces.

"I will wait right here," he said, in a low voice, "and fight until I
can fight no longer.  The last bullet from my revolver shall be
driven through your brain."

"Save the last for _yourself_," whispered Marian, "and give me the
last but one."

"No; I shall die fighting," was the response; "I want to carry as
many of them with me as I can, and unless some unexpected slip takes
place, I'll thin them out considerably."

Many a time during the sepoy mutiny was this done.  More than one
brave officer, when he saw the wretches swarming over the vainly
defended entrenchments, shot wife and daughter and then turned his
pistol upon himself.  It was a mercy to his loved ones that he did so.

The spokesman of the mob, having made known to them the decision of
the nawab, singled out his assistants by name, and the search began.



CHAPTER IX.

"THE INGLESE LOGE!"

A few minutes later, the latter, standing under the mango tree, saw
the dark figures fall apart and gradually draw near them.  One tall,
sinewy native, carrying a scimeter in his hand, as if led by fate
itself, came straight toward the large mango, walking slowly with his
serpent eyes darting keen glances in every direction.

Nearer and nearer he advanced, until within three paces, when he
stopped.  He had discovered the fugitives.

As he stood, the moonlight fell upon his bronzed countenance, and
Marian recognized him as Ali Khan, their Mohammedan servant, who had
left their house two days before to look after his sick wife.

"Ali," whispered Marian, "it is the Miss sahib, daughter of the
missionary.  Won't you save me?"

Dr. Avery believed the appeal useless, for the presence of this
servant among the murderers proved that he was in sympathy with them;
but, as is often the case, the impulse of the woman was superior to
the reason of the man.

The native recognized the speaker and raised his hand.

"_Chup!_" (Be silent) he whispered, turning away and moving in
another direction.

This proceeding brought him face to face with two other searchers,
who were groping under the adjoining trees, and Marian overheard the
words that passed:

"Have you found them?" asked Ali Khan.

"They are not near the house; they must be in another part of the
garden.

"I have looked under every tree," was the unblushing remark of Ali
Khan, "but they are not there."

"It is strange; let us make another search."

"I will help you," said Ali Khan, in an indifferent voice, "but it is
useless.  You, Buddao, pass close to the house once more, while
Ramchundra and I look to the rear."

This suggestion was adopted.  One of the men was sent to join his
comrades in another part of the grounds, quite remote from the
fugitives, while Ali Khan, the friendly servant, became one of the
two who set out to prowl through the very part of the garden where
the fugitives were hiding.

Ali Khan having proved his wish to befriend the Europeans, it now
became his delicate and difficult duty to prevent his companion from
detecting the deception.  He had a double motive for such a course,
for if Ramchundra should find the fugitives, it would be such proof
of the disloyalty of Ali Khan that the others would undoubtedly kill
him.

The friendly native stopped a dozen steps away, turned his back upon
the tree which sheltered the fugitives, and looked toward Ramchundra,
who was searching among the shrubbery, and gradually drawing near the
couple.  Unless he was diverted, he would discover them within the
next three minutes.

"We are losing time," said Ali.  "I believe now what some of our
people said."

"What was that?" asked Ramchundra, looking up in surprise.

"That they ran down the road to the left."

"I did not hear that said."

"Several said it, and many have gone that way to look for them; they
will find them while we are here."

"Likely they spoke truth," said Ramchundra, who, however, did not
show any disposition to give up the search; "but this is such an
inviting place that the Inglese would be sure to take advantage of
it, if they had the chance."

"But how could they get the chance?  They could only come in by the
entrance where the porter would have seen them."

Ramchundra looked at the ruins of the low, flat roofed building in
the corner of the compound.  He had not noticed the broken wall over
which the fugitives passed, but he seemed to suspect they had some
way of entering the garden at that point.

Poking the stick in his hand among the shrubbery, Ramchundra resumed
his search, gradually drawing near Dr. Avery, who stood grimly
watching him revolver in hand.  Ali Khan had edged over toward the
mango, so that he stood between his companion and the fugitives.

Suddenly Ramchundra stopped poking with his stick, straightened up,
and started toward Ali.  The latter had his eye on him, and at once
advanced so as to meet him, thus checking his approach a moment
before it would be fatal.

"Have you searched behind you?" asked Ramchundra, peering around and
over the shoulder of Ali.

"I have done so twice," was the reply,--an admission that sealed
Ali's doom, if the fugitives were discovered.

"Then 'tis useless to look further."

At that moment the two stood so close that Dr. Avery feared he would
betray himself by the tumultuous throbbing of his heart.  He was
still erect, with his back against the trunk of the mango, his pistol
in his right hand, the muzzle pointed downward.  Marian was partly
behind him, with her tiny pistol ready for use, and the resolve to
save one bullet for herself, in case the nerve of Baird should fail,
when the crisis came.  Neither dared whisper or move, for a strange
hush brooded over the scene.

The clamorous mob in the road outside were impatient.  Most of them
moved away, while the rest were awaiting the verdict of their five
representatives appointed to search the grounds.

At this juncture, when it looked as if the cunning of Ali Khan must
prevail, a strange perversity took possession of his companion.
Though Ramchundra had just remarked that it was useless to search
further, he was determined to do so.  He used his stick with much
vigor, until all at once he met with a success for which he was not
looking.

Underneath one of the bushes was coiled a deadly serpent, which with
a slight hiss made a dart at the hand of the native, its fangs
missing by a hair's breath.  Ramchundra, with a quick flirt of the
stick, decapitated it as neatly as Ali could have done with his
scimeter.

Ramchundra seemed satisfied to go no further.  Bloodthirsty as he
was, he could not hope to succeed, where his equally revengeful
companion (as he believed him to be) had failed, so at last he ceased
his efforts.  Side by side with Ali Khan, he sauntered toward the
house.

If the other natives should take it into their heads to examine the
lower part of the grounds, nothing could save the fugitives from
discovery.

All at once Avery saw two strange figures walking directly toward him.

"It's all up now," he thought, knowing they were two of the
ringleaders of the mob.  "Ali does not see them; he imagines he has
turned aside all danger, but he has failed----"

"_The Inglese loge!  The Inglese loge!_  We have seen them!"

This was the fearful exclamation that suddenly rang out on the air,
and that crushed the last faint hope in the hearts of Baird Avery and
Marian Hildreth.



CHAPTER X.

ALI KHAN.

But Dr. Avery underestimated the cunning of Ali Khan.

While the fugitives stood motionless beneath the spreading mango, the
fearful cry fell upon their ears.  Then it was that neither was able
to move or speak and life stood still.

But the cry was uttered to save them.  It was shouted by Ali, who
heard the voices and descried the approaching forms.  He saw the new
peril as quickly as did the fugitives themselves, and, like a flash,
he seized the single desperate means of saving them.

The cry of Ali, who was near the house, immediately brought the
others, including the porter, around him, the two who had approached
close to the fugitives instantly turning and running at full speed.

"I saw them!  I saw them!" explained Ali, walking rapidly and in
great excitement toward the entrance, and looking back over his
shoulder, as if inviting the others to do the same; "the porter left
his place to help in the search: while he was gone I saw the Inglese
loge dart out of the entrance; they cannot be far away; let us hasten
and we shall have them yet!"

The impetuosity of a man at such a time carries everything before it.
A number of the mob were still lingering in the road outside, and,
though none of them had seen the Inglese they all joined in the mad
pursuit of a couple of imaginary fugitives.

Indeed the rush from the nawab's premises was so headlong that that
worthy was exasperated.  Two of the natives, as they converged toward
the entrance, crashed through his choicest pineapples, plantains,
pomegranates, guavas, oranges, lemons, limes, figs, dates, citrons,
brinjalls, nollcolls, jasmines and roses with an enthusiasm that
played sad havoc with them.

"Tum burra budmash ho!  Jalde jao!" he shouted, running after them
and savagely swinging his arms.

That these two scamps were impelled by pure malice was proven by
their act in running against the nawab with such violence that he was
knocked almost breathless to the ground.  By the time the porter had
helped him fa his feet, the marauders were out of sight.

"Thank heaven!" muttered Dr. Avery; "they are gone, and we have
escaped by the narrowest chance that ever saved mortal from death----"

At that moment, the head of Marian drooped and he caught her as she
sank to the ground.  The reaction from the fearful tension caused her
to swoon.  Her escort let her gently down and rested her head against
the tree, while he picked up the pistol that had fallen from her hand
and hastily shoved it into his pocket.

The nawab, having recovered from his overthrow, had started through
his garden to learn the extent of the damages done by his unwelcome
visitors.  He was of the belief that if two could inflict so much
damage under his own eyes, the other three had not been much behind
them.

He had not gone far when he checked himself with a "Wah! wah!"
expressive of his amazement at sight of the two fugitives under one
of his own mango trees.

Dr. Avery had been so occupied with looking after Marian that he did
not observe the native's approach, until he heard his ejaculation.
Leaning the head of his sweetheart against the trunk of the tree, he
sprang toward the nawab and thrust the muzzle of his pistol into his
face.

"One word and you're a dead scoundrel!"

The Mohammedan may not have caught every shade of meaning in these
words, but the gestures and movements made them sufficiently clear
for all practical purposes.

Like all of his people, he was a craven when cornered, and he began
begging in the most abject manner for mercy.  His actions were so
pitiful that Dr. Avery easily understood his prayer was that no
violence should be done him.

The faint of Marian was not serious.  She quickly revived, and now
hastened to the side of her escort.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"He is the owner of the grounds, I suppose, and he has done what the
others could not do,--he has found us."

"But he has no thought of harming us; he is begging for his life."

"So I supposed, but I see no reason for granting it."

"O Baird, do not be so cruel!  He has done us no harm; wait till I
speak to him."

Thereupon she addressed him in Hindustani:

"We are fleeing from an angry crowd; we wish you no harm; we want
only our own safety."

"What fools," exclaimed the nawab; "they should all be hanged!  They
have ruined my grounds, and now they seek the lives of the English.
I am their enemy and your friend."

"Will you give us shelter from them?"

"Gladly; my house and all that I have are at your disposal.  Stay
with me until their madness is over; they will soon be punished."

Several causes led the young lady to do that from which, under other
circumstances, she would have recoiled.  She was so broken by the
terrifying experiences of the last hour, and so impressed by the
unexpected loyalty of Ali Khan, that she believed the declaration of
the nawab.

"We have friends as well as enemies," said she, turning to her
escort.  "We found one a few minutes ago, and here is another."

"What are your grounds for suspecting that he is honest?" asked the
surgeon, who placed little faith in the native.

"He insists that he is a friend to us; he is angry with the people
who have trampled his shrubbery.  He wants to punish them, and he
asks us to take shelter with him until the trouble is over."

"I would trust him just as far as I would trust the devil and no
farther, but you are faint, and it is safe to avail ourselves of his
offer for a few minutes."



CHAPTER XI.

THE CASHMERE GATE.

Marian turned to the nawab, and told him they accepted his
hospitality with much gratitude.  He seemed delighted, and led the
way to the veranda, where he insisted that they should seat
themselves on the cane settees and chairs of native manufacture The
porter approached and made a respectful salaam, though he must have
been filled with wonder to see the two Inglese before him.  Like his
master, he would have been eager to betray them into the power of
their enemies, had he suspected their presence in the garden.  He and
his master must have wondered how it was the couple escaped discovery.

Addressing Marian, the nawab asked,

"Ap ko kuchh khana chaiye?" (Do you desire any food?)

She declined with thanks, saying that they only wanted rest and
shelter.

"Stay under my roof, Miss sahib, as long as my poor hospitality can
be endured," urged the nawab, with the effusiveness characteristic of
his people.

The native, having recovered from his excessive fear, lit his hookah,
offering none, however, to his infidel guest.  He smoked a few
minutes in silence, and then, addressing himself to Marian, asked her
to be kind enough to tell how it was she and her escort were in such
danger from the wicked mob.  The young lady told the story in a few
sentences.

When she had finished, their host, in his soft, pleasant voice, said
that he had learned of the revolt at Meerut, and his heart was deeply
pained.  He saw that much sorrow and suffering must come, but he knew
that in the end the English would subdue the rebels, who would be
made to suffer for their evil deeds.

"Nor will the English fail to reward their friends," was the
diplomatic observation of the young lady; "our government is as quick
to recognize a friend as to punish a foe."

"That I have always known; therefore, come what may, I shall be true
to the English."

The nawab, having delivered himself of this fine sentiment, summoned
one of the two servants who were standing in the further corner of
the veranda, where until then they had shown no more life than a
couple of stone images.  As the man stepped promptly forward, his
master said a few words in such a low voice, that the listening
Marian could not catch a syllable.  She afterward believed that she
did hear what was said, but it was in some dialect unintelligible to
her.  She thought nothing of it, however, and the servant entered the
house in his stealthy, gliding fashion.

Having translated for Dr. Avery what had passed between her and the
nawab, Marian turned toward him again, as if inviting him to continue
the conversation.

"Where is the home of Miss sahib, who honors me with her presence?"
asked the native, after taking two or three strong puffs at his
hookah, which had been neglected for a few minutes.

She gave him the address, and he nodded his head.

"I know the good man--I know Mr. Jennings also.  He is a missionary.
I do not believe in your faith, but I am none the less your friend.
A true follower of the Prophet is the enemy of no man."

These sentiments were so unusual and so inappropriate, as may be
said, for a Mohammedan, that the young lady was puzzled.  She could
not but doubt the sincerity of a Mussulman who talked that way.

Since Dr. Avery found his ears of little account while this
conversation was going on, he made good use of his eyes.  Marian was
talking with some animation, when through the tattie that had been
pulled aside he discerned the crouching figure of a man stealing
toward the entrance of the compound.  He came around the corner of
the house, and was evidently trying to reach the street without being
seen.

The truth flashed upon the surgeon.

"That is the servant the nawab called to him and gave some order in a
low voice; that order was that he should slip out of the garden and
make known to the leaders of the mob that the infidels for whom they
are searching are here in his house, and he will keep them until they
come back and kill them."

"Marian," said he, suppressing all evidence of excitement, "if we do
not leave at once, we are lost.  The precious scoundrel has sent out
his servant to notify the mob that we are here.  Make the best excuse
we can; let us go."

He rose to his feet, and Marian, instantly grasping the situation,
thanked their host for his kindness, adding as an excuse for their
abrupt departure that her parents would be alarmed by her long
absence.

"Will not the sahib honor our home with his presence?" asked the
nawab, who could not conceal his chagrin.

"Tell him," growled Avery, "that nothing would give me more pleasure
than to fill his carcass with lead."

Under the pretense of translating this savage remark, the young lady
repeated her thanks.  Then, Marian taking the arm of her escort, the
two waved their host a respectful farewell and hurried into the
street.

For several minutes they did not speak, but, walking rapidly, took
advantage of every turn that presented itself.  Dr. Avery was sure
they were watched, and not until convinced they were safely beyond
all surveillance did he speak.

"Do you know where we are?"

"I have a general knowledge of the direction," she said.  "If we keep
on, we shall soon reach the Cashmere Gate; but we are now approaching
a part of the city where we shall meet many people.  To avoid
attention I must walk behind you, according to the custom in this
part of the world."

"Your head is level," was the admiring comment of Dr. Avery, whose
spirits began to rebound from their extreme depression; "but since I
don't know anything about this town, you will have to guide me.  When
you want me to turn to the right call out '_Haw!_' and when I am to
go the other way, sing out '_Gee_.'  If I travel too fast shout
'_Whoa!_' and if I go too slow touch me up with anything you can lay
hands on."

It need not be said that these heroic measures did not become
necessary.  Avery sauntered along in a natural manner.  Whenever in
doubt about the right course to take, he glanced behind him, and his
fair guide had no difficulty in giving him the cue.

Before long, the massive city wall loomed up before them.  The huge
Cashmere Gate was open as usual, and crowds of people were coming in
through it as well as through the Calcutta Gate and other openings,
while only a few passed out.  The first arrival of mutineers from
Meerut was by way of the River Gate, the news of their coming
reaching the cantonments about the middle of the forenoon.

Dr. Avery was making his way with care and a little trepidation
through the crowd when some one touched his arm.  Turning about, he
was delighted to see that it was Luchman.

"Were you alarmed by our delay?" asked the surgeon.

"Follow me," said the native, without deigning a reply.

He conducted them in the direction of the cantonments, where General
Graves's soldiers were posted, from which Avery judged that he had
decided to trust to their protection.

Before going far, they came upon the missionary and his wife, who
were in an agony of fear because of the prolonged absence of their
daughter.  Their joy was that of those whose beloved was dead and is
alive again.

"We shall take refuge in the Flagstaff Tower," said Luchman; "the
Ghoojurs are swarming into the city."

The Ghoojurs are a numerous people in the villages around Delhi, and
belong to the nomadic tribes which originally occupied India.  They
profess agriculture, but are brigands and murderers.



CHAPTER XII.

PROCLAMATION OF THE MOGUL EMPIRE.

On the forenoon of Monday, May 11, 1857, the horde of mutineers,
fresh from the massacres of the evening before at Meerut, were
discerned by the crowds that were swarming on the walls and outlooks
of Delhi.

The great city at this time was garrisoned entirely by native troops,
consisting of the Thirty Eighth, Fifty Fourth and Seventy Fourth
Regiments of infantry, and a battery of artillery.  The arsenal
within the city contained nearly a million cartridges, ten million
muskets, two complete siege trains and a great many field guns.  The
powder magazine, removed a short time before at the request of the
inhabitants, was filled with ten thousand barrels of powder.

The mutineers crossed the suspension bridge over the Hindun torrent,
a dozen miles out, and came turbulently toward Delhi, confident of a
royal reception from the sepoys stationed there.

When the rebels were observed in the distance, the three native
regiments mentioned were paraded in service order--the guns loaded,
and Brigadier General Graves, having shown no more conception of the
situation than a child, now proceeded to make the sepoys a speech,
appealing to them to remain faithful to their colors and to do all
they could to repel the mutineers, whose yells fell upon their ears
at that moment.

This speech was received with cheers, and the Fifty Fourth especially
were furious in their denunciations of the rebels, and they demanded
the privilege of being led against them.  General Graves and poor
Colonel Ripley, commandant of the regiment, were touched almost to
tears by the devotion of the Fifty Fourth.  The latter officer
immediately placed himself at the head of the regiment, and, leaving
Major Patterson, the second in command, to follow with two guns,
started in the direction of the Cashmere Gate, where it was reported
the mutineers were gathering.

The Fifty Fourth moved with the swinging, even step of veterans, and
Colonel Ripley's eye kindled as he looked upon the fine figures, who
he was confident would stand by him against all machinations and in
the face of every danger.

The approaching mutineers from Meerut were now in full view.  They
were a tumultuous horde, at whose head rode two hundred and fifty
troopers of the Third Cavalry, the most fiendish of the Meerut
butchers.  On the breasts of many of them were medals gained in
fighting the battles of England.  Their horses were on the gallop,
and they swung their swords on high and shouted greeting to the
native regiments, drawn up with loaded muskets, awaiting the order to
fire upon them.

A short distance behind them were to be seen twelve hundred infantry,
all in uniform, though covered with dust, the whole savage horde on a
run in their eagerness to reach the gilded minarets of Delhi.  Their
muskets flashed in the sun, and the crowds who were watching their
approach knew only too well what it all signified.

Upon this frightful host the Fifty Fourth Regiment, under the
leadership of Colonel Ripley, steadily moved, until but a short
distance separated them.  All at once the regiment, without orders,
halted.

A number of the mutineers were among the soldiers, calling upon them
in the name of the faith to join them.

Within less than five minutes from the time this appeal was made, the
Fifty Fourth mutinied in a body and withdrew from their officers, who
were thus left standing in the middle of the road.  Immediately a
squad of the cavalry dashed forward and attacked them.  Colonel
Ripley shot a couple dead with his pistol and then was cut down.
None of the other officers had any weapons beside his side arms, and
all were killed without the power to offer resistance.  The
treacherous Fifty Fourth made a pretense of protecting their
officers, but fired over the heads of the cavalry, who, having
finished their work, sprang from their horses, and affiliated with
them.

The mutineers by this time were joined by many stragglers from the
other two regiments in cantonment, and the wild horde made a rush for
the Cashmere Gate, through which they poured into the city, cutting
down all Europeans that were seen.

Meanwhile another portion of the Meerut rebels had crossed the Jumna
and taken possession of the causeway on the Delhi side of the river,
close to the Calcutta Gate, which was closed against them.  Simon
Fraser, Commissioner at the Court of Delhi, learning of their
arrival, started and reached the palace, but was shot down, while the
sepoys on guard threw open the gate and admitted the mutineers.

The sepoys, reinforced by the Ghoojurs, were now rushing into the
city from every direction, and the reign of pandemonium began.
Plunder, outrage, massacre and death were on every hand.

On that lurid 11th of May, 1857, while the sepoys were swarming into
the doomed city, another party ran to the river gate of the emperor's
palace, where they opened communication with the adherents of the
potentate.  After a brief parley he gave orders to admit the troopers.

Hurrying into the audience chamber, they declared that the whole of
Hindostan had risen in rebellion and cast off the English yoke; that
Calcutta and other leading cities were already in the possession of
the native troops, and that it only remained for his Imperial Majesty
to unfurl the sacred banner of the Prophet, when the millions of
India would rally beneath it and the Mogul Empire, in all its ancient
glory, should be re-established to last as long as the sun and stars.

The Emperor of Delhi at that time was four score years of age, wan
and thin to emaciation, with a snow white beard, scant hair, lack
luster eyes and a frame enfeebled by a lifetime of indolence and
indulgence.  It would have been thought that within such an aged
bosom the fires of ambition had long since died out, and that all he
could have desired was peace, rest, and a quiet death.

But the blood tingled in his languid frame, his feeble heart
quickened its throbbings, and the flame was kindled anew in the dim
eye, as he saw the picture thus held aloft before him.

The Mogul Empire restored!

Back through the dim vista of the centuries to the Moslem invasion,
nearly a thousand years before, to that year, 1205, when Cootub, the
Afghan conqueror, made Delhi the capital, to 1525, when Baber slew
the last Afghan monarch and established the line of Mogul princes, to
the consolidation of the empire and its culmination under Aurungzebe;
then down the slow but steady dry rot, until the English came a
century before and established themselves masters of the mighty
empire.

Thoughts of those stupendous epochs and the dream of restoring the
splendor, the barbaric pomp, the magnificence and glory of the Mogul
Empire, must have stirred the sluggish blood of the wan old puppet
until, rapt by the dazzling vision, he consented.

A throne of silver, that had been laid away since the year 1843, was
brought into the "hall of special audience," and Mohammed
Suraj-oodeen Shah Gezee took his seat upon it as the Great Mogul of
India.

Two troops of artillery from Meerut entered the city by the Calcutta
Gate and fired a royal salute of twenty one guns in front of the
palace.  Instantly the multitude became frantic in their exultation,
for they felt that now they had a head, a rallying point for the
faithful of India, and the days of English rule were numbered.

The ceremony within the palace being ended, the royal procession was
formed.  Amid the booming of artillery, the blare and clangor of
martial music and the shouts of the fanatics, the gates of the palace
were thrown open, and Prince Mirza Mogul, one of the sons appointed
to the command of the royal army, rode forth, followed by his
brother, Prince Abu Beker, at the head of the royal body guard.

Surrounded by the latter, came the king in an open chariot, his great
age and feebleness preventing him from riding on horseback or upon an
elephant.

Thus attended, he was slowly driven through the principal street, the
swarming throngs becoming more frenzied every hour, until the Juma
Musjeed was reached.  This is the largest mosque in India, and
surpassed only by Mecca and St. Sophia.

And here took place that strange, impressive ceremony, which
consisted of the unfurling of the banner of the Prophet, and the
proclamation of the Mogul Empire.

The commands of his majesty were promulgated to the effect that the
shop keepers and inhabitants should resume their vocations, after
which he slowly returned to the palace.

Thus amid fire, pillage, and blood, the Mogul Empire was proclaimed.

How long was it to last?



CHAPTER XIII.

A MODEL COMMUNE.

Other scenes accompanied the proclamation of the Mogul Empire.
Hardly was the barbaric ceremony completed when the fanatics rushed
through the streets and the plundering and massacre began.

While the missionary, Mr. Hildreth, and his friends kept close watch
within their home through the entire day, they knew of the wild
excitement in other parts of the city, but they had no suspicion of
the proclamation of the Mogul Empire.  Luchman knew all about it, but
he kept the tidings to himself, through his wish to avoid causing his
friends too much alarm.

Luchman was in hourly expectation of an assault by the mob, and his
anxiety was none the less terrible because he repressed all signs of
it.  Why the home of the missionary was not attacked can hardly be
explained.  The native as well as the good man himself attributed it
to fervent prayer, but there were others who prayed just as
fervently, and they were cut down like lambs at the slaughter.

It was not until the fugitives reached the Cashmere Gate on Monday
evening that they learned of the proclamation of the Mogul Empire,
and the fact that plunder and massacre had been going on ever since
midday.

The first person killed in Delhi was a Mr. Todd.  He was shot while
standing on the bridge of boats over the Jumna, by the first
mutineers that arrived from Meerut.  The second victim was Captain
Douglas, commandant of the guard of the titular King.  The next
persons slain were the Reverend Mr. Jennings, the English chaplain of
the residency, and his daughter, a lady of nineteen.  They and some
others applied to the Emperor for protection, and he gave them to the
soldiers.

Meanwhile the Ghoojurs, the hyenas of East Indian society, were
swarming into the city.  Nearly every house in which a European was
known to have lived was gutted: the purpose of the soldiers was
massacre,--that of the rabble, plunder.  The budmashes and rioters
broke into the dwellings of the wealthy natives and the public
stables.  Scores of shopkeepers in the bazars were killed for the
crime of asking payment for their goods.

Suddenly one of the infuriate mobs made for the Delhi Bank, in quest
of the treasure deposited there.  The throats of Mr. Beresford, the
manager, his wife, and five children, were cut.  The government
treasuries were then plundered, the church burned, and the rioters
attacked the office of the _Delhi Gazette_.  When the compositors saw
them coming they hastily disguised themselves as natives and mingled
with the crowd.  They were recognized, however, and hewn in pieces.
The presses of the paper were thrown into the river, and the type
melted into slugs.

A fearful fate awaited every European who stayed in Delhi.  Men,
women and children, to the number of several hundred, fell victims to
the ferocity of a mob whose fiendishness has never been equaled
except by Geronimo and his brother chiefs and Apache braves, or a
Paris commune.  Delhi was a fitting precursor of the Cawnpore and
Lucknow atrocities.

Sir Theophilus Metcalf, the political agent, and Lieutenant
Willoughby gave their attention to the magazine, which, as has been
stated, contained an enormous amount of ammunition and military
stores.  The gates were closed and barricaded, two six pounders,
double charged with grape, were pointed so as to command the gates in
case they should be carried, while other guns, also double charged,
covered the different portions of the magazine.  A train was then
laid connecting with the interior, arms were distributed to the
native servants of the establishment, and the garrison, consisting of
nine Europeans, calmly awaited the attack that was sure to come.

By and by the palace guard rushed up and demanded the surrender of
the magazine, in the name of the Emperor.  No answer was given, and
ladders were brought from the palace for the purpose of taking the
arsenal by escalade.

The mutineers swarmed upon the walls like bees, and the garrison
tumbled them off as fast as they could load and fire.  During the
confusion, the native servants of the magazine and ordnance
departments scrambled to the sheds and buildings against the outer
wall, and, hurrying down the ladder, affiliated with their fierce
countrymen.

Charge after charge of grape was fired among the wretches, and the
rifles of the brave garrison cracked without intermission; but the
sepoys numbered thousands, and no diminution of the horde was
noticeable.  They too kept up an unremitting fusillade, dancing and
darting hither and thither, so overrunning with wild fury that they
could not keep still.  Without the least chance of accomplishing
anything, hundreds fired their guns against the solid walls: such was
their fanatical venom that they could not help it.

After a time two of the garrison were wounded, and only seven were
left to fight the raging host.

From one of the bastions, the eye could trace a long reach of road in
the direction of Delhi.  Here Willoughby stationed himself, while
Conductor Scully stood with lighted portfire, and his eye fixed on
his commander, waiting for the signal to fire the magazine.

Shading his eyes with his hand, the lieutenant gazed long and
earnestly in the direction of Meerut.  Across the flaming plain, the
keen vision searched for that which it could not see.

Ah, what means that dust?  Is it not made by the hoofs of the cavalry
galloping in mad haste to the rescue of the garrison, which can hold
out but a few minutes longer?  No; the faint puff of dust is wafted
aside like a feather, and there is nothing beneath.

Meanwhile Scully grows impatient.  He knows that when the magazine is
fired it will hurl hundreds of the sepoys into eternity.  They are
swarming so fast that the opportunity is a glorious one.

"Isn't it time?" he calls out to the lieutenant, who glances toward
him and shakes his head.

No hope, but the officer peers off over the buildings, along the
parched road, over which if the help comes at all it must come
quickly.  He knows from the infernal tumult without that the sepoys
will be inside the defenses within the next ten minutes.  Even if the
cavalry should now dash into sight they cannot reach the garrison in
time to save them.

"Time yet, lieutenant?" asks Scully again.

"Yes; touch her off!" replies the officer, raising his hat above his
head: this is the signal agreed upon for firing the magazine.
Conductor Scully stoops over and touches the flame to the powder.
The serpent of fire hisses straight into the heart of the magazine,
and it seems as if a volcano has burst through the crust of the
earth.  The ground sways, as did that beneath Charleston, and an
immense volume of fire and vapor, as if belched from Vesuvius, rolls
upward and settles in a black cloud above the city.

Following the awful explosion was a din of yells, shrieks,
execrations and cries of agony.  When the great magazine of Delhi
went up in flame and smoke, it mangled and killed more than half a
thousand sepoys.  Lieutenant Willoughby and two companions, scorched,
wounded and buried in the ruins, smiled with satisfaction when they
realized what a magnificent success the gigantic fireworks had proven
to be.

These three men actually succeeded in crawling from the ruins at
night and stole through the sally port on the river face.  Willoughby
was afterward killed in a village near Delhi.  Two of the men,
Forrest and Buckley, lived to tell of their marvelous escape, but
Scully, who fired the train, was blown to fragments with the hundreds
of sepoys by the terrific outburst.

When the tempest broke over Delhi, General Graves did what he could
for the safety of the Europeans within the city and the vicinity.  It
was decided that the ladies and persons of civil employment should go
to the Flagstaff Tower.  This was a strong building of circular
shape, standing on an elevation near the cantonment, and only a short
distance from the Cashmere and Moree Gates.

At this station was General Graves himself, the eminence affording
him a good view of the movements of the mutineers in the city.  With
him were detachments of the Thirty Eighth and Seventy Fourth
Regiments.  His situation was trying.

Of the three regiments stationed at Delhi, every member of one--the
Fifty Fourth, which went out to fight the mutineers--had joined them
and was now engaged in helping to plunder the city.  Members of the
other two regiments were also there, and the rest were eager to be
with them.

When the thunder of the exploding magazine shook the ground, and the
sulphurous cloud rose above the city, the sepoys at the Flagstaff
Tower became irrestrainable.  Catching up their arms with shouts of
"Deen! deen!" (the faith! the faith!) they seized two guns and
pointed them against the tower.  Providentially they yielded to
persuasion and gave up the pieces, but by this time it was clear that
there was not a safe spot in all Delhi for a European.

The sagacious Luchman saw he had made a grave error.  He had thought
that the sepoys at the Flagstaff, where they were under the immediate
eye of the general, would for a time at least remain loyal.  But the
whirlwind of revolt swept everything before it.

"It would have been better had we started back into the country at
once," said Dr. Avery, while discussing the situation with his
friends in the Flagstaff Tower.

"It would have made little difference," replied the missionary, "for
we should have encountered the Ghoojurs, who are flocking hither from
every direction."

"But Luchman is so well acquainted with the country that he would
have steered clear of the robbers."

Avery looked at the native for his opinion.  He seemed pleased by the
compliment and nodded his head, but said nothing.

"If these sepoys could only be depended upon, we might stay here and
bid defiance to the whole horde of mutineers," said Mr. Hildreth,
looking gloomily off in the direction of the city, from which the
smoke was rising and whence came a din like that of the infernal
regions.

"They can be depended upon, sahib," said Luchman, with a scowl, "for
being thieves and murderers, who will not spare the infant in its
mother's arms."

All noticed the eclipse which darkened the face of the native, and
their old fear returned.  Would Luchman himself withstand the swirl
of fanaticism that had turned men into devils?

It is a terrifying situation for the traveler to distrust the bridge
when he is half way over the rushing torrent; for a mariner to doubt
the seaworthiness of his vessel, when the monsoon is marshaling its
forces; for the patient, when hovering between life and death, to
know that his physician is incompetent; but similar to this was the
feeling that came to the missionary and his friends when they saw the
forbidding scowl on the face of Luchman.

Though a professing Christian, could he conquer the impulses that
were tugging like wild horses at his heart strings?  Would not the
memories of the two score years during which he was the strictest of
Brahmins, now assert themselves with resistless strength?

The missionary shuddered as he scrutinized that forbidding face,
whose owner was staring off over Delhi, as if he longed to be there
with his brother rioters.

"God keep him faithful, but I fear the worst."



CHAPTER XIV.

TOWARD KURNAL.

The evening was well advanced, when General Graves approached the
group.

"It is all over," he said with a sigh and shake of the head.

Luchman continued gazing toward Delhi.  He glanced at the officer,
but said nothing.  Evidently he felt little respect for the leader
who had shown such inefficiency, and therefore did not deign to
notice his remark.

Dr. Avery, now that all military rule was at an end, was tempted to
reproach the general for his blindness to the peril until it was too
late, but he checked such feeling, conscious of the cruelty of giving
it expression.

"What do you mean, general, by its being all over?"

"I doubt whether there is a living European in Delhi at this moment;
or if there is, he will not escape an hour longer."

"But what about the sepoys around you?"

"They are on the verge of revolt."

"And are we left alone?" asked Marian with a gasp of dismay.

"It amounts to that, since even if those that are left should stand
by us, they cannot resist the force that will soon attack them.  They
have opened the jails and turned the convicts loose.  The Mussulmans
are hunting everywhere for victims; and, friends," added the
commandant with great impressiveness, "it becomes my duty to say that
I have no longer any power to help you.  Each one must look out for
himself."

These were dreadful words coming from the head of the soldiery, but
the little group had felt their truth before.

Luchman stood a minute longer in silence, and then wheeling abruptly
said:

"Sahib, let us go!"

The heart of the missionary was lead.  His distrust of the native
came with overpowering force, and he was almost certain he meant to
betray them into the hands of their enemies.

Dr. Avery stepped beside the good man and whispered:

"Don't let him see that you distrust him!  We will go with him; at
the first sign of treachery I will put a bullet through his skull."

Mr. Hildreth felt the wisdom of the suggestion, and acted upon it at
once.  Calling his wife to him, he said:

"Follow close behind me; we must make a start.  Marian will follow
the doctor.  Luchman, we are ready.  Under Heaven everything now
depends upon you; lead the way."

The younger man was more distrustful of Luchman than was the elder.
He had studied him closely, and he believed his sympathies were with
the wretches of the torch and knife.

Furthermore, the doctor was confirmed in his suspicion by the course
of Luchman respecting the wonderful diamond, the Star of India.  When
he showed it to him near Lucknow he declared that it was a present
for Miss Hildreth, but the latter was in ignorance of such purpose,
as her lover learned from several guarded questions during his first
night in Delhi.

True, it might be that Luchman thought it best under the
circumstances to wait until they were free from the peril by which
they were environed; but, admitting such to be the case, the query
naturally presented itself as to why he had given no intimation of
his intention to the young lady.

The only answer that Dr. Avery could form was that he had changed his
mind.  Such a recantation must signify a withdrawal of his loyalty to
the missionary and his family.  Actuated by friendship, he had still
clung to them, in a measure, but where one wavers in such a
situation, it may be certain he will soon become the bitterest enemy.
In fact, all that Luchman was doing, and all that he had proposed to
do, the surgeon set down as part of a plan to deliver the whole party
over to the mutineers.

Yet there was a possibility of mistake, and so Avery determined to
affect a belief in him, but at the first manifestation of treachery
he would shoot the native as if he were a cobra drawn back to strike.

Where there was such panic the means of conveyance like horses and
carriages was altogether inadequate to the demand.  Many of the
native servants had stolen those belonging to their masters, and none
was to be obtained elsewhere.

"Whither shall we go?" asked Dr. Avery of Luchman, when they were
fairly out of the tower and on the road.

"To Kurnal," was the answer.

"Where is that?" asked the young man, and the missionary took upon
himself to answer.

"It is a small town lying directly north, and distant some sixty or
seventy miles."

"Why is it safer to go that way than the other?"

"For manifest reasons; we are nearly a thousand miles from Calcutta,
the most accessible large city where we would be safe, and between us
and that point is the hot bed of revolt.  It is death for us to
venture to the east or south; the true course is to the north, away
from the centers of the mutiny."

"Do we approach Meerut?"

"No, sahib; we go to the left, and are likely to escape if we succeed
in reaching Kurnal."

If Luchman really intended to do his best to conduct the fugitives to
that point it was good evidence that he still meant them well.

Musketry firing was heard all around them, and the fugitives were
kept in continual fear that some of the guns were aimed at them.  It
was unsafe to approach the bridge over the Jumna River, and Luchman
made a circuit, which brought him to the stream fully a quarter of a
mile to the south--a fortunate movement, as it took them pretty well
out of the way of the swarming rabble and fugitives.

The river was quite low, so that little difficulty would have been
met in fording (the men carrying the ladies), but Luchman was lucky
enough to come upon a small boat, by means of which he took all over
dry shod.

Being now fairly outside the city and with the Jumna rolling between
it and them, our friends felt there was hope of escaping the fate of
so many of their countrymen.  The road leading to Meerut and to
Kurnal was crowded with wretched fugitives, and the distant reports
of guns and the shouts of the sepoys showed that plunder and massacre
were going on in every direction.  Many of the sepoys and the
marauding Ghoojurs were at work on the highway as well as in the city.

Luchman explained his plan: he meant to bear off to the left, taking
less frequented roads and paths, journeying mostly by night and
hiding by day.  He knew the country well--an advantage whose
importance was beyond estimate, and he did not hesitate to say that
if his instructions were followed there was a fair chance of success.

Appreciating the value of every hour, they pushed on while the
darkness lasted.  In the confusion and gloom there was little to be
feared, for they were not likely to be taken for foreigners.  Without
interruption they reached a point some three miles from the Jumna,
where Luchman made another turn to the left, effecting quite a
detour, which led them into a path used by pedestrians and horsemen,
but without traces of carts or carriages.

No persons were seen, and no doubt Luchman's move was a wise one.
There was cultivated land at intervals, and then they passed through
dense groves very tempting in the way of hiding places, for they were
in continual dread of meeting enemies.

Impelled by their alarm, they pushed forward after daylight, until
the increasing heat compelled them to stop.  Then, pretty well worn
out, they halted near a small stream, where the dense wood hid them
from view of any passers by.  No one cared about food, though their
strength had been taxed to the utmost.  The men took turns in
watching and sleeping, so that when the sun was low in the sky they
were in fair form to continue their flight.

Luchman was walking a short distance in advance, every one silent and
alert, when the guide, whose action was much like that of an American
Indian, stood motionless a moment, then stepped softly forward,
craned his neck and lifted his hand, as a signal for those behind him
to stand still.

They instantly obeyed, wondering what it all meant, when Luchman
suddenly whirled aid ran toward them.

"The Ghoojurs!  The Ghoojurs!" he exclaimed; "make ready for a fight!"



CHAPTER XV.

THE STAR OF INDIA.

"Back with you into the grove!" added the guide, showing more
excitement than at any time since leaving Delhi.

His first command was for the fugitives to make ready to fight, and
Dr. Avery and the missionary drew their revolvers and placed
themselves in front of the ladies.

Now when he changed his order, they were equally quick to obey, their
promptness increased by the sound of the hoofs of galloping horses.

"Quick!" repeated the missionary to his wife and daughter, shoving
them before him into the deep shade among the trees, while Avery came
last, the native remaining in the path to confront the Ghoojurs.

The latter came in sight an instant later.  They were Thug-like
looking wretches, whom any man would dread to meet on a lonely road.
There were six, all well mounted on small tough ponies, and armed
with knives, pistols and guns, two of the latter being in plain view.

Their costume was as varied as their arms.  One or two wore muslin
coats, while others had only the waist cloth, being bare from their
waists up.  Their turbans were of different colors and shapes, from
the gorgeous pile of muslin which decorated the head of the leader to
a few yards of dirty rag that wound around the brow and crown of the
poorest.  One or two wore wooden shoes, with the soles curved and
pointed upward in front.  Some of the steeds were without saddles,
and all the riders had jet black hair and eyes, savage mustaches, and
scanty beards.

Luchman would have been glad had they gone by without stopping, for
he knew their villainous nature only too well.  The quickest way to
arouse suspicion would have been to try to avoid them.

He therefore threw up his hand as a signal that he wanted to exchange
a few words.  They brought their ponies down from their brisk trot,
and drew up close to him.

The parties who thus met were utter strangers to each other, but a
glance at Luchman showed he was a native, and the presumption,
therefore, was that he was a supporter of the revolt.

The fugitives crouching in the grove (with the exception of Avery)
understood the conversation, which may be liberally translated:

"Ram, Ram, bhai (In Ram's name, brother); whence come you?" asked the
leading Ghoojur.

"From Delhi."

"Why do you flee when there is so much loot to be gathered?"

"I have all I want; I leave the rest for my brothers."

"What have you done with your share?"

"Placed it where no thief can find it," was the daring answer of
Luchman, who looked straight in the eye of the leading brigand.

"Is there plenty of loot left in the city?" asked the latter, his
eyes flickering like those of a serpent.

"Enough to make tens of thousands rich, but the people from the
country are flocking in so fast that it will soon be gone."

This remark of the guide, I need hardly say, was intended to increase
the eagerness of the Ghoojurs to reach the city.

"Where are the Feringhees?"

"They are all killed; the Mogul Empire is restored; the Emperor has
issued his proclamation giving all good wages, and not one Feringhee
shall be left in Hindostan."

Luchman seemed to feel no compunction in drawing a lengthy bow.

"A great deal of the loot must be gone," continued the leading
Ghoojur, who, it was evident, had some suspicion respecting the tall
sinewy native who stood so defiantly in the path before him; "many of
the Feringhees and wealthy sahibs are fleeing from the city; they are
hiding in the groves; they have money and jewels with them; 'tis
better that we should find them."

This was an alarming declaration, and the fugitives who heard and
understood it believed the brigands knew they were hiding near.
Luchman himself was suspicious, but he did not let it be seen.

"There are many," he said in his ordinary voice, "but they are harder
to find than those in Delhi, and they fight better."

"But there must be more loot to take from those on the road and in
the groves."

"It may be, but there is plenty left in the city for those who do not
loiter on the way.  If you wish to search the grove, do so."

The ruffians looked in each other's faces and muttered something.
Then they seemed to conclude that the best thing to do was to move on
toward Delhi.  The leader gave Luchman a parting salutation, and the
half dozen horsemen resumed their journey on a slow walk.

The little party hiding in the luxuriant vegetation stealthily
watched every movement of the brigands, and breathed freely when they
started forward again.

They had advanced only a few paces, however, when the leader uttered
an exclamation and checked his horse.  Luchman turned his head, and
the Ghoojur beckoned him to approach.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing to the side of the path.

Luchman, to his dismay, saw a shred from the dress of Marian Hildreth
that had been torn off in her hurried flight, and was fluttering from
a bush as if the bright signal was meant to show every one who passed
whither she had gone.

The texture of the shred, and the peculiar circumstances, spoke the
nationality of the young lady too plainly for Luchman to attempt to
mislead the scoundrels.  He stood looking at the tell tale piece as
though he was as much astounded as were the Ghoojurs themselves.
Then he scanned the ground with the keen scrutiny of an American
Indian.

"Yes," he said, as if he had at last solved the problem; "a party of
Feringhees have been this way; there were a good many, and," looking
up abruptly in the face of the leader, "do you want to attack them?"

"That I will decide for myself," was the answer of the ruffian, as he
sprang from his pony and began examining the ground for himself.  He
was as shrewd as Luchman, and it took him only a few minutes to learn
that the fugitives were four in number, and that two of them were
females.  No more tempting prize could offer itself.

"We will follow them----"

The words of the Ghoojur leader were broken off by the crack of
Luchman's pistol, and the miscreant, who was facing about and
addressing his men, threw up his arms half way to his head and
toppled to the ground, his skull bored clean through by the bullet
that was fired within ten feet of him.

Luchman let fly with the remaining chambers at the wretches, who were
just beyond the fallen leader.  Fortunately, Avery and Mr. Hildreth
were quick to realize the evil, and each of them fired his rifle into
the group.

The attack on the Ghoojurs was so sudden that they wheeled their
horses about, and, throwing themselves forward on their necks,
galloped off on a dead run.  None of them fell to the ground, but
several must have been hit hard.  They were desperate men, and
Luchman knew they would soon be back.  He therefore ran toward his
friends.

"Don't lose a minute, sahibs," said he; "they will soon return; I
hear them now!"

The last remark was rather premature, but allowance must be made for
the excitement of the occasion.

The grove was dense, and Luchman as usual led the way.  At the outer
edge they saw cultivated fields, and observing no one was in sight,
the guide moved rapidly across the open space toward the welcome
shade of another large grove at the north.  Fairly within the shelter
of this, Luchman told his friends to seat themselves on the ground
and rest from their hurried flight, while he moved back to learn what
had become of the Ghoojurs.

The guide soon returned, saying he had discovered no sign of them.
It might be that their repulse was so severe that they would not
attempt to revenge themselves unless they should be joined by others
of their class.

"Night is at hand," added their guide, "and we may as well stay here,
for if we venture out we are more likely to be seen.  While we wait
let us load our weapons."

This sensible suggestion was acted upon without delay.  Then, as the
start would not be made for an hour or more, Luchman again went back
to the edge of the grove.  In the gathering gloom he saw three
shadowy figures moving along the edge of the cultivated fields.  He
suspected they were his enemies, who were trying to trace the
fugitives to their hiding place, but the darkness was too great for
them to follow with certainty and they soon disappeared.

The weather was frightfully hot.  The air in the grove was even more
suffocating than the flaming atmosphere of the plains.  Indeed the
natural query of a foreigner when he is so unfortunate as to be
caught during the hot season in that paradise of poisonous serpents,
fierce wild animals and furnace-like temperature, is "What is this
infernal country good for?"

Furthermore, it must be borne in mind that the fugitives had not
eaten anything for a long time, and despite the mental worry and
intense heat, they were in need of food.  Marian stated the case to
Luchman, who said he could easily get them something.  He cautioned
all to stay where they were, to avoid loud talking, and to keep their
ears and eyes open.

This was the first genuine rest since their hurried flight from Delhi
the night before.  Of course they had to cease travel during the heat
of the day, but their anxiety to get away from the imperiled capital
was so intense that the mere cessation from walking gave them little
rest.  Now, when there was cause for feeling that they were safe from
molestation, the pause was of the most refreshing nature.

Luchman being absent, Dr. Avery drew the missionary aside and
questioned him concerning a matter which had been in his mind for
some time.  The young man did this in the most indifferent manner he
could assume.

"Mr. Hildreth," said he, carelessly whittling a stick, "it seems to
me that somewhere, since coming into this part of the world, I have
heard about 'The Star of India:' can you tell me to what the
expression refers?"

The good man looked at him with a smile and said:

"Of course I can; and so can almost any one who has spent much time
in Delhi or Lucknow or Cawnpore, and I should say in Calcutta, but
you seem ignorant.  The Star of India is a famous diamond."

"And why famous?"

"It is very large--weighing nearly fifty carats, is of the first
water, and like all such stones has a history."

"Let me hear it."

"The Star of India I believe was first heard of about seven hundred
years ago.  When Cootub, the Afghan conqueror, made Delhi the capital
of Hindostan, he slew the queen, who had received it from some
unknown source, and he placed the diamond in the hilt of his sword.
He vauntingly said his sword hilt was the safest place, inasmuch as
the man was not born of woman who could take it from him.  But
despite all his boasts, one of his soldiers stole it at midnight, and
succeeded in reaching Persia, where he sold it to the Shah.  It was
stolen in turn from him by a daring eunuch whom Cootub sent thither,
and the servant brought it back to Hindostan.  It remained with the
Afghan line until the great Baber appeared upon the scene in 1525,
and slew the last Afghan monarch and took the prodigious gem from
him.  It continued in the possession of the Moguls until the
beginning of this century, when it was lost."

"How?"

"Among the strange facts connected with this diamond is that its
modern history is more dim and shadowy than its ancient annals.  Like
the Koh-i-noor and all such great gems, it has been the cause of many
wars, murders, and all manner of crimes.  A half century ago, when it
was reposing in the most secure hiding place in the Mogul's palace,
where it was believed an army could hardly capture it, it vanished as
though it had been destroyed by spontaneous combustion."

"Stolen again, of course?"

"Yes; but by whom no one ever seemed to know.  I have been told that
it has been seen in Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, and other points within
the last ten years.  There is good reason to believe that it has
passed over the Himalayas twice, carried once by the chieftain of one
of the wild tribes of that section.  This chieftain, like many other
owners of the Star of India, was killed, and the marvelous gem taken
from him."

"Where is it supposed to be at this time?"

"Immense rewards have been offered for its recovery, but it flits
about the country like an _ignis fatuus_.  The last rumor which I
heard was that it had fallen into the possession of a converted
Brahmin, who carried it with him wherever he went."

Dr. Avery, who was convinced that he knew the truth, looked at the
missionary with a smile; but the calm expression of the good man's
face showed that he had not the faintest suspicion that the Brahmin
to whom he referred was Luchman their guide.

"No," thought the surgeon; "it has never entered his head.  Did you
ever hear how it was, Mr. Hildreth, that this converted Brahmin got
possession of the diamond?"

"I believe he became involved in a quarrel with the chief of some
Himalaya savages.  The chief and one of his warriors tried to take
the life of the Brahmin, who slew both and brought back the gem over
the loftiest range of mountains on the globe."

"Did you ever meet this converted Brahmin?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"I have."

"When?  Where?" demanded the amazed missionary.

"The Brahmin who owns the Star of India is Luchman, one of your own
converts and our guide."

The surgeon enjoyed the emotion he caused.  The missionary, who had
been reclining on the ground, shot to an upright posture as suddenly
as if he had felt a cobra moving under his body.  He stared at his
companion for several seconds absolutely speechless.  Then he gasped:

"No; impossible!"

"It is the truth; he showed me the diamond when we were near
Cawnpore; he has it in his turban this very minute."

"Well, well," muttered Mr. Hildreth, relapsing to his reclining
position; "it is strange that I never suspected it.  I can see now
that many of the rumors which reached me fit Luchman exactly; and do
you know, doctor, that the cunning rascal has talked with me many
times about the diamond?  He asked me to give him its history.  So I
posted myself, and you see that I have it at my tongue's end, that is
the ancient history.  That reminds me," added the missionary, rising
on his elbow and laughing, "that he too once asked me whether I had
ever heard the name of the Brahmin who captured the diamond from the
Himalaya chieftain.  What a blockhead I was never to feel any
suspicion of him!  And you have really seen the Star of India?"

"While we were resting in the bungalow, he unfolded his turban and
unwrapped a piece of thick soft paper from which he took the gem
larger than the end of my thumb.  When he held it up a ray of
sunlight struck it, and its brilliancy almost blinded me."

"Did you take it in your hand?"

"No; he did not offer me the privilege, and I hadn't the courage to
ask it.  He rewrapped it with paper, and put that and the letter of
mine to Marian in the turban.  It has often struck me since as a very
strange thing for him to do: why did he show the Star of India to me?
I might have revealed the secret to those--and there are thousands
such--who would murder him for it."

"He considered you as good as dead: he did not believe you would live
twenty four hours, and he knew you were interested in the gem, as
indeed every person must be.  I presume that if our lives are spared,
Luchman some time or other will tell me the whole story, though it's
strange he has not done so before."

Dr. Avery thought it best to say nothing to Mr. Hildreth about the
native's declaration that he intended to present the diamond to
Marian.  It might awaken hopes that never could be fulfilled.  If
Luchman meant to give the prize to the young lady, it would be
specially appropriate that the announcement should come from the
giver.

"I have no longer any doubts about him," added Avery a minute later.

"Nor have I," said the missionary; "the suspicion of Luchman's
loyalty was the most horrible feeling that I ever had: it was worse
than death itself."

"His actions have proven his loyalty," was the hearty declaration of
the surgeon.  "After his course toward the Ghoojurs, no one can fail
to admit that he is pure gold tried with fire."

"Here he comes!"



CHAPTER XVI.

"NO, SAHIB, NOT I."

The soft footstep which fell on their ears was that of Luchman
returning from his foraging expedition.

He did not come back empty handed.  He brought a lota or brass jar of
water, some native fruits and a half dozen chuppatties or flat cakes,
used universally through India and the greater part of the Orient, as
well as in Central and South America.  There was no meat, which would
have been unpalatable during such hot weather.  The water, as was to
be expected, was warm and not very clear, but it was sufficient for
their wants, and they were grateful because of the success of the
native.

It was an impressive sight when this humble meal was spread upon the
ground, and the missionary asked the blessing of Heaven upon the
food, while a prayer for continued protection was not forgotten.
During the simple service none was more devout than the guide.  His
head was bowed and his lips moved with a prayer of his own, which
lasted a minute or two after the other was finished.

While they were eating, Mr. Hildreth asked Luchman how he came to be
so fortunate in his search for food.  He replied that India was a
rich country, and he was not forced to any extreme measure to get
what he brought.  He found a native's hut at no great distance, where
he obtained all that was needed.  The lota was a part of the native's
property, and his wife had just baked the cakes for the evening meal.
Inasmuch as the seller was well paid for what he furnished, no doubt
he would be pleased to continue the contract.

There was an abundance for all, and after the meal each prepared to
pass the evening hour as enjoyably as possible.  The mother laid her
head in her daughter's lap, while Marian rested hers against the
trunk of a tree, and both closed their eyes in slumber.  They were
weary, and had such need of rest that the slumber was welcome.

Mr. Hildreth imitated them, and, like most persons of his age, it
took but a few minutes for him to glide off into the land of dreams.

Dr. Avery and Luchman remained awake.  The latter seemed to have
formed a strong liking for the Englishman, whom he was not unwilling
a short time before to leave in a situation of deadly peril.  The
surgeon was out of cigars, and as a matter of course never was so
eager for a smoke.  Under the circumstances, he was glad to share
with Luchman the enjoyment of his hookah, or water pipe, generally
made of cocoanut, and so cheap that even the beggars are supplied
with them.

A few minutes were enough to satisfy the surgeon, when with thanks he
passed the hookah to its owner, who puffed in the slow, solemn
fashion peculiar to his people when they are resting.  The native,
like the surgeon, seemed to be in good spirits, though in his case
there was little variation to be seen except by a close observer.

Both had reason to feel thankful for the success that had marked
their attempt to get out of the center of the mutiny, and Luchman
admitted that they could not have done better.

"We never would have done half as well but for you," was the warm
comment of the Englishman.

"No, sahib, not I, but God."

"True, but you are his instrument; no one could have shown such skill
in dealing with the Ghoojurs.  When it was impossible to deceive them
any longer, you acted with the promptness of the lightning stroke."

Something like a smile played about the corners of the native's lips.
Nothing in the way of praise could move him, but clearly he was
gratified by the manner in which those brigands had been baffled in
their attempt to rob the fugitives.

"The Ghoojurs, sahib, are bad--very bad; they would have killed all
of us had they not been stopped."

"There can be no doubt of that.  Mr. Hildreth and myself have not
much to boast of in the way of marksmanship, but we fired so quickly
that we had no time to aim."

"It helped to drive them away, sahib, and maybe struck them."

"Luchman," added the doctor, lowering his voice, so as to make sure
that if any of their friends awoke suddenly they would not overhear
their words, "I hope there is no danger of your losing that diamond
you showed me."

The dark face instantly became serious, and the native looked down at
the ground, as he softly said,

"God will take care of it, sahib."

"You have a fortune such as few in this world possess; and do you
still carry it in your turban?"

Luchman looked around in the faces of his three friends.  Satisfied
that they were really asleep, he raised with dignity the turban,
insinuated his fingers among the downy recesses, and in a twinkling
held up the gem between his thumb and forefinger.

There it was, the Star of India.

Brilliant with the dazzling rays of the spectrum, luminous,
apparently, with a light of its own, gleaming, coruscating and
marvelous, the European fairly held his breath while gazing upon it.

"Let me have it in my hand!"

Luchman leaned forward and dropped it in the outstretched palm.  The
doctor held it motionless a moment, drew it close to his face and
then began manipulating it, first with timidity, but soon with
confidence, moved by a strange delight.

There seemed to be an electric thrill communicated by the
extraordinary gem, which reached the brain of the spectator, who
turned it over and over, and, as he became more familiar with it,
held it up, now near and now at arm's length, until he had drunk in
the fulness of its wonderful beauty.

"An amazing gem!" he muttered; "I can understand how it has caused so
much crime and bloodshed."

Dr. Avery passed it back with a sigh.

"It seems to me," said he, "that you run fearful risk in carrying
that in your turban.  Why do you not deposit it in one of the banks
in Calcutta or Madras or Bombay, where there is nothing to be feared
from the mutineers?"

The native shook his head.

"It is as safe, sahib, in my turban as anywhere.  It can only be
taken with my life, and then what difference?"

"How did it come into your possession?"

"That I cannot tell you, sahib, but it is mine alone."

This assertion, it will be observed, contradicted what the native
said when he first showed the diamond to Dr. Avery.  Then he
distinctly declared that it was the property of Marian Hildreth.  The
Englishman did not think it best to remark upon the inconsistency.

"Suppose that it should become known that you possess the Star of
India?"

"It is known, sahib."

"Not generally."

"The bitterest enemy I have in the world, sahib, knows it, and he
would sacrifice my life ten thousand times over for the sake of the
diamond."

"Who is he?"

"Wana Affghar of Puneput."

"Who is he?"

"Puneput, sahib, is a small native town between us and Kurnal, but I
hope to pass to the left of it.  There are many Ghoojurs there, and
Wana Affghar is a chieftain among them.  He knows that I have the
Star of India, and he would follow me across the ocean to get it."

"Does he know where you are now?"

"His men in Delhi have looked for me, but I kept out of their way.
He suspects where I am."

"It is reckless for you to keep it about you."

But the native smiled in a way that was more significant than his
friend suspected.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE BURRA BAGH.

Luchman waited until several hours had passed, and would have waited
longer, had not Mr. Hildreth awakened from sleep, his slight movement
causing his wife and daughter to open their eyes.  Despite their
weariness, the excessive heat would not allow any one to slumber
long.  Avery himself secured a half hour's nap, though the native
remained wide awake all the time.

The guide now said that some miles of open country had to be passed
before they could reach a stretch of jungle where they would find the
most secure of all hiding places.  He proposed, therefore, that they
should move on while they had the opportunity, and his suggestion was
gladly followed by the others.

The jungles of India are not among its least wonders.  Being a
tropical country, its vegetation is exuberant beyond description.
There are found the most gigantic trees, enormous flowers, expansive
leaves, delicious fruits, overpowering perfumes, spreading creepers,
nutritious vegetables, and herbs of inestimable medicinal value.

You have heard of the banyan trees, some of which, with their down
growing limbs, each forming a new trunk, measure a fourth of a mile
in circumference, one tree thus constituting an entire grove.  There,
too, is the peepul, delicately beautiful, forcing itself through the
mortar and cement of buildings, disintegrating them, and regarded as
a sacred growth by the natives; the sisso, fine grained and
handsomely veined; the sygwam or teak, the best timber for building;
the cocoanut; the bamboo, talipot and mango.

It would be useless to try to classify the fruits, the most common of
which are mangoes, pineapples, plantains, pomegranates, pumplenoses,
jacks, custard apples, guavas, lemons, melons, oranges, sour sops,
almonds, tamarinds, plums, figs, dates, citrons, yams, nolcolls and
so on to the end of the chapter.

The bright moonlight, which had been so dangerous at times, now
became a great help to the fugitives, who were no more than fairly
started when they saw a singular sight.

First came a few mounted soldiers, followed by an immense elephant,
covered with spangled cloth and a towering howdah.  The great beast
had the ends of his tusks sawed off, covered with gold, and tied with
streaming ribbons of gaudily colored silk.  The howdah was lined with
crimson morocco, and the figure of a man could be discerned within,
with a voluminous shawl gathered about him, as though it were
midwinter.

Next came a smaller elephant, in whose howdah or saddle two men were
seated, their gesticulations showing that they were talking earnestly
about something.  After these were a large number on horseback, the
steeds brightly caparisoned and dancing, and finally a long
procession of natives on foot, armed with any and all kinds of
weapons on which they could lay hands.

Our friends were a little startled when they encountered this curious
array, but Luchman assured them they had nothing to fear.  The man on
the large elephant most likely was a rajah or some native of
authority.  Luchman made a low salaam to the dignitaries, but they
did not consider it their duty to respond, and swung along as though
they saw him not.

It struck Dr. Avery that they ran no little risk in meeting this
motley crowd, but their guide did not seem to think so.  Despite the
lateness of the hour, the temperature continued frightfully high.
Indeed such a thing as coolness is unknown in that section of India
in the month of May.  The difference between midday and midnight is
often but a few degrees.  Night after night, the thermometer never
sinks below 90°, and there are times in Madras and Bombay, during the
hot season, when men are stricken with apoplexy while lying in their
beds, because of the intolerable heat.

Under such circumstances, it will be understood that our friends
advanced at a leisurely pace, so that when the growing light in the
east drove them to the shelter of another grove, they were yet a
number of miles from the extensive jungle of which their guide had
spoken.  As before, he found them food with little trouble, for they
were never far from the hut of some native who was glad enough to
sell to those who paid so liberally.

This day's rest proved strengthening, so that when night came again,
with its bright moon and clear, hot sky, all were eager to be on the
move.  From their hiding place among the trees, they saw quite a
number of people passing back and forth along the road and across the
fields.  Most of these were armed, so that the fugitives took
particular care to avoid being seen.  It looked as though the news of
the revolt had reached this section ahead of the little party, and
though the rajah and his retinue had deemed them beneath notice, it
was unreasonable to hope that all others would do so.

Luchman as usual took the lead when they entered the jungle, which
was so dense that it could be penetrated only where there were well
marked paths; the missionary and his wife came next, followed by
Marian, Dr. Avery bringing up the rear.  He had been instructed by
Luchman to keep careful watch there, for there was a possibility of
some of the treacherous natives stealing upon them from that
direction.

The guide was only a short distance in advance, walking with the
noiseless tread of an American Indian with all his senses on the
alert.  The shadows at times were so dense that it seemed necessary
to feel the way, but the native was never at fault, and the bright
moonlight penetrating through the branches gave great help.

About a mile had been passed, when Luchman stopped in his abrupt
fashion and waited until his friends gathered around him.  When asked
whether there was anything amiss, he pointed to the left deeper into
the jungle.

That which all saw was the twinkle of a camp fire, while sounds of
voices were plainly heard through the stillness of the wood.  The
guide wished to learn the truth about this gathering, though there
was perhaps no need of doing so.  Telling the missionary and his
family, therefore, to stay where they were, he invited Avery to go
with him on what might be called a reconnaissance.

The camp was found to be further off than was supposed, and the care
required in picking their way through the dense jungle delayed the
arrival of the two within sight of the strangers.

There were four of the latter, who had been engaged upon some
plundering expedition, for they had a large quantity of spoil, and
were drinking bhang, a peculiarly intoxicating beverage made from
hemp, there being two large bottles of this fiery stuff that were
continually passed from mouth to mouth.

The scamps had shawls, clothing, jewelry, ladies' dresses and
trinkets that had probably been obtained by slaying some of the poor
fugitives in the jungle or on the road from Delhi.

The sight of these budmashes or villains so exasperated Dr. Avery
that he proposed to Luchman that they should open fire on them.  But
the guide would not consent.

"We could master them, sahib, easily enough, but there are more who
would hear our guns."

So the miscreants were left to their carousings, while the two
continued to pick their way to the missionary and his family.  They
had not yet reached them when the native stopped with a soft "_Sh!_"
His companion listened but heard nothing.

"What is it?" asked Avery in a whisper.

"Something is following us, sahib."

"Man or beast?"

"I cannot yet tell, sahib."

They stood motionless several minutes, but, hearing nothing more,
pushed on again.

Just before reaching the path, where they had left their friends,
Avery caught the rustling of the vegetation so near him that he
started with a shudder of terror.

"I believe it is a tiger," he said in the same guarded tone to the
guide.

"Wait where you are, sahib, until I learn."

The native was gone but a few minutes when he came back disappointed:
he had not been able to ascertain anything more definite of the
danger.

A few minutes later they rejoined the missionary and his family, who
were growing nervous over the absence of their friends.  The journey
was resumed in the same order as before.

The guide believed that the rustling which had startled him and Avery
was caused by the stealthy wild beast.  The jungle through which they
were passing was but a small stretch compared to the vast expanse of
wild forest at the foot of the Himalayas.  He had not feared meeting
a tiger, though he kept a sharp lookout for other wild animals.

Luchman was carefully scrutinizing the path ahead, all his senses at
the highest tension, when the very peril he dreaded appeared.
Something flashed in the moonlight, as if a bright object had passed
quickly across the path.  As it had vanished, he stopped and waited
for it to reappear, too wise to venture into the ambush that promised
to be.  He uttered his low whistle as a warning for his friends to
come no closer, so that it happened that all five became as
motionless as bronze figures.

Luchman had to wait less than a minute when he discerned a body
moving along the ground directly toward him.  Its belly was close to
the earth, its long tail swaying from side to side, while its round,
greenish eyes emitted the phosphorescent gleam peculiar to the cat
family.  Its cavernous growl was not needed to tell Luchman that it
was the most dreaded denizen of the East Indian jungle.

No doubt the tiger was an immense "man eater," who, having tasted
human flesh, preferred it now to all others.  Such beasts possess
irrestrainable ferocity and daring, and may well be feared by the
most experienced hunters.  He had detected the proximity of the
fugitives, and was stealing upon them.  Had he remained quietly in
ambush, the party must have walked into the trap.  His over
eagerness, and possibly his confidence, led him to "uncover."

Luchman had no wish to encounter such a whirlwind of fury.  He would
have preferred a scrimmage with half a dozen Ghoojurs or budmashes,
for he might have used strategy and personal bravery, but the tiger,
whose strength has been found by scientific test to be one fifth
greater than the lion's, and whose courage is often resistless, is
always avoided by the wise sportsman, unless he has the advantage
strongly on his side.

Luchman had only his knife and pistol, and these were insufficient.
He began slowly retreating, hoping the beast would stop and wait for
him to advance closer.  At the moment he reached the right point, the
tiger would make a leap that would land him upon the shoulders of the
native, and tear him to shreds in the twinkling of an eye.

Without turning his head--for a second's inattention was likely to
prove fatal--Luchman called to Mr. Hildreth to retreat, because a
tiger was approaching.  The old gentleman warned his friends, who
were some rods behind him, to do the same, as he hastened toward
them; but he quickly checked himself, when he recalled that he was
the only one in the party who had a gun, which was never so sorely
needed as then.

Before he could catch sight of the brute, the guide was in front of
him.  Without turning his head, he almost shoved the missionary off
his feet.

"Back, back, sahib!" he commanded, excitedly.

"But, Luchman, I will not desert you."

The native snatched the rifle from the grasp of the good man, and
pushed him back more violently than before.

"Back, back, sahib, or we are both lost!"

Mr. Hildreth now hurried to his friends, leaving the guide with his
loaded gun in his hands.

All this took place in a few seconds.  The animal stealing along the
ground saw that his victim was retreating.  With a growl, he rose on
his legs, quickly trotted a few paces, and stopped on the "death
line."  Then he crouched, and, gathering his mighty muscles in one
prodigious effort, rose in the air and shot toward the native.

This sight was the more terrible because of the gloom of the jungle.
For one moment the fearful beast seemed suspended in mid air, and
then he descended.

The parabola was mathematically exact, and, had the native stood
still, the beast would have crushed him to the ground; but Luchman,
with amazing agility, leaped backward nearly ten feet, firing the gun
while the tiger was at the highest point.  Such a beast, however, is
rarely killed by a single shot; and, though the tiger was struck, he
was not slain nor even disabled.

Luchman could have leaped among his panic stricken friends and
diverted the assault from himself.  No one knew this better than he,
and yet no inducement in the world would have led him to do so.  The
gold was once more tried in the fire and found pure.

"Back, back! further back!" he fairly shouted, and, still facing the
beast, drew his long knife for the desperate struggle.  No man has
ever met an enraged tiger and fought him with but a single knife and
lived to tell of it.  Luchman was well aware of that, but for the
sake of those whom he loved he was ready to add another to the list
of victims.

The ferocity of the beast was intensified by his failure to seize his
prey at the first leap.  His growl was sharper, probably caused by
his wound, and drawing his feet under him with incredible quickness,
he repeated the bound, when the native was no more than three yards
away.

Luchman was not reckless enough to stand still, but he, too, made a
leap to one side as well as backward.  As he did it, he knew that his
terrible foe could be baffled no longer.

But as the beast struck the earth, another gun was discharged
directly over the shoulder of Luchman, so that the smoke from the
muzzle dimmed his vision.  He supposed it was a pistol fired by Dr.
Avery; but it could not have been that, for it killed the tiger.

The beast essayed a third leap, but it was more of a convulsion of
his entire body.  He threw himself to one side and then rolled among
the undergrowth of the jungle, where he clawed and tore the
vegetation during his brief but furious death struggle.

Luchman was quick to observe that the danger was ended, and he
glanced around to see who had befriended him.

A stranger stood at his elbow, a large brawny man, dressed like an
English sportsman.  He wore a short cutaway coat, helmet hat and high
cavalry boots; he had a full beard, yellow of color like his hair,
and evidently was the possessor of great coolness, presence of mind
and activity.

He held his rifle, which he had just discharged, in his hand, and his
whole appearance was prepossessing.  Had he looked one tenth as
pleasing he would have been beautiful in the eyes of those whom he
had befriended.

"My gracious!" he exclaimed in his hearty, off hand way, "it appears
that I have dropped down at the right time.  I hope," he added,
turning toward Luchman, "that the beast didn't harm you."

"No, sahib," was the reply of the guide, who surveyed him with no
little curiosity; "I give you my thanks for killing him before he
killed me."

"That's the proper order, otherwise if the tiger gets in his work
first the second part of the programme may miscarry.  He's a splendid
fellow, the biggest I have shot since I was in India.  I beg pardon,
I observe ladies."

Standing where the bright moonlight fell upon his fine figure, he
doffed his hat and bowed, adding: "My name is George Harkins, lately
from London; I left Calcutta last March for a little shooting up
country, and have found considerably more than I expected.  I trust
you are all well."

There was no resisting the magnetic good nature of the man who had so
commended himself to their favor, and there was a general hand
shaking all round.  He laughed and made light of the service he had
rendered, saying he was fond of tiger hunting and was especially
pleased when he was able to pick off a _burra bagh_ (man eater),
which no doubt the tiger was, judging from his size and ferocity.

While the conversation was going on, Dr. Avery was impressed that
this was not the first time he had seen the man.  A little closer
scrutiny by aid of the moonlight left no doubt that he was the
gentleman who was assailed some nights before in Delhi while on the
streets, and whose clever escape was witnessed by Avery.



CHAPTER XVIII.

GEORGE HARKINS.

Few realize the annual destruction of life in India from serpents and
wild beasts.  About twenty thousand people are annually destroyed by
animals, and of these nineteen in twenty are probably bitten by
snakes.  The number of human victims tends to increase, in spite of
the fact that the number of wild beasts and snakes destroyed has
doubled in the last ten years, and that the Government reward paid
for their extermination has risen proportionately.  Nearly two and a
half lacs of rupees (about $125,000) were thus paid in 1884.  Next to
venomous reptiles, tigers claim most victims.  Ten years ago wolves,
mostly in the Northwest provinces and Oude, killed five times as many
people as of late years; but the extermination of wolves seems to be
going on rapidly.  Leopards are the alleged cause of death to about
two hundred human beings annually.  Apart from the loss of human
life, the returns show an annual destruction of fifty thousand head
of cattle.

The tigers, beyond question, are the most fearful beasts of prey in
the world.  Their strength, daring, activity and ferocity make them
the terror of a neighborhood.  One tiger has been known to keep an
entire village in a panic for weeks.

But for the timely arrival of George Harkins, the crack shot, the
tiger would have killed the five persons, for he was an animal of
unusual size, and the single gun in the company having been
discharged no real means of defense was left.

Dr. Avery, speaking for the rest, told the main facts respecting
themselves, while Harkins added that he was a professional sportsman
on a hunt through that section of India.  He had no relatives in the
country, but a number of friends among the officers of the army, and
he was in Delhi when the revolt broke out some nights before.

"Did you have any trouble before you left?" asked the doctor.

"Nothing of any account; a lot of rascals set upon me and the result
was I departed in somewhat of a hurry."

"I saw that little affair."

"You?  Where were you?"

"In the street near by; I tried to get out to you, but the crowd was
too plentiful, and before I could do so, you showed that you needed
no help."

"Matters _were_ rather lively, and I had no weapon then but my
revolver, which I was rather tardy in using," laughed Harkins.

Addressing the others, Avery gave a graphic account of the doughty
style in which their new friend knocked the enthusiastic natives
right and left, winding up with a fusillade from his revolver and a
hasty withdrawal down the street.

While this chatting was going on, Luchman made a reconnaissance,
fearful that the sound of their firearms might have brought some of
their enemies to the spot.  He reported the path clear.  Harkins was
urged to join in the journey to Kurnal, but he preferred to stay in
that vicinity.  When the ladies joined in the request, however, he
gallantly consented.

"I suppose it is good hunting almost everywhere in this part of
Hindostan, and I'll go with you."

Accordingly Luchman took the lead and the party resumed their journey
northward.

There lay the huge body or the tiger in the path where he had fallen,
and the ladies shuddered as they carefully stepped around it.  The
two guns were reloaded, Harkins remarking that the mate of the tiger
was likely to be in the neighborhood.

Dropping to the rear with Avery, Harkins told him that he had been in
a couple of bad fights since leaving Delhi.

"There was no need of referring to it before the ladies," said he,
"for it might have alarmed them.  You can make up your mind that we
shall have hot work before we reach Kurnal.  These Ghoojurs, as they
call them, are all over the country, and are looking for plunder.  I
had a brush with them before I was out of sight of the city, but the
most curious difficulty came this evening.  I caught sight of three
persons just ahead of me dressed like our countrymen, and I hailed
them.  They stopped and looked around, and then, before I knew it,
all three blazed away at me.  They were natives clothed in the dress
of some poor unfortunates whom they had murdered.

"Well, they missed me, but I didn't miss when I let fly.  One of them
collapsed, and the others ran for their lives.  I was picking my way
through the jungle, when I was drawn aside by the camp fire of the
Ghoojurs which attracted you.  I couldn't get a good look at you, and
as you were dressed much like natives, I didn't want to make another
mistake.  I had made up my mind to try it again, however, when this
little flurry with the tiger brought us together."

The night was new, and all felt the necessity of using the hours
while they were at command.  Since they were compelled to lie by as
soon as the sun rose, Luchman led the way back to the regular road,
where, though they were liable to meet persons, the danger from wild
animals was much less.

Lights were seen at varying distances, showing where some native
village stood or the camp fires still burned.  The party advanced
with the usual circumspection, until a considerable distance was
passed, when Harkins remarked that he thought it would add an
interesting variety to the proceedings if Luchman would forage for
something to eat.  The others thought the same, and the guide
expressed himself willing to do what he could for them.

He told his friends to keep straight ahead, and he would intercept
them before they could go far.  With this promise he struck across a
cultivated field, quickly disappearing from view.

"Suppose we come upon a cross road," suggested Harkins.  "I haven't
seen any sign boards in this part of the country, and if there are
any of those conveniences I can't read the language.  I suppose you
can read Hindustani, Mr. Hildreth?"

The old gentleman replied that all of his family could readily do
that, though there was not likely to be any occasion for putting
their knowledge to use, beside which the moonlight was hardly strong
enough for them to peruse a sign at the roadside.

"There wouldn't be any trouble on that score," added Harkins, "since
I could hoist the doctor high enough to read the outlandish words for
you to translate; but more than likely the sign boards, if there be
any, have been turned the wrong way, so that we would travel straight
back to Delhi.  It would be odd if we should run into the old
Emperor, and ask him whether that was Kurnal, and if it wasn't, what
was it, and who was he?  Helloa, here's something!"

Along the moonlit road in front of them the figures of approaching
persons were observed.  The fugitives stopped, doubtful whether to
seek shelter or stay where they were.

"I don't think they will disturb us, for they are coming from the
wrong direction," said Mr. Hildreth.

Nevertheless, all looked to their weapons, and the men placed
themselves in advance of the company, which turned to one side of the
highway so as to give the strangers plenty of room in which to pass.

The first noticeable object was an odd looking cart, drawn by a
couple of the singular hump shouldered oxen, peculiar to Hindostan.
They were swinging along at a deliberate pace, chewing their cuds
with the quiet enjoyment natural to their kind, while the box-like
structure was occupied by a man and half a dozen children.  Behind
them came another cart, also overflowingly filled with humanity,
after which plodded a large number on foot.

The procession stretched out for fully a hundred yards.  Every member
of it was ragged and dirty, and all were probably pilgrims to some
sacred shrine.  They stared at the Europeans as they filed past, but
not a word was spoken, and they showed no interest in the small
group, the members of which were greatly relieved when the last
pilgrim disappeared in the dust of the highway.

Harkins now took the lead, expressing dissatisfaction over their own
manner of traveling.  He declared that in a country so rich in beasts
of burden as India, it was a shame that the two ladies should have to
walk.

"Doctor," said the hearty fellow, "let us make up our minds to
capture an elephant, camel, ox, horse or anything that can be turned
to account.  I prefer an elephant."

"Your plan is a good one if it can be carried out."

"We shall find a way of doing so."

"I am afraid that Luchman won't favor the plan."

"Then we'll execute it while he is away."



CHAPTER XIX.

CARRIED NORTHWARD

"Isn't that a piece of luck?" asked the delighted Harkins.

This question was caused by the sound of an elephant trumpeting in
the road behind them.  The noise was not loud, and when they turned
their heads they saw the animal only a short distance away.

The howdah on his back showed that he was not a wild beast, so the
fugitives had nothing to fear from his warning.  The young men drew
to one side of the highway to learn what their chances of securing
the animal were.

They were disappointed.  A number of natives were in the howdah, and
several horses were riding beside the elephant.  It would never do to
attack the party, which moved so fast that it was soon out of sight
in the dust ahead, the fugitives loitering so as to give their guide
an opportunity of rejoining them.  The ladies began to feel uneasy
over his long absence.

As was natural, the native party closely scrutinized the fugitives,
but no communication passed between them.  If the natives knew of the
massacre in Delhi, they may not have noticed that all of the little
party were Europeans, since, as will be remembered, most of them were
dressed in native costume.

A short distance further one of the numerous bungalows established by
the East India Company for the accommodation of travelers was
reached.  The building was small, thatched, and open.  No servant was
seen near it, but the party decided to wait there until Luchman
should reappear.

The fugitives passed into the bungalow or station, where they sat
down to rest and await the coming of their guide.

"Let's follow that elephant party," said Harkins.  "I am hopeful we
may find a chance to get the elephant."

The doctor liked the proposal, and, telling his friends to await
their return without misgiving, the two young men started up the road
at a rapid walk.  They kept the gait until covered with perspiration
and pretty tired.

"It won't do to get too far away from the rest," said the doctor;
"our party is pretty well broken up."

"We are approaching a village," replied Harkins, "and there at the
side of the road is the house, I suppose, of the village headman."

The building which he was so quick to recognize stood some distance
from the road, and was identified by the lights that twinkled through
the surrounding trees, rather than by any view gained of the dwelling
itself.

But the hearts of the two gave a flutter of delight when they came
upon the very elephant for which they were looking.  He was standing
at the roadside, beneath a large tree, from which he was eating.  He
drew down the limbs, or rather stripped off the tender leaves and
twigs, and stowed them in his capacious maw.

So far as our friends could see, no one was looking after the animal,
which was so well trained that he needed no care.  Even the horsemen
seemed to have ridden up the shaded passage leading to the dwelling
among the trees.

It looked as if some wealthy native had called upon a neighbor
(possibly to plan an expedition to Delhi), and had left his royal
steed by the roadside until he should return.

Avery and Harkins were delighted.  They thought Providence was on
their side, although He is never on the side of those who wish to
despoil others of their property.

"Do you know much about elephants, doctor?" asked the sportsman.

"Something," he answered, as they cautiously approached the huge
beast; "you know I have lived a number of years in this country,
where they are numerous."

"How are we going to manage this fellow?"

"There need be no trouble; they carry the mahout or driver astride
the neck, where he guides the animal by word or gesture, or he may
stay in the howdah and direct him from that point."

"I don't believe this elephant understands our language, which is
another way of saying that we don't understand his.  I say, doctor,
do you feel any compunctions about confiscating this pet?"

"Not the slightest: do you?"

"I did at first, until I made up my mind that we would simply borrow
him.  We'll keep him for a few months or years, that is, as long as
he is of any use to us, and then send him back to his owner with our
compliments and thanks.  But how are we going to get up in that
meeting house on top?"

"The same way as his owner does; we must use the ladder, which they
let down, or get the elephant to lift us up with his trunk."

"There's too much risk in allowing him to twist that extra tail
around us.  More than likely he would fling us into the top of the
tree or over into the house yonder, where his owner is smoking his
hookah."

The two passed around the beast several times, and carefully
inspected him.  The intelligent animal looked curiously at them in
turn, but seemed to decide that they amounted to little, for he
resumed his browsing among the limbs of the tree.

Neither of the young men could find the ladder for which they were
looking, but Avery discovered a rope dangling from one corner of the
saddle.  With the aid of this, he climbed the side of the bulky body,
as nimbly as a sailor could have gone up the rigging of his ship.
Then, turning about, he helped Harkins up beside him, and the two
took their place in the howdah.

The first sensation was as if they were perched upon a load of hay.
Finding that the beast paid no attention to them, Harkins crept
cautiously out on the soggy neck and asked the elephant to be kind
enough to move on.  The association of circumstances may have told
the animal what was wanted, since he must have known that when two
persons seated themselves in the saddle, they expected him to do his
duty.

To the delight of the riders, he ceased eating and moved from under
the tree, nearly scraping off the saddle against the limbs.  Then he
started up the road with his heavy, swaying gait, which is much more
rapid than it seems to be.

This would have been well enough, but for the fact that the elephant
was going in the wrong direction, that is, instead of turning back
toward the bungalow, he was traveling straight from it.

The riders appealed to him to come about.  Harkins crept out beside
the doctor and the two used every gesticulation and command that they
could call to mind.  The doctor even tried some broken Hindustani;
but the elephant accepted them all as incentives to greater speed,
and away he went up the highway at a rate that threatened the
permanent disintegration of the little band of fugitives, whose
members were already scattered to a dangerous degree in the enemy's
county.



CHAPTER XX.

A FAILURE.

Had Dr. Baird Avery and George Harking been alone, they would have
felt pleasure in their singular adventure with the elephant, which
was bearing them so swiftly away from their friends.

"He'll get tired after a while," called out Harkins, "and then maybe
we can persuade him to change his course."

"Yes, but we can't afford to wait until he reaches some point on the
other side of Kurnal: why can't he turn now, when it will do some
good?"

And the surgeon threw his whole might into a number of gesticulations
meant to reach the understanding of the brute.

The huge animals are capable of great speed, as the one ridden by our
friends proved.  The night was still, but the air fanned the faces of
the two, who knew they were carried at a gait nearly equal to that of
a running horse.

There was danger in dismounting at such a time, though should it
become necessary, neither would hesitate to run the risk of receiving
some severe bruises.

The report of a gun was heard behind them, followed by a shrill cry.

"They are pursuing us," said Harkins, looking back in the moonlight;
"they have missed the elephant, and are chasing him on horseback."

"I'm afraid this enterprise is not a success," replied the doctor;
"the beast has found out that the mahout is not here with his sharp
goad, and he doesn't catch on to what we are trying to tell him: we
had better jump."

"He is going so fast that we are likely to be hurt; is an elephant
very long winded?"

"Not specially so."

"He isn't likely to keep this gait much longer, and when he moderates
it we will slip off."

The strange cry from the rear was repeated.  It must have been a call
to the elephant which he recognized, for he stopped so short that the
consequences to those on his back were disastrous.

Dr. Avery, who was in the howdah, was leaning over, the better to
talk with Harkins, who was astride the neck of the animal.  Like a
flash he shot out of the saddle, describing a complete somersault.
Providentially he landed on his feet, much shaken but unharmed.

Harkins grasped the edge of the howdah just in time to save himself
from going off.  Confused as to what had become of his companion, he
clung to the support, and the elephant, swinging about like the rapid
turning of a bridge, started down the road with greater speed than
before.

It was now a question whether Harkins was running away with the
elephant or whether the latter was making off with him.  Neither had
any control over the other.

But the rider saw that the situation was serious.  The brute was
obeying the call of the mahout with great enthusiasm, and if the
rider remained on his back he was sure to be carried directly among
the friends of the elephant, to whom he would find it hard to make a
satisfactory explanation.

"I must leave," was his sensible conclusion.

The elephant showed a desire to help him.  The position of the
saddle, its size and elevation were such that he could not reach the
interloper with his trunk, so he made at full speed for a large tree
alongside the road.

The sagacious animal meant to dislodge him by scraping off the whole
howdah.  When that came tumbling to the earth, Mr. Harkins would be
likely to go too.  And that explains why the brute made for the
branches like a runaway locomotive.

With all his natural shrewdness the rider did not suspect the
elephant's purpose in time to save himself.  The first that he saw
and felt was the switching of the branches about his face and then
the scraping, sawing and banging of the heavy limbs.  Almost at the
same instant he saw the howdah was going.

Amid the general wreck and crash his actions were governed by that
instinct which guides one when he knows he is struggling for life.

One of his outstretched hands seized a strong branch.  The rifle
which he grasped with the other was an encumbrance, but he was able
to hold on while the howdah passed from under him and crashed to the
ground.  The elephant, never ceasing his ponderous progress, lumbered
down the road, caring nothing for the wreck he left behind.

Harkins easily held himself by means of the strong limb which he had
grasped, and, drawing himself up among the branches, where the leaves
sheltered him from sight, he waited to learn what the pursuers--who
were but a short distance away--would do.  Indeed, they were so near
that the Englishman saw they numbered five horsemen.

Naturally they were in no very amiable mood.  Having stopped the
runaway, they turned him back to the tree, where an inventory of
damages was taken.

While the natives were making the inspection they gave constant
expression to their anger.  They called the elephant all kinds of bad
names, and even abused his ancestors, thereby plainly slurring the
purity of his descent.  The big beast took it all meekly, probably
aware that his conduct deserved such reproach.

It is not to be supposed that any of the pursuers suspected the
presence of the _cowen_ in the limbs above.  Most likely they
believed the elephant had taken a whim to run away on his own
account.  Had they known the guilty Feringhee was perched above their
heads, they would have been quick to visit their vengeance upon him.

But the brute was aware that the rascal was hiding there, and he
tried to make it known to his masters.  He walked about among the
limbs, thrusting his trunk among them, and betraying an uneasiness
which it would seem ought to have given a hint of the truth, but it
did not.  They started back, driving the runaway before them, and
Harkins, waiting till they were beyond sight, descended from the tree.



CHAPTER XXI.

ONE INCIDENT OF MANY.

From what has been told, it will be readily believed that Harkins and
Dr. Avery had been taken much further from their friends than they
suspected; and as is too often the case the actors were not the only
sufferers from the wild prank.

The missionary, wife and daughter took up their quarters in the
bungalow to await the return of their guide, as well as of those who
had gone on the little excursion of their own.

The building, as will be recalled, was but a single story in height,
and was provided with two rooms, containing beds, tables and chairs.
The general purpose of such structures, built by the East India
Company, is that travelers may stop with their attendants, and be
furnished meals and lodging for the night.

A khansaman or native cook is in charge to look after the wants of
wayfarers, but from some cause or other none showed himself to the
fugitives, who were therefore left to their own resources.

The parents were fatigued, and the wife especially felt the need of
an extended rest, but her meek, uncomplaining disposition led her to
repress all complaint.  Indeed there was no need of any, for her
companions saw her distress.

It was Marian's intention to tell Luchman on his return that some
means of conveyance must be found for her mother.  They had
considerable money with them, and, despite the confusion and peril,
it ought not to be a difficult matter to buy a horse.

The little party were soon joined by others.  A carriage stopped in
front of the bungalow, and, looking out, they saw that it was a
covered one, such as the wealthy use in India, drawn by a single
horse that must have been driven hard, judging by the steaming foam
on his flanks; he was almost knocked up.

The native driver sprang down from his seat in front, and, advancing
to the side, drew open the door.

Within were two women and a child.  In the expectation of finding
servants at the bungalow, they sent the driver to announce their
wants.  He made inquiry in broken English of the figures he
indistinctly saw within.

Mr. Hildreth answered in Hindustani, and, walking to the side of the
carriage, greeted the ladies, and asked whether he could do anything
for them.  They said they were in want of food, having been on the
road the entire day.  They had come from Delhi, and like all those
who had escaped so far, had passed through many perils.  They were
extremely anxious to go on, but their horse was jaded, and they had
eaten but a few mouthfuls since leaving the Cashmere Gate.  They had
no trouble in finding water, but the little child with them was
nearly famished.

Nothing in the way of food was immediately obtained, but the
missionary assured them that a servant of their own was absent in
quest of some, and was momentarily expected back.  He urged them to
wait and partake with them.

The ladies consulted as to what was best to do.  Mr. Hildreth could
see no reason why they should decline, and he did not expect them to
do so.  To his surprise, however, they returned their grateful
acknowledgments, and said they thought it best to press on toward
Kurnal.  The driver climbed back to his seat, and the weary horse
once more resumed his dragging course.

The missionary might well wonder at this, for he could not understand
what reason the ladies had for forcing the exhausted animal, when a
brief rest would be as beneficial to one as the other.

And yet the refusal of the strangers to stop was the means of saving
the lives of those left in the bungalow.  Had they entered the rude
structure and remained for a few minutes, every one of the party
would have been massacred.

The rattle of wheels had hardly died out down the dusty highway, when
those in the bungalow caught the sound of hurrying footsteps.  They
proved to be those of Luchman, who was running in great excitement.
He carried something under his arm, but without referring to it, he
asked,

"Did a carriage go by, sahib, a few minutes ago--drawn by one horse?"

Mr. Hildreth replied in the affirmative, and was about to ask him to
run ahead and give them a part of the food which he carried under his
arm, when Luchman, in great anguish, said,

"Too late! too late, sahib; do you hear that?"

All heard the sounds made by the hoofs of swiftly galloping horses.

"Look out of the door," he added; "but be careful they do not see
you."

They were just in time to catch a glimpse of eight or ten horsemen as
they rode by, partly hidden by the dust.  They were mutineers or
Ghoojurs pursuing the carriage.

The faces of the fugitives blanched as they drew near each other in
the darkness of the bungalow.  They knew the meaning of what they
saw, without any explanation from Luchman.

The rattling discharge of guns followed: there could be no mistake
either as to what that signified.

A few minutes before the three craved food, but they wanted none now.
To a certain extent they had become accustomed to massacre and crime,
but there was something unspeakably horrifying in the thought that
the two ladies, whose voices still echoed in the ears of the
missionary, and the track of whose wheels had not been obliterated by
the hoofs of the horses, were no more of earth.

Even Luchman was affected by the awful fate of the party, for there
could be no doubt that they were dead.  He was silent for a brief
space, and then looked around as though he missed Harkins and Avery.
They had not spoken, and seeing nothing of them in the gloom, he
asked where they were.  When told they had been gone for a
considerable time, he was impatient.

"They have done wrong--very wrong," he said, as if speaking to
himself; "they should have known better; the time has come when we
must leave the highway and take to the jungle again."

"What new trouble has arisen?" asked Mr. Hildreth.

"You heard the guns a few minutes ago, sahib; there are hundreds of
mutineers and natives mounted on horses, and hunting everywhere for
fugitives."

"What has caused such increased activity?"

"There is a wide belief, sahib, that the Europeans fleeing from Delhi
carry a large amount of money and valuables with them.  There being
little left to plunder in the city, the robbers are hunting through
the country for victims."

"I thought from the fair progress we made, and from certain other
evidences, that we were far enough ahead of the fellows to be safe."

"We are not; it was said that those ladies in the carriage carried
many diamonds, and it was because of that, sahib, that they were
killed.  We ran much more risk than I thought, when we left the
jungle and took to the highway.  I wonder that we have escaped so
long, for we have been seen of many.

"You know we are fairly disguised."

"Yes, sahib, but so are many other fugitives; the natives know that,
and therefore they scrutinize the faces more closely than ever
before."

"Harkins and the doctor should have been back before this," said the
missionary with growing uneasiness.

"They may not be back for hours, sahib; the danger is so great that
we cannot wait for them--don't speak!"

Again the sound of horses' hoofs fell upon their ears, and the
fugitives were terrified.  They moved quickly to the rear of the
bungalow, for they had little time to seek other shelter.

There was no jungle or grove within sight of the building into which
to flee.  The structure stood alone, with the exception of the cook
house, where the servants lived.  Luchman knew the bungalow would be
visited by their enemies, and it would not do, therefore, to stay
where they were.  The Europeans hastily withdrew through the small
door at the rear of the room they occupied, and, crossing a narrow
space, found a hiding place in the abandoned kitchen.

Luchman sauntered to the front to be ready for the horsemen in the
road.  There were four of them, galloping two abreast, and the dismay
of the Europeans may be imagined when the sudden cessation of the
sound of the hoofs showed that they had reined up in front of the
bungalow.  There could be no doubt that they were looking for
victims, and there was hope of finding them in the neighborhood.

Luchman did not hesitate to show himself where he was sure to attract
the notice of the miscreants.

Suspecting him to be the khansaman, they addressed him in their
native tongue and asked whether he had seen any of the Feringhees
pass that way lately.  Luchman replied that a carriage containing two
ladies and a child had gone by but a few minutes before.  They
eagerly inquired the direction, and were instantly off again.  The
guide did not inform them that the unfortunates were already beyond
their reach.

The horsemen having gone, the Europeans once more breathed freely.
But the occurrences of the last half hour gave them a vivid idea of
their peril.  They had come to think themselves almost clear of
danger from mutineers and budmashes, only to learn that they were
threatened on every side.

The guide by his coolness had averted the danger for the moment, but
it may be said it was only for the moment.  They had chosen the worst
place to await his coming, since the bungalow was of no account as a
means of defense.

It was necessary that they should leave at once.  It was desirable
indeed that they should have the company of Harkins and Avery, but it
would not do to wait for them.  Luchman, therefore, called to them to
follow him.

As he left the bungalow they were close behind him.  He moved
northward, and had not far to go before catching sight of the jungle
on their left.

Luchman hastened toward this refuge, and though its malarious depths
might contain the terrible tiger, the leopard, the bear, the lion,
the wolf, the jackal, the hyena, the jungle cat, the boar, and deadly
serpents, yet it was better than the open country, through which the
merciless natives were prowling for victims.

Again Luchman turned aside from the highway, and again his quick ear
caught the sound of hoofs.  He thought it more than likely that the
mutineers had heard of the party of Feringhees on foot, and were
hunting for them.  Too much risk had already been run, and the guide
resolved to do all he could for those with him, leaving the young men
to look out for themselves.

It took but a brief while to reach the jungle, in whose shelter the
fugitives once more hoped they were safe.  Telling them to keep quiet
and stay where they were, the guide left them to make what might be
called a reconnaissance of their position.  He found it satisfactory,
and expressed the hope that they would not be disturbed, so long as
they were vigilant and prudent.

Having done his best, he set down the food he had brought and urged
them to eat.  Their appetites had returned and they partook
thankfully of the nourishment.

The solicitude of the party was now for the absent friends who had
left them in the bungalow.  There was no means by which they could
find the party in the jungle, and Luchman was asked to go in search
of them.  He consented, though with the muttered complaint that by
the time he found them, some one would have to hunt for the
missionary and his family, but the good man assured him that they
would stay where they were unless driven away by the approach of
danger.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE GHOOJURS.

Meanwhile Harkins and Avery were in need of a counselor, guide and
friend.

The first, as will be recalled, dropped from the limbs of the tree,
where he had taken refuge when the runaway elephant caused the howdah
to be scraped from his huge back.

The first act of the sportsman, after reaching the ground, was to
take a look at the demolished structure lying at the side of the road.

"Howdy?" he exclaimed, with a laugh; "considered purely as a howdah
you are now of little account.  I had hard work to keep my rifle all
through this flurry, but I believe it hasn't received one half the
bruises that I have.  Is that you, doctor?"

The surgeon came forward and the two shook hands, glad enough that
the adventure had come to such a fortunate ending for themselves,
though the main purpose for which it was undertaken had miscarried.

"We can't get back to the bungalow too soon," said Harkins; "the
night is pretty well gone, and there seem to be plenty of the natives
no matter in what direction we turn."

"Yes, and there are some of them coming this way," remarked the
doctor, as they started southward.

"There are only two horsemen, and we needn't turn aside for them."

The natives came along at an easy gallop, and neither halted nor
slackened their speed, as they identified one of the Europeans at
least, through the dust raised by the animals.

They had not gone far, however, when they suddenly wheeled and let
fly with a couple of carbines at the young men.  The bullets passed
close, and the astounded Harkins, instantly bringing his gun to his
shoulder, returned the shot.  He missed, probably confused by the
dust and his own excitement.

The ruffians galloped off, but there was little doubt that they would
return.  The fugitives decided to keep to the highway a little
longer, and despite the extreme heat, moved at the fastest possible
walk.  The strong moonlight was of great help, but they were alarmed
by the sound of firing, which they feared meant an attack upon the
bungalow.  The sight of a crowd swarming around a carriage in the
road told the awful story.  The wretches were so absorbed in their
scramble for plunder, that they paid no attention to the two figures,
which, leaving the road, made a wide detour beyond them.

Coming back to the highway once more, they pressed on with the same
haste, and in due time reached the bungalow, whose low thatched roof
they recognized while yet some distance away.

They quickly found that no one was in or near it.

"I don't know whether this is a bad omen or not," said Avery, whose
solicitude was distressing.

"I hope it means that they have withdrawn to a safe place," remarked
the more hopeful Harkins.

"That may be, but how are we to find out?"

"We shall have to depend on Luchman to open communication, for it is
out of our power to do it ourselves."

"Here is another of the dogs; be ready for him, Harkins, and shoot
first."

"I guess I won't be in a hurry," laughed the other, who, suspecting
from the first the identity of the stranger, now saw that it was
Luchman himself, that native rightly believing that his friends would
do their best to reach the bungalow where they had parted from the
others.

A minute or two was enough for each party to reach an understanding.

There was no time to lose.  Day was breaking, and the mutineers and
budmashes were growing altogether too numerous for comfort.  The
guide, therefore, quickly led the way back to the jungle, which, dark
as it was, was easily threaded by him.

His companions kept close behind, and they had not gone far before
their leader stopped.

"I think this is the spot, sahib," he said in a voice which despite
its gentleness showed a marked tremor.

"I don't see how you can know, when everything is so indistinct.
Helloa, friends!  Where are you?"

Guarded as was the call of Avery, it was loud enough to be heard by
any one within a radius of a hundred feet, but the listening ears
caught no response.

"Call again, sahib."

Avery did as requested, but with no more result than before.

"They have moved further into the jungle," suggested Harkins.  "Let's
follow them."

Luchman did not speak, but in the same stealthy fashion advanced
fully two hundred yards, stopping several times and emitting a
peculiar whistling sound, which any member of the missionary's family
would have been quick to recognize had it been heard.  Both Avery and
Harkins also signaled and called so often that there could be only
one reason for the failure of reply: their friends were beyond
hearing.

"They are gone, sahib," said Luchman, "and I have no means of finding
where they are."

He explained that the last words of the missionary when they parted
on the edge of the jungle included his pledge that they would not
leave the spot, unless compelled to do so by the approach of danger.
As he had gone away, there could be no doubt therefore of the reason
for such a step.

"But why should they have gone so far," asked Harkins, "when the
jungle is dense and dark enough to afford all the concealment they
could need?  Had the wretches approached, our friends would have had
to pick their way only a short distance when they would be as
invisible as if in the very heart of the jungle."

"It looks as if they had overestimated the danger.  Luchman, isn't
this long night almost ended?"

By way of answer he pointed to the east, where the light of the
rising sun was beginning to show itself.  Darkness was fleeing from
the earth.

"I am glad of that," said the distressed surgeon.

"And why?" asked Harkins.

"Our eyes will be of more service; Luchman will find out something
about the family, for they must have left signs in the jungle that
will give some clew."

The situation of the three may be described as being in a country
cultivated by ryots or small farmers.  In the distance could be seen
the low huts of the native village, and the well from which the
supply of water to irrigate the fields was drawn.  The only people
visible were a couple of villagers just starting out to begin their
toil in the fields that stretched from their dwellings to the very
border of the jungle.

The vegetation surrounding them displayed the prodigious exuberance
which amazes the traveler who visits India for the first time.  The
jungle looked impenetrable, and would have closed about a regiment of
men like the sea over a sinking ship, so that the wonder remained as
to why the three Europeans left the cover, if indeed they had done so.

"There ought to be signs here," said Avery, addressing the guide,
"that will help you.  I have read that the American Indian will trail
his foe over the prairie, mountain and forest, no matter how light
his step, and the Hindoo ought to be able to do the same."

Had the latter received the special training of the aborigines of
America, there could have been little doubt of his attaining the same
wonderful keenness of the eye.

As it was, Luchman and his friends scrutinized the ground as closely
as they could.  They saw that the soil and undergrowth had been
impressed by passing feet.  There was no doubt, therefore, of the
recent presence of their friends, but it was important to know
whether others had also visited the spot.

It was impossible to answer that question, but the probabilities were
that strangers had been there very recently.

This was an alarming conclusion, for it showed the natives must have
found the place of concealment within a short time after the guide
departed, a fact involving some occurrences that even Luchman could
not explain.

There were no evidences of anything like a struggle, and he was sure
he would have heard the firing of guns had there been any.

"Helloa! the mischief is to pay again!" exclaimed Harkins.

At the moment this expression was uttered the three had come back to
the edge of the jungle.  Avery and Luchman looked around to learn the
cause of their friend's excitement.

Fully a dozen Ghoojurs were seen coming across the open field toward
the spot where the trio were hunting for traces of their friends.
The ragged party were straggling along on foot, without regard to any
order, but they were abundantly armed with guns, swords, knives, and
in one or two instances with spears.

It was impossible to imagine what brought them in that direction, and
the fugitives had no time in which to discuss the question.  That
they were coming straight for them was evident, and unless the
Feringhees retreated at once a fight was inevitable.

It would have been folly to wait, and the three, therefore, started
back into the jungle, following the same line as the advance of the
Ghoojurs themselves.  Had our friends taken a second thought probably
they would have turned to the right or left.  Harkins was indiscreet
enough to try to keep an eye on their pursuers while making the
withdrawal.

Seeing his error, Luchman called sharply to him to hasten, but at
that moment the sportsman was discovered, several of the Ghoojurs
uttering shouts and breaking at once into a run toward the jungle.

There could have been little in the way of a race through the dense
undergrowth, but the fugitives were following a faintly marked path,
which allowed fair progress to the other side of the spur, as it may
be called, of the jungle, beyond which lay the open country.

They had no more than fairly started when Harkins, who was at the
rear, caught his foot in a wiry vine which threw him forward on his
hands and knees.  With an impatient exclamation he was instantly on
his feet and running harder than ever.

It will be understood that each of the fugitives was capable of high
speed.  It is doubtful whether Luchman had his superior in all India,
while the other two were athletes scarcely his inferiors in
fleetness.  In a fair race, they would have soon left the Ghoojurs
out of sight, but the latter were more accustomed to making their way
through such obstacles than the two Europeans, and they had the
strongest of all incentives that such miscreants can have in a
contest of the kind.

In a few minutes the woods became more open; they were nearing the
other side of the spur of the jungle.

"Look out, sahib! they are going to fire!"

At the instant of uttering the warning, Luchman leaped behind a tree
and the others did the same.

Several shots cut through the vegetation near them, and the Ghoojurs,
seeing that the Feringhees were at bay, checked themselves when but a
few rods separated them.

The surgeon saw the call for a little heroic treatment.  Observing a
dusky ruffian careless about exposing himself, he blazed away with
his revolver.  The intervening space was so short that he punctured
the fellow in the leg, though unfortunately the wound was not severe.
With a yell the victim went limping back out of range.

The opportune shot threw the Ghoojurs into a panic, which, however,
was quickly over.  Almost immediately they began what may be
characterized as a double flank movement that was certain to be fatal
to the fugitives, unless they resumed their flight without further
pause.

The ruffians were not lacking in courage, if it can be called
courageous for a dozen armed men to assail one fourth that number.
They branched out to the right and left, like a fan, so that by
pushing on and closing in they could quickly surround their victims
and have them at their mercy.

But the latter did not stand still and allow themselves to be bagged
in that fashion.  Luchman saw the danger, and called to his friends
to take to their heels again.  They obeyed, the three making
desperate haste toward the open country which was near at hand.



CHAPTER

THE RUINED TEMPLE.

The next minute the fugitives emerged from the jungle into what was
once a cultivated field, but which was now covered with a species of
short grass burned crisp by the sun.  The ground was level, and
favorable for pedestrianism.

Our friends could not have asked anything better, and they
straightway gave their pursuers an exhibition of speed that must have
astonished them.

Harkins was bearing to the right, but was recalled by a word from
Luchman, and the three dashed for the other side of the plain,
distant about an eighth of a mile.

What was to be done when the boundary should be reached was a serious
question, but before attaining it an unexpected refuge presented
itself.

India abounds with interesting ruins, temples and caves, which
display an exquisite order of architecture of ancient times.  In
front of the runners appeared a ruined temple, and the guide called
out that if they could reach that they would be safe.

The utmost effort was made, and Harkins and the surgeon were sure
they never ran so fast in all their lives.  Probably their pursuers
believed the same, for they steadily dropped behind.  Several fired
while on the run, but that was practice in which they did not excel,
and their shots went wild.

The structure, as seen from a distance, was simply a ruin.  It had
been a fine building centuries before, but was fallen to pieces so
that naught beside the lower portion remained.  Several walls, their
tops jagged and uneven, rose to a height of twenty or thirty feet,
and piles of masonry lay strewn around where they may have been
tumbled by fanatic hands or by the elements.  Dense shrubbery and a
few twisted trees projected from the debris, and their roots, while
helping to disintegrate, also helped to hold what was left in
position.

The masonry was of a dull gray color, visible for a long way through
the emerald vegetation, though a casual glance might well have caused
a doubt as to whether it could be made available as a means of
defense.  In ancient times, the use of a species of sugar in the
mortar gave it a degree of hardness which gradually became like that
of stone itself.

But there was no time to think of that: it was all that was left to
the fugitives, who continued to put forth their utmost efforts.  They
kept well together until quite near the refuge, when Luchman shot
ahead with a swiftness that astonished the others.  He bounded
through the arched way that had once spanned the entrance as if he
were shot from a catapult.

His companions were scarcely behind him, and they rushed in like a
couple of contestants on the home-stretch, all quickly pausing, for
they were doubtful of what remained beyond.

"Stop, sahibs," shouted Luchman; "they must not come in!"

The native breathed no faster because of his exertion, but the two
athletes were panting, though able to do far more had it been
necessary.  Checking themselves, they turned about to watch the
movements of their enemies.

The latter had been thrown far behind, and were coming at a more
leisurely gait.  The fugitives viewed them through the overhanging
branches of a gnarled tree, which grew off to one side from the
arched gateway.  They saw the Ghoojurs pause at a safe distance and
engage in a discussion, most likely as to what course they should
follow, in view of the new turn events had taken.

"They are debating whether to make a rush after us or to wait till
they can bring up reenforcements," ventured Harkins.

"I can understand the two sides to that question," replied the
doctor.  "It will not take them long to get all the aid they can
want, but the objection to that is that it will make the share of
each so much the smaller, when they come to divide the spoil."

Leaving his friends to keep watch, Luchman entered the fort of which
they had taken possession, to learn its capabilities in the way of
defense.  He needed but a short time, and the result was more
satisfactory than he expected.

The arched gate or doorway extended backward twenty feet, where it
opened into a spacious apartment.  The former was several yards in
width and eight or ten feet high.  The room measured about thirty
feet square had a high ceiling and was dimly lit by several small
circular windows, similar to those used to light the cells of
prisoners.  There were three at the rear, but none at the sides, and
they, with the tunnel-like passage which admitted the fugitives, gave
enough illumination for the occupants to see each other across the
apartment.

The roof of this room had been the floor of the tower-like structure
which is common to ancient Hindoo ruins.  It appeared to be a foot in
thickness, and was composed of great blocks of hard, gray stone,
united by a cement, spread over and around a net work of massive
beams, which rendered them as durable as the rock itself.  The walls
at the side were equally heavy, and, being joined by the same kind of
sugary cement, they were powerful enough to resist for a long time
the pounding of large cannon.

A small force could hold an immense one at bay, protected as was the
garrison by such powerful defenses.  The only question was as to how
long a party could stand a siege.

In the case of our friends, this certainly could not be long, for
they were not only without food and water, but lacked the means of
getting any.  All were hungry, and before long would be thirsty.

"We can hold them in check, sahibs, until night," said Luchman, "but
if we wait longer than that, they will have us fast."

Though a score of brave men might recoil from an attempt to carry the
place by storm, yet the Ghoojurs must have known that they had but to
contain their souls in patience for only a brief while.  The tempting
fruit if left alone will fall to the ground in the fulness of time.

Since the Ghoojurs showed no disposition to make any immediate
advance, the guide told his friends that if they wished they could
take a survey of the interior, and he would call them when wanted.
Thereupon Harkins and the surgeon passed through the gateway, and
entered the large apartment.

"If we had several months' provisions and a well of water," observed
the sportsman, "we wouldn't care for all the Ghoojurs that could be
brought against us.  They couldn't batter these walls down in a year,
and we would pick them off at our leisure."

"Why speculate upon that which can never be?" asked the doctor, whose
spirits were not so elastic as those of his companion; "there is no
means of getting food or water, and I am oppressed with a sentiment
that here we are to make a final stand."

"That for presentiments," replied Harkins, snapping his fingers;
"they all depend on the state of your stomach.  I am hungry, but am
not bilious, and therefore haven't any presentiments."

"Who shall say whether our dear ones are yet alive?"

"No one, but there is hope," said Harkins, more sympathetically; "the
outlook is bad, but no worse than it has been several times before."

"We have been favored in a marked degree, but we must not shut our
eyes to what is before us.  Hitherto we have had the liberty of
movement, but we are now walled in."

"Didn't you hear Luchman say that we must keep them in check until
night, when we would leave?  What can that signify but that he has
fixed upon some feasible scheme?"

"Common sense will not allow me to believe that.  There is but one
way out, and that is the one by which we entered; and the nights now
are almost the same as day."

"Keep a stiff upper lip, doctor, for though I can't explain the plan
of the campaign I know he can.  Your depression just now is not
because of yourself but your absent friends."

"It is, for I am sure Luchman considers their case about hopeless;
what do you think, Harkins?"

"I believe they are prisoners."

"That is worse than if they were dead."

Harkins turned his head away and whistled softly: he knew his friend
was right.

"You have my profoundest sympathy, doctor, and my life is at your
service.  If we knew where they were, I would lead in a rush that
would end in our death or their safety."

These were brave words, but there could be no doubt of their honesty.
There was no risk the sportsman would not have eagerly run for the
sake of his new friends.  The doctor feelingly thanked him, adding
that he was confident he would soon be called upon to verify his
pledge.

Their eyes had now become accustomed to the twilight of the room, and
they saw distinctly.

"What the mischief is _that_?" asked Harkins, pointing toward the
further corner, where a large object with some resemblance to a man
was visible.

"We can soon find out," replied the doctor, striding across the
apartment.

Both laughed, for that which had caught their eye was an idol--one of
the hundreds of thousands of deities of India.

It was a grotesque imitation of humanity, with a head resembling an
elephant's and as big as the rest of the body, and with a mouth, eyes
and nose enough to terrify a beholder.  It seemed to have been carved
from marble, and still bore traces of the red paint and gilt with
which it was once decorated.

"Do you know anything about this gentleman?" asked Harkins, after
they had examined the image.

"It is meant for Gungah, the many armed goddess of the Ganges."

"It seems to me that when these people tried to represent a goddess
they might have made her better looking.  This specimen is enough to
give a man the nightmare."

While making these remarks, Harkins placed his hand against the idol
and pushed hard enough to move it slightly.

"She don't seem to be very solid on her pins," he said; "over she
goes!"

And with a more vigorous shove he sent her crashing to the floor.

"Thus shall tumble the Mogul Empire," said Avery, looking down on the
prostrate monster, "and it shall rise nevermore."

"I agree with your sentiments, but wish that the empire would not be
so long in falling.  I tell you that old England, though thousands of
miles away, won't take long to strike, and when she does so, it will
be straight from the shoulder and she'll make the bones rattle."

"Yes," assented the surgeon with a glow of patriotic pride, "our
whole population is not an eighth of this country's, but we are as
much its master as though our army were ten times as big."

Since the two were talking thus familiarly, the doctor, having made a
remark, awaited the reply of his friend.  But Harkins was as still as
the idol had been for hundreds of years.

"What's the matter?" asked Avery in some surprise.

Harkins raised his hand.

"_Sh! hark!_"

The surgeon did as requested, but was unable to hear anything to
justify the action of his friend.

"I say, my boy," remarked Harkins a minute later, "we haven't yet
unearthed all the mysteries of this old temple."

"To what do you refer?"

"We are not the only persons in it.  While you were speaking a little
while ago I heard voices."

"Are you sure of that?"

"There is no doubt about it.  The speakers used so much care that I
could not catch their words, but the voices themselves, though faint,
could not be mistaken."

"Could they not have been the Ghoojurs outside?"

"No, I thought of that; I was standing right here with no dream of
such a thing when--there they are again!"

Avery stepped forward and pressed his ear against the wall beyond
which it was evident the strangers must be.  The next minute he
whispered:

"You are right, Harkins; there are other persons in this temple."



CHAPTER XXIV.

WANA AFFGHAR OF PUNEPUT.

Each now touched his ear to the wall, which was a better conductor of
sound than the air.  As a result, both heard persons talking.  They
did not speak continuously, and modulated their words so that it was
impossible to catch their meaning.

It was quite clear, however, that the strangers on the other side
were aware that some kind of danger threatened them, for they used
the utmost care.  It looked as though they had entered an unsuspected
apartment adjoining the one in which the three fugitives took refuge
when fleeing from the Ghoojurs, and they were at that moment
discussing their situation.

"Now, who can they be?" asked Harkins; "I am inclined to suspect they
are Ghoojurs, who have found some secret way into this temple."

"More likely they are refugees like ourselves,--some poor people who
have known of the temple, and imagine they have a good hiding place
from the mutineers."

"We must learn the truth as soon as we can."

In the hope of finding some spot in the wall where they could hear
more distinctly, the surgeon began groping along its face with his
hands.  He could not see clearly enough in the dim light to discern
small objects.

"Helloa! here's something!" he exclaimed, in the same guarded voice.

"What is it?" asked his companion.

"It feels like the knob of a door."

"Maybe it's a door bell; give it a pull and see whether the people
are receiving calls," said Harkins, whose high spirits could not
always be repressed even in the most critical moments.

"Here is a door-----"

"Good by," called the sportsman, as he saw his friend pass through an
opening that suddenly presented itself.

Drawing the handle to one side the door slid to the left, and Avery
advanced a couple of steps into a smaller room.  Then, fearful of a
volley from the strangers, he quickly drew back beside Harkins.

"Did you see anybody?" asked the latter.

"No; I didn't dare wait; there seems to be about as much light in
that apartment as there is in this."

Both were quiet, and the next minute whispers were heard, followed by
the cautious movement of feet.

"Be careful," whispered Harkins; "there are more wonders in the ruins
than are dreamt of in our philosophy; there's deviltry afoot, and
we'll get a shot before you know it."

"_Baird, Baird, is that you?_"

The soft voice came from within the smaller apartment.  It was low,
but its music had charmed Avery many a time.  He sprang forward into
the room.

"Good heavens! it is Marian!"

She advanced hastily through the twilight, and was clasped in his
arms.  As Harkins entered, the missionary and his wife came forward
and shook his hand.

Suffering and danger drew all near together in this trying hour, and
the man whom they had never heard of until within a few days was as
dear to all as though his brave devotion had been attested by years
of service.

As may be supposed, Mr. Hildreth had an interesting story to tell.

That morning their guide, Luchman, had been gone but a short time,
when they were frightened by the appearance of a man who seemed to be
a Brahmin fakir.  He surprised the fugitives by showing an
extraordinary knowledge of every one of them.  He said he knew they
were fleeing from Delhi to Kurnal, and that a large party of Ghoojurs
were hunting for them, believing they carried much riches.  Still
further, they were aware of the precise part of the jungle where the
Feringhees had taken refuge, and would soon come to rob and kill them.

Remarkable as was this statement, Mr. Hildreth believed it, mainly
because of the intimate knowledge the fakir showed of his affairs.
The Brahmin added that he had received so many kindnesses from the
missionaries that he was anxious to befriend them, but the
circumstances--as could be readily seen--were such that he could do
so only in an indirect manner.  He informed them that there was but
the one course by which they could save their lives: that was to
hasten at once to the sacred temple, dedicated to the worship of
Gungah, the goddess of the Ganges who came to restore to King Suguin
the sixty thousand sons that had been reduced to ashes.  The fakir
insisted that though this temple was in ruins, it would not be
profaned by any of the roving Ghoojurs, even if they learned the
party had taken refuge there.

This theology was altogether different from what Mr. Hildreth had
heard since living in India, but he decided to leave the jungle, much
as he would have preferred to await the return of Luchman.  His
anxiety to get away was deepened by several suspicious movements on
the part of natives at a distance.

All being in native costume, they were not likely to attract notice
when in the company of the fakir, whom they followed across the open
plain to the temple, where he left them just as day began breaking.
He promised to acquaint Luchman with what he had done, and to be back
at the end of an hour.

The missionary feared he had committed a serious indiscretion, but
the intense mental strain to which he had been subjected during the
past few days no doubt affected his power of judgment.

But the family were no sooner left alone than they disposed of
themselves in the most comfortable positions, and fell into a sound
slumber which lasted until they heard noises in the adjoining room.
It was while they were talking about it that Harkins overheard them,
and the discovery followed that all were in the same building, or
figuratively speaking in the "same boat."

This was an extraordinary narrative indeed, and the identity of the
native who played the part of Brahmin fakir was a source of profound
wonder.

Since no one ever could guess, Dr. Avery went outside to where
Luchman was on guard, told the story to him and asked his opinion.

The converted Hindoo was never so dumfounded in all his life.  He was
overjoyed to find that his friends were in the building, but he did
not hesitate to say that the missionary had been imposed upon.

"Tell me, sahib, how this fakir looks," said he.

"I did not hear any description of him.  I will bring Mr. Hildreth,
and he will answer your questions."

"That will be well, sahib; I think I know the fakir."

Mr. Hildreth warmly greeted the guide as he came forth, and the two
looked cautiously out over the plain to see if there was any danger
of immediate attack from the Ghoojurs.  Luchman said there was none,
and the two then began talking about the fakir in whom all felt much
interest.

"This seems to be a land of mystery," said the surgeon to himself:
"and here is one of them."

To the disgust of the young physician, at the moment the conversation
grew more interesting, the two dropped into Hindustani, and all that
he had learned during his several years' residence in Calcutta did
not suffice to afford him an inkling of the meaning of a single
sentence.

Avery believed that the reverend gentleman gave information to
Luchman which he withheld from the others.  The expression on the
faces of both showed they felt unusual interest in the question.  The
native told the missionary who he believed the bogus fakir was, and
shortly after Mr. Hildreth walked back through the archway to his
family and friends.

Finding himself alone with the guide, Dr. Avery asked:

"What have the Ghoojurs done since we left you?"

"Nothing, sahib; they have been talking together and have moved
backward and forward.  But there they are, sahib, the same as when
you went inside."

Avery looked out and of course saw that things were as stated by the
native.  The dozen brigands who showed such annoying interest in them
formed an irregular group, some of whom were lolling on the ground,
in the fervid rays of the sun, while others stood near each other
discussing questions in which they were interested, the all important
one being as to the best means of dislodging the Feringhees from the
ruins of the temple.

While the surgeon was studying the ruffians, he observed a Ghoojur
riding toward them.  He came from a direction which shut him from
view until close at hand.  The two sentinels, as they may be called,
walked to the entrance of the archway, where they scrutinized the men
with the closest attention.

The horseman halted when he reached the squad of brigands, and talked
several minutes with them.  Then he wheeled his horse around, and
rode on a walk toward the ruined temple.

Coming into clearer view, it was seen that he was dressed better than
any of the others, and no doubt was their leader.  He wore a massive
turban, from which descended a graceful scarf of embroidered muslin,
and carried a beautifully ornamented sword at his side.  His animal
was a small pony of high blood, jet black in color, and was
caparisoned as gayly as the steed of a Rajah.

It struck Avery that he approached dangerously close before he drew
up and took a survey of the temple, as though it was entirely new to
him.  His sallow face, with the sunken and lustrous eyes, the
beak-like nose, and the long coarse mustache curling downward, were
so distinctly seen by the doctor that he was sure he could never
forget them.

Luchman showed a deep interest in the ruffian, and he drew Avery back
a few steps as a precaution against treachery.

"You will remember him, sahib?" he asked, in a low voice.

"As long as I live!  Who is he?"

"He is the Brahmin fakir who brought the missionary and his family to
this temple; I know his name, sahib."

"What is it?"

"Wana Affghar of Puneput.  He is the Ghoojur chieftain who has hunted
me so long, because of the Star of India which I carry; he feels sure
of me now; he has tracked me better than I believed he could do."



CHAPTER XXV.

BUKTAR SING.

There was an alarming significance in the declaration of the native
guide that the horseman at the head of the Ghoojurs who were
besieging the fugitives in the ruined temple was Wana Affghar of
Puneput.

He was the brigand who by some means had learned that Luchman was the
possessor of the great diamond, the Star of India, and who for a year
had been trying to secure the wonderful gem, without regard to the
means employed.  Either suspecting or knowing of a certainty that the
daring Christian carried it about his person, he had guided his
movements in accordance with that fact.

He had hired detectives, as they may be called, to follow the
footsteps of Luchman, their instructions being not to kill him but to
lead him into some situation that would place him in the power of the
Ghoojur chieftain.  The latter was handicapped by the impossibility
of fully trusting his employees.  If one of them should slay Luchman
and take the diamond from him, the assassin would be sure to keep the
jewel himself.

Accordingly Wana gave out that he wished to "habeas corpus" the body
of the Hindoo proselyte for an unpardonable crime committed against
him.  The emissaries of the brigand were not permitted to know the
fortune Luchman carried, and they directed all their attempts,
therefore, toward persuading him to venture outside of the large
cities, where the vigilant Wana Affghar could seize him.

This task, however, was impossible of accomplishment, because the
native was certain to suspect the meaning of such a proposal, no
matter how cautiously made; but he underestimated the ability of
these birds of prey.  At the very time he thought they were thrown
off the scent, he was under their surveillance.  The outbreak in
Delhi led him to move northward with the Europeans, which was in the
direction of the chieftain's regular tramping ground.

Everything united to aid Wana.  The delay was long enough to allow
him to perfect his plans.  It was necessary to placate his men, which
he did by promising to turn over to them all of the Feringhees, with
whatever loot they might have in their possession.  He only demanded
the body of the native, thus parrying all suspicion of his avarice,
which was his sole governing motive.

Without saying more, the reader will comprehend the situation as it
was developed to Wana Affghar of Puneput, to Luchman, and to Dr.
Baird Avery.

The rest of the fugitives knew nothing of these particulars, and the
guide showed no wish to enlighten them.

Luchman admitted that he had been outwitted by the chieftain, but a
curious expression lit up his olive face as he muttered,

"_He hasn't got the Star of India yet._"

There was an unsuspected meaning in this declaration, which Dr. Avery
recalled after many days, though he was far from suspecting it at the
time the sentence was uttered.  He forebore to question his friend,
who had a way of telling without solicitation that which he wished to
make known.

During the conference Harkins was in the rear apartment with the
missionary and his family.  The Ghoojurs showed no purpose of an
immediate attack, for they must have seen that it could accomplish
nothing.  The doctor and the guide were speaking about the probable
course of the ruffians when Harkins joined them with a welcome
message.

The generous breakfast that Luchman had brought to the fugitives in
the jungle was still in their possession.  There were the lota of
water and the fruit and bread obtained at a native hut.  With these
too was a supply of cooked dall or grain.

This was a godsend, for it gave to the little garrison the power to
hold out against their enemies, if necessary, for several days.
Avery and Harkins went within, and a careful division of the food was
made so as to give all a substantial lunch, which was to last till
the following morning.  On the morrow, the rest would be eaten, and
it was calculated that three days could be passed in the prison
without inconvenience in the way of food.  It was not the latter,
however, that was so sorely needed as was water.  In such a hot
climate, the demand for the life giving fluid must be far greater
than in a temperate or cold region, and their supply was so light
that it was necessary to be rigidly economical from the first.

The share set apart for Luchman being carried out to him by Dr.
Avery, the guide told his friend to take it back and keep it until he
asked for it.  The astonished gentleman did as requested, remarking
that Luchman was not likely to be troubled with hunger or thirst for
several months to come.

When Avery and Harkins returned once more to the front they saw that
something was up.  Wana Affghar, having ridden close to the archway,
sat for several minutes in the attitude of one who was posing for his
picture.  Suddenly he dashed off, galloped around in a circle and
came back to his position.

Catching sight of Luchman, he raised his hand and beckoned for him to
approach.  He repeated the gesture several times, but the guide paid
no attention to it.  Then Wana spoke, the distance being so brief
that a conversational tone was sufficient.

Luchman translated the words to his interested friends.  The Ghoojur
asking Luchman to come out and talk with him, the latter replied that
it was not necessary, since they could converse in their present
positions.  Wana said that his words were of such importance that no
one else must hear them, to which the guide made answer that that
requirement could be easily met by the use of Hindustani.

To this remark came the astounding declaration on the part of Wana
that he knew one of the Feringhees had been engaged for some time in
Calcutta studying the native language.

"How in the name of the seven wonders does he know anything about
me?" asked the amazed surgeon; "true, I did try to master this
barbarous speech, but the intervals between the lessons were so long
that I regularly forgot all I had learned, and I can't hold the
briefest conversation, if my life were depending upon it."

"He has seen you, sahib, and knows you."

"He is a shrewder rascal than I imagined; but I can overcome his
scruples by withdrawing beyond hearing."

"Though you may be out of sight, sahib, he will believe you are
listening."

Wana Affghar insisted, but Luchman in refusing did not hesitate to
say that he was such a villain that he would not trust him.

Showing no offense because of the insult, the brigand repeated that
he had a communication which was one of life and death, and which
must be heard by the ears of Luchman alone.  But inasmuch as Luchman
would not listen to him he would send Buktar Sing, his intimate
friend, to impart the important message.

The guide assured Wana that such a proceeding was useless, since one
of them was as bad as the other.  But the chieftain galloped back,
describing several fanciful circles on the way, as if seeking to
display his horsemanship.

He was seen to converse with his friends a short time, and then one
of them walked forth toward the temple.  He advanced with a firm
step, while he fixed his black eyes upon the native standing in the
archway.

"Luchman," said Avery, "I advise you to go out and talk with that
fellow."

"He is a cobra, waiting a chance to strike."

"We can fix that," said Harkins; "we'll keep you both covered with
our guns, and at the first sign of treachery well let this beautiful
sunlight of India beam through his body.  Doctor, run inside and get
Mr. Hildreth's gun."

"I will do as the sahibs wish," replied Luchman, who felt some
curiosity to test the matter.

Avery hurried back with the weapon of the missionary.  By this time
the Ghoojur had reached the spot where the leader had halted a few
minutes before.  He stopped and looked sharply at Luchman.

"What do you want?" asked the latter.

"I have something to say to you for my chief, Wana Affghar; will you
come forth to hear it?"

"I will if you are honest; have you any weapons with you?"

"None," was the prompt answer, as the ruffian threw up both hands to
show they contained nothing.

"I'll stake my life that, all the same, he has a weapon hidden in his
garments," said Harkins; "take your knife with you, Luchman."

The guide accepted the advice.  He turned partly away from the
messenger, making a display of handing over his pistol that was sure
to be noticed by the Ghoojur.  At the same time, he slipped his sharp
knife under his clothing where it was out of sight, but could be
drawn the instant needed.

"Bear in mind," added Harkins, as their friend left them, "that we'll
never take our eyes off you, and if they try any trick we'll make
music for them."



CHAPTER XXVI

A COUPLE OF SHOTS.

Buktar Sing, the messenger of Wana Affghar, of Puneput, calmly
awaited the approach of Luchman, who advanced with a certain dignity
that seemed to mark all his movements.

At the moment of joining the messenger, Luchman made a discovery
which caused him some uneasiness, and which he wondered he had not
made before.

Less than twenty yards distant was a depression in the ground,
running at right angles to the course he took in leaving the temple.
Since they must have crossed it in their flight to the ruins, it
would seem that he ought to have noticed it.  That he failed to do so
was probably due to the haste with which he and his companions fled
to the refuge.

Water had probably flowed through it quite recently, for it contained
grass of a green color, while that around it was burnt brown and dry.
In short it was just the place for a foe to hide himself during the
interview about to take place.

Luchman was the first to speak.

"What tidings do you bring that Wana Affghar asks me to leave my
friends that they may not hear it?"

Buktar Sing answered,

"Wana tells me to urge you to surrender, since it is the only thing
that will save the lives of yourself and the Feringhees with you."

"Why is that?"

"You see the large numbers we have; we can kill you all whenever Wana
gives the word."

"Why does he hesitate?"

"Wana Affghar is merciful, and he will not do so until you refuse the
offer I bring you."

"If I surrender, what then?"

"Wana asks as a condition that you shall yield to him a diamond that
you have stolen."

"And if I do, what then?"

"He will spare your lives, and give you safe escort to Kurnal,
whither you are traveling from Delhi."

Could Luchman of a certainty have known that this offer was honest
and would be carried out, he would have accepted it.  The Star of
India was a treasure almost beyond price, and would have been an
extravagant ransom for a king or emperor, but it was not so valuable
as one's own life.

Luchman held to a great degree the doctrine of Kismet or fatalism,
which he had been taught in his early youth, and, believing that his
hour for dying had been unalterably fixed by destiny, he was not
concerned for himself.  But the Christians had been differently
taught, and he felt that somehow or other another law governed them.

But he could not have the slightest faith in the honor of Wana
Affghar.  Like the perfidious Nana Sahib (as was afterwards shown),
he would deliberately violate the most solemn oath that a Mohammedan
or Hindoo could take upon himself.  Let him but once lay hold of the
diamond, and he would turn loose his fiends upon the fugitives.

"How can I know that your chieftain will keep his word?" asked
Luchman, as though impressed by the offer.

"The word of Wana Affghar has never been broken," was the
overwhelming falsehood of Buktar Sing.

"Ram!  Ram! japana Paraya mal apana!" (He repeats the name of the god
Ram and then calls other people's property his own), said Luchman,
uttering a common saying of his people.  "I will not accept the offer
without a guarantee that cannot be broken."

"Name such guarantee."

"He must accept my pledge; I am a Christian who thinks more of his
promise than his life; he is a follower of Ram and will lie.  I will
agree that if he will withdraw his men and give the Feringhees a long
start, and will not molest them nor allow any one else to do so, I
will hand to him the diamond he covets."

This proposition gave a new phase to the negotiation, and Buktar Sing
saw that he would have to consult his principal before accepting or
rejecting the conditions.

Saying as much, he saluted and turned to rejoin his friends, the
words and manner of Buktar Sing having disarmed all suspicion.

All through the interview, Dr. Avery and George Harkins stood with
loaded guns and eyes fixed upon the two, both convinced that
treachery was intended.  Their close scrutiny led them to detect the
ditch-like depression in the plain, which had escaped the notice of
Luchman until then.  Its location, as we have said, was shown by the
fringe of green, where the over abundant moisture had kept the grass
from drying up.

The discovery confirmed the belief that foul play would be seen.

"The interview is ended," said Harkins, at the moment their guide
saluted Buktar Sing and turned his face away.

"Yes--and do you see that?"

The dark line of grass was agitated just beyond Luchman as he
approached the temple.  The stirring of the grass was of a nature to
show that it was caused by some person.  The sentinels brought their
guns to their shoulders.

At the moment of doing so, two hideous looking heads rose in sight,
followed by the shoulders and bodies of the Ghoojurs, who stole as
noiselessly as phantoms out upon the level plain and hurried after
the guide.

"I'll take the one nearest Luchman," whispered Harkins, "and you the
other; don't miss."

Although the murderers made no noise, yet Luchman, looking toward his
friends, saw them raise weapons, and he knew what it meant.

Like a flash he whirled about, and, whipping out his long knife,
confronted the two assassins.

One of them held a similar weapon and the other a long pistol, the
second being closer than his companion to Luchman.  They stopped, but
only for a moment.  The Ghoojur with the firearm raised it, while the
other began a cautious circling to one side, with the purpose of
getting behind Luchman.

At this junction Dr. Avery and Harkins let fly.  The distance was
short; the rifles were well aimed.

Further particulars are not required.



CHAPTER XXVII.

A GRIM SENTINEL.

Luchman looked off to where Wana Affghar was seated on his black
pony, intently watching proceedings, and circling his knife over his
head.  As his two followers fell, he uttered a defiant shout.

It seemed as if the infuriated chieftain was about to charge upon the
fugitives with all his men; but, if he meant to do so, he changed his
mind.

Several of the Ghoojurs, however, fired their guns, and the bullets
were heard pattering among the leaves and flattening themselves
against the walls of the temple.  None came near the defenders.

The missionary and his wife and daughter came forth just as the two
young men fired with such effect.  Luchman, relieved of all immediate
danger, sauntered back through the archway with the same dignity that
he showed when leaving it.  All congratulated him on his escape.  He
in turn thanked Avery and Harkins for their timely shots that saved
him from an encounter in which, to say the least, the chances were
against him.

Avery and Harkins lost no time in reloading their weapons.  Luchman
said they were safe from any molestation until nightfall; and, as the
young men were in need of rest, they passed back into the larger
apartment and lay down on the hard flinty floor.  Marian and her
mother, though not in such need of repose, went into the smaller
room, leaving the missionary with Luchman.  The two talked in low
tones for a long time, the missionary finally withdrawing, so that
the native at last was left alone.

Luchman did not need to be told, after what had taken place, that no
mercy would be shown to him and those under his care, and he did not
expect any attempt to resume the negotiations.

In the course of the afternoon he discovered that three of the
Ghoojurs were stealing along the depression in the plain.  He
suspected their business, but offered no objection.  When close to
where the stark bodies of their former companions lay, they sprang up
and rushed out to them.  Luchman could have picked them off with the
rifles of his companions which had been left with him, but he had no
wish to do so, and he suffered them to bear off their ghastly burden
without hindrance from him.

The brigands appeared to grow weary of lolling in the sun, and
withdrew to the shade of some trees, where they disposed of
themselves in a more comfortable fashion.  Possibly they hoped by
this withdrawal to tempt the Feringhees far enough from the temple to
give a chance for cutting them off, but Luchman had no thought of any
such venture.

Since no rain falls during the month of May in northern India, it may
be wondered what grounds Luchman could have for hope of the final
escape of his friends.  The night was well lit up by the bright moon,
so that, except for the slight decrease in temperature, it was no
more favorable for flight than the day.  But within the bronzed skull
of the Hindoo a busy brain was at work, and was sure to conjure up
some scheme, desperate though it might be.

When night began closing in, there was little change.  The brigands
were still among the trees, but several came out and ventured closer
to the temple, though they took good care to keep beyond reach of the
two deadly rifles.

A slight noise caused Luchman to turn his head.  Avery and Harkins
were at his elbow.

"Now, Luchman," said the latter, "we have had a good rest, and it is
your turn to go inside and get some sleep while you have the chance."

The native shook his head.

"I want no sleep, sahibs; I shall take none tonight."

"But you may have to keep awake for several weeks or months,"
persisted Harkins.

Luchman was as incapable as an American Indian of grasping a jest,
and he replied, in all seriousness:

"I will try to get sleep before waiting so long, sahib."

"I don't believe he needs any rest," said the surgeon; "I doubt
whether he will feel the least inconvenience if he has no food,
water, or sleep for a week to come.  He is the most remarkable
specimen of what the human system can stand that I ever saw.  Do as
you think best, Luchman, but Harkins and I have come out to relieve
you for a while; will you allow us to do it?"

"After a time, sahibs; when the night is fully come you may look out."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Wait, sahib, and you will see."

"I shouldn't be surprised if we did," laughed Harkins.

The moon was so bright that before any one suspected the short
twilight had merged into the night.

The gnarled trees at the entrance to the gateway threw their heavy
shadows across the ground in front, while the abundant vegetation
cast numerous patches of darkness around the picturesque ruins.
These standing in an open plain, with a large stream of water some
two hundred yards to the rear, the jungle being further from the
front, it will be seen that it was beyond the power of any one to
steal away from the temple without certain detection by the watchful
Ghoojurs.

Such being the situation, the fugitives might well despair of escape
without help from the outside, and such help was among the human
impossibilities.

Luchman noticed one fact: the Ghoojurs had received no
re-enforcements.  This only proved that they did not wish any; they
were confident they had enough to do the work before them.  Wana
Affghar must have convinced his men that they would soon have an
abundance of loot to divide.

Figures could be seen moving over the plain, and, as a matter of
course, the ruffians were guarding every point, despite which Luchman
declared that he intended to leave the temple and find out whether
there was any opening for an attempt to get away.  His entrance into
the ruined building was so hurried that he had no time to acquaint
himself with the surroundings, and he thought the time had now come
to do so.

He feared there might be some rear entrance to the temple, by which
their foes would steal a march on them.  The only way of satisfying
himself on this point was by an examination of the exterior.

"I am going, sahibs," he quietly remarked a few minutes later, "and
you will not forget to keep close watch while I am away."

They assured him that he need have no fears in that respect.

A minute later he had vanished.

This was comparatively an easy task, for, instead of venturing out
upon the moonlit plain, he clambered up the shaded archway, where he
could not be seen from the outside.  His friends saw him make a leap
upward, catch hold of the stone above his head, his long legs beating
the air for a moment, and then he was gone.

"There are some things which cannot be done," remarked Harkins, "and
I have a fear that he means to try them.  If he undertakes to get
down the stream or to the jungle or ventures away from the ruins at
all, he will lose his life.  Wana Affghar would like nothing better
than to have him make such an attempt."

"He will take no advice from us, and perhaps it is as well that he
will not; but he is a shrewd fellow, and I have great faith in him."

"I wonder what scheme he has in his head."

"He has formed some plan, and he wants to see whether it will do to
try it."

The two began pacing back and forth through the arched passage,
alternating in such a way that one was always facing outward.  This
was continued for a half hour, during which the stillness of the tomb
reigned about them.  At the end of that time the sound of voices from
within showed that the ladies had come into the larger room, where
the missionary was talking to them.

"Now, see here, doctor," said the good hearted Harkins, "there is no
need of both of us staying here; I would rather station myself at the
open end of this passage where I can see and hear anything going on,
while you withdraw and spend an hour or two with your friends.  Miss
Hildreth is dying to have the chance, which this flurry has prevented
her having until now.  I had a chat with her some time ago, and found
her charming, but all the time I saw that she wanted you and not me."

"No such thing; she is delighted with you, and sounded your praises
so extravagantly that I am becoming jealous."

"No need of that!  Besides, my dear boy, I have a blue eyed lassie in
far away England who has pre-empted all the heart and affections of
the undersigned.  Darling Jennie," murmured the big, handsome fellow,
with just the slightest tremor in his voice; "I wonder whether you
will ever see your good for nothing George again.  He is not of much
account, but all the same, if the ship never brings him back to you,
there will be another breaking heart in Albion."

Both were silent for a few seconds, these being the first sentimental
words that Harkins had uttered in the presence of his companion, who
was drawn closer by those sweet musings which only added fuller glory
to his manhood.

Rousing up, Harkins took hold of Avery's arms and faced him toward
the interior.

"Off with you, and stay till I call you.  I will keep faithful ward
and watch, even though my fancies wander thousands of miles away to a
certain vine clad cottage in old England."

And the fellow, happy even in his sadness, looked out upon the
moonlit plain and hummed "Annie Laurie," as Dr. Avery, full of love
for his splendid friend, sauntered back to that other dearer one,
who, as Harkins said, looked so longingly for his coming.

Within the larger room it was quite dark.  The overturned idol
afforded a bench upon which Mr. Hildreth, his wife and daughter were
seated.  There was room for the doctor, who, guided by the voices,
placed himself near Marian and imprisoned her hand, while the low
murmured conversation went on.

Avery related what had taken place at the entrance to the temple.
Luchman had stolen out on an expedition of his own, while Harkins was
acting the part of sentinel.

"I think the same as Harkins," said the missionary, "that Luchman is
trying to do that which cannot be done.  Not even a mouse could get
out of here without being seen by the Ghoojurs."

"I hardly think he expects to leave, but to gain a better knowledge
of our surroundings."

"Were only himself concerned he would have little trouble in
hoodwinking the ruffians; but he cannot do so to the extent of
delivering us."

"If we fail to get away to-night, what hope is there for us?"

The question was asked by Marian, and her betrothed pressed her hand
as he made answer:

"That might have been asked a dozen times within the past few days,
and the reply would have been the same as now."

"Avery speaks the truth," said the missionary impressively;
"everything looks dark, but Heaven's mercy cannot be gauged by us; we
can only trust the Hand that has sustained us so long."

"God's mercies shall endure forever," added the wife, in a voice
which fell like a benison upon the hearers.

Unto all there seemed to come a sweet assurance that the wrath of the
heathen should be turned to naught, broken suddenly by a slight noise
from the entrance to the temple.

Slight as it was, all heard it, though no one could tell its nature.
They listened, but it was not repeated and the stillness continued.

"I will find out what it means," said Avery, rising from his seat on
the idol and moving out toward the moonlit passage way.

The first object on which his eye rested was the figure of Harkins
seated on the ground well out toward the opening.  He appeared to be
leaning against the side wall and looking off where the Ghoojurs had
been seen during the day.

"Helloa, Harkins," called the surgeon in a guarded voice, "what was
the meaning of that noise a few minutes ago?  Anything up?"

The man made no reply, nor did he move.

"I say, old fellow," added Avery, stepping still closer and speaking
in a louder voice, "what's going on?"

Still the sentinel was motionless and silent.

Dr. Avery laughed softly to himself.

"Asleep, as sure as I live!  That's the best joke on Harkins; how we
shall all laugh at him!  You're a fine sentinel, ain't you?"

Grasping his shoulder he shook him vigorously.

"Wake up, old boy!  Arouse, the house is on fire!  Don't you hear me,
Harkins--my God!"

George Harkins was stone dead.  It was Death that was acting the role
of sentinel.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

"I DID NOT SAY THAT, SAHIB!"

George Harkins was dead.

Blue eyed Jennie, in far away England, standing in the door of the
vine clad cottage and shading her vision with her hand, would look
longingly toward the stormy Atlantic, in the hope of seeing that form
which when it went away carried her own true heart with it; but never
should she see it again.  Like the countless multitudes in this sad
and sorrowing world, he had gone merrily forth to return nevermore.

Dr. Avery, with the laugh on his lips, shook the massive shoulder,
when the body pitched forward upon the face, limp and nerveless.
Then his heart stood still with horror and he shuddered to his very
soul.

Tenderly raising the head again he found that the pulse had done
beating, though the body was still warm.

So brief was the time between the noise which was heard by the party
within and the hurrying out of Dr. Avery that Harkins could have been
dead only a few minutes.  The friend, shocked beyond expression, was
bending over the dead body, when the crack of a pistol broke the
stillness, followed by a tumbling and tearing of the shrubbery
overhead, and then another body slumped down through the vegetation
end over end, and struck the floor of the passage way, sprawling in
front of the horrified surgeon, who recoiled with a gasp.

"Heaven save me!  That is Luchman!"

"No, sahib; here is Luchman!"

The words were spoken by the guide, who dropped as lightly as a
feather from the same support whence fell the dead man.

"O Luchman!  Poor Harkins is killed!"

"I thought so, sahib," was the quiet response of the native, who,
deeply as he felt the loss, repressed all emotion.

"Who killed him?"

"He," was the reply of Luchman, who kicked the form of his countryman
with spiteful venom; "but he will do no more murders.  Wana Affghar
sent him after me, and the fool knew no better than to kill the
Feringhee."

"How was it done?"

"He slipped behind him, when he was walking this way, and thrust his
long, thin knife, that is as sharp as a needle, into his heart.  He
sank down on the floor, killed before he knew what wounded him.  Then
he set him up with his head leaning against the wall, as though he
was asleep.  The Ghoojur hurried out to tell Wana Affghar what he had
done and that the way was open to the temple, where the rest of the
Feringhees were sleeping, but he forgot, sahib, or he never knew that
I was on the outside, watching for him and others, though I did not
see him when he stole into the archway.  I must have been at the rear
at the time, but I met him when he was climbing up the stones.  I
gave him just enough time to know who it was that sent a bullet
through his brain, and that was all."

It was a sad consolation to know that the fierce assassin had met his
fate before he could get out of sight of the body of his victim, who
was worth a legion of such wretches, but he was gone beyond recall.

When Dr. Avery had rallied from the shock, he made a professional
examination of his friend's body to find what it was that caused his
death.

It proved to be as Luchman had said: the native had evidently slipped
up behind Harkins, without noise, at the moment when he was walking
away from him, and had slain him so quickly that he had to leap aside
to escape the falling body.

"What shall be done?" asked Avery; "can we give him burial?"

"No, sahib, except only what the temple will give: Wana Affghar must
know nothing of this, lest it encourage him to rush upon us."

"He would do so, if he knew that half our defensive force is gone."

"But he must know, sahib, about his murderer."

Luchman deliberately picked up the body of his fallen foe, slung it
over his shoulder, strode several rods out upon the plain, until the
report of a gun warned him that he was venturing too far, when he
stopped, and threw the load to the ground.  Disdaining to hurry, he
strode back with the exclamation:

"There! that will teach Wana Affghar a lesson."

The thought seemed to give the native satisfaction, but the sorrow of
Avery drove everything else from his mind.  His profession tends to
make one indifferent, perhaps, to suffering and death, but when
affliction strikes home, the physician suffers as poignantly as the
rest of us.

Circumstances would not allow him to mourn the noble fellow as he
wished.  As a duty to him, he searched the person and took charge of
the effects.  There were data and memoranda that would give him what
knowledge he needed, provided the party ever escaped from the perils
that environed them.  Within the shooting jacket, close to the heart
that had been so cruelly pierced, was a small picture.  Avery struck
a match so as to see it more plainly.  It was that of a fair, sweet
face, with an abundance of nut brown tresses and eyes as blue as the
heavens.

"Poor Jennie," murmured the surgeon, with dimmed vision, "there is
One who has promised to wipe away the tears from all eyes, and He is
the only friend who can comfort you now."

The weapons of the dead man were added for the present to the
armament of Avery.  It was then decided to leave the body where it
lay until morning, when it would be impossible to keep the sad truth
from the others.  Then it would be carried into the smaller room, and
left to await the summons at the resurrection morn.  Perhaps no more
fitting sepulture could be given it.

"Now," said the doctor, when nothing more remained to be done, "we
must face the future; you have been outside; what did you learn?"

"Nothing, sahib," was the reply.

"Is it possible for us to get away?"

"I know of no way, sahib."

"Did you learn anything about the Ghoojurs?"

"Yes, sahib; I found that there is but one path by which they can
come into the temple."

"What is that?"

"The one by which we entered; so long as we can guard that, sahib, we
are safe."

"But we cannot do that forever, nor for a long time: how many days
can we keep them at bay?"

"I hoped, sahib, that we should find a chance to do so tonight, but
there is none; there may be tomorrow night."

"Why?"

"The moon rises later--an hour before midnight."

"That then is your only hope?"

"Yes, sahib."

"God pity us then, for that is no hope at all; this kind of weather
will last for weeks."

"I will now sleep, sahib, if you will watch."

"I am glad to hear you say so; go back in the room and slumber all
you want."

"No, sahib; I will lie here," replied Luchman, who stretched himself
upon the hard couch, close to the inanimate form that was growing
cold and stiff.  Five minutes later, he was unconscious.

"And now I must take the place of poor Harkins," thought Avery,
beginning to pace back and forth on his beat.  "As likely as not some
assassin will try the same game on me.  I won't carry the rifle, but
will hold my pistol ready."

A more trying situation cannot be conceived, and Avery would not have
paced the floor in this manner, but for a morbid horror that if he
sat down he would fall asleep and imperil the safety of the rest.

The action of Luchman in throwing himself on the floor, thus placing
his life, as may be said, in the keeping of his friend, intensified
the anxiety of the latter to guard against surprise.

Back and forth, therefore, he paced with the slow, steady step which
can be kept up for hours without fatigue, but with Avery it lasted
only a short time.

The strain upon his nerves became intolerable.  When he turned at the
mouth of the entrance and moved toward the interior, he was sure he
heard stealthy footsteps behind him.  He wheeled and leveled his
pistol.

"Ah, ha, assassin, I've got you!"

But no one was there.  Luchman was breathing heavily where he lay
upon the floor, and the form that was once the magnificent George
Harkins was straight and cold and still.

Then Avery stood a minute and listened.  The vegetation was as
motionless as the dark ruins, for there was not a breath of air
stirring.  The night was warmer and more sultry than any they had
experienced since their flight from Delhi, but the temple probably
offered the nearest approach to coolness that could be found anywhere.

Surely nothing was stirring near him, but peering through the arched
way, he saw something move.  He stepped lightly forward to learn the
cause.

Two Ghoojurs were bearing off the body of their comrade that had been
laid low by the pistol of Luchman.

"Take the carcass and be gone," muttered the sentinel; "and would to
God you had carried him away before he entered this place to slay one
of the best men of earth."

The reasonable conclusion was that Wana Affghar, having failed in his
attempt, would not soon essay any thing of the kind again.  Thus
thought Avery, who continued his walk in comparative peace; but he
was in that highly nervous condition in which it is impossible to
feel sure of a correct judgment on any question.  So it came about
that he decided that the grounds for not looking for a repetition of
the attempt constituted the best grounds for expecting it, and thus
his spasmodic vigilance was resumed.

Though he was repeatedly sure that he saw and heard his enemies
prowling around him, there really was nothing of the kind.

It was past midnight, when Luchman leaped to his feet as though stung
by a serpent.

"What's the matter?" asked Avery, who was startled by the slightest
cause.

"Nothing, sahib; why do you ask?"

"Is that the way you always wake up?"

"Not always: have you seen anything new?"

"I am not sure.  I saw a couple of Ghoojurs bear away that body, and
I thought I detected others moving around the outside, but maybe I
was mistaken."

"You were, sahib, for if any of them had come nigh, you could not
have been mistaken."

"Are you through with your nap?"

"Yes, sahib; I will take no more till this is ended."

Avery looked sharply at him.

"You speak as though you thought we might escape."

"I did not say that, sahib."

Luchman explained that he meant that before he would require any more
slumber, the question would be settled one way or the other.  When
the time should come for the guide to sleep again the fugitives would
either be dead or safe.

Luchman urged Avery to go inside and try to rest, but he was too much
distressed to accept the suggestion.  He preferred to remain on
guard, and he did so.



CHAPTER XXIX.

AN INTRUDER.

Dr. Avery was determined to make the guide express himself more
clearly as to the probable fate of the party.  He had let fall some
abrupt expressions, but they were not satisfactory.

Finally Luchman said he had had a faint hope that there might be some
way of leaving the rear of the temple.  It was for that reason that
he made his reconnaissance, but it only showed him that there was not
the slightest chance.

"I gather that you have concluded that darkness is one of the
indispensable conditions."

"That is true, sahib."

"The moon will rise later each night, but we cannot afford to wait
many days for that."

"I am willing to tarry two nights longer, sahib, and then if we
cannot make the venture we have the last resort."

"What is that?"

"I will open negotiations with Wana Affghar and get the best terms
possible, knowing that he will break every one of them if he can."

The guide realized the skill with which this ruffian had outwitted
him.  When Luchman reappeared in Delhi, after his journey from
Calcutta, Wana's detectives knew it and held him under surveillance,
though the guide never dreamed of such a thing.  He supposed the
bloodhounds had been thrown off the track, but they never lost the
scent for any length of time, and were at his heels, as may be said,
when he left Flagstaff Tower, and with little delay opened
communications with their chief.

The truth was, Wana Affghar was determined to secure the Star of
India--the great diamond--no matter what the cost or sacrifice
demanded.  This fixedness of purpose, amid extraordinary conditions,
will make clear many occurrences which otherwise would remain
incapable of explanation.

That night brought a singular experience to another member of the
little party of refugees.

After the departure of Dr. Avery to learn the cause of the slight
disturbance in the entrance way, the missionary and his family
continued their conversation in low tones until the faint sound of
Luchman's pistol was heard.

This naturally startled the group, and Mr. Hildreth rose to go out
and learn the cause.

"Wait until the doctor comes back," interposed his wife, "it is
lonely here in the darkness."

"I imagine it is nothing serious," said her husband when some minutes
had passed, "otherwise we should hear more of it."

"The pistol was probably discharged to let the Ghoojurs know that our
friends are on the watch," suggested Marian.

This theory was accepted, the three naturally believing that if there
was anything worth telling they would hear of it.  The conversation
went on as before, until the hour became so late that Mr. Hildreth
requested them to retire for the night.

Marian and her mother withdrew to the smaller apartment, where, with
the aid of their shawls and outer garments, they made the best couch
they could upon the flinty floor.  The missionary himself, while
awaiting the coming of one or more of his friends, fell asleep and
did not wake until morning.  It was much the same with his wife, but
far different with his daughter.

The latter rested quietly until about the turn of night, when she
found herself wide awake, without understanding the cause.  The
extreme sultriness of the evening oppressed her, and she concluded
her wakefulness was due to that.  It will be borne in mind, too, that
she had slumbered more than usual during the preceding twenty four
hours, and therefore was in no special need of sleep.

There was nothing to do but to lie still and think.  The gentle
breathing of her parent at her side showed that she was unconscious,
and Marian took care not to disturb her.  Her brain seemed to be
unusually busy, and the longer she lay the more wakeful she became,
until she was convinced that she would have to pass the long dismal
hours in that fashion until morning.

She was half inclined to rise and pass into the entrance way, where
she supposed Luchman, Avery and Harkins were keeping guard.  She knew
they would be glad to see her, though they might object to the
increased danger in which she would be placed.  At the same time a
gentle feeling of delicacy restrained her, and she decided to stay
where she was.

"It is dreary enough for us all," she reflected, "and my place is
beside my mother, even though she would not miss me."

She had lain awake, as she believed, about an hour, still oppressed
by the heat, when she became aware that the apartment was cooler, as
though a gentle current of air was blowing in.

She did not understand it, since the only means of ventilation was
through the circular openings around the upper part of the room, and
the door which was closed.

And jet the atmosphere was unmistakably cooler.  She distinctly felt
a touch of the draught against her hot cheek.

"The door must be open," she concluded, softly rising to her feet and
groping her way to it.

No; it was shut, just as she had closed it herself before she and her
mother lay down.

Still wondering, she listened, in the belief that a gentle wind must
have risen, but the vegetation outside was motionless.

"There is no use in perplexing myself," she thought, closing her
eyes, in the hope that gentle sleep would press them down.

But it was useless.  She was as fully awake as when hurrying through
the streets of Delhi on that fearful night of the uprising.  With a
sigh she gave up the attempt.

"I do believe the door is open," she said, shortly after; "but, if it
is, those on the outside are watchful, and there is no cause for
fear, so I will not rise again."

She could not be mistaken when the faint sound of a footstep fell on
her ear: some one was stepping softly about the room.

"What is the matter, father?" she asked, speaking low, so as not to
disturb her mother.

There was no reply, and she repeated the question.  Still there was
no answer, and the cat-like step ceased.  Whoever the intruder might
be, he was standing still and listening.  Marian was curious, but she
felt no misgiving, for it was beyond belief that any enemy could have
effected an entrance into the inner temple.

A moment later she heard the heavy door shut, after which the same
tomb-like stillness settled over all.  She lay a long time listening
and wondering, but heard nothing more, and finally fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes in the morning, the night's experience was
upon her mind, and continued a puzzle which she could not
satisfactorily explain.  She questioned her father, and found that he
had not risen from his bed after bidding them good night.  He was not
a somnambulist, so that it was impossible that the stealthy footsteps
should have been his.

It was equally out of the question that Dr. Avery or Harkins was the
intruder.  She was, therefore, forced to the reluctant conclusion
that it was Luchman, whose business it was impossible to imagine,
though she could not doubt that it was perfectly proper.

And yet it was not Luchman.



CHAPTER XXX.

THE LAST RESORT.

Marian Hildreth committed a serious mistake in not making known the
strange occurrence of the night before.  Had she told of it, the
history of the succeeding few days would have been wholly changed.

But the rest remained in ignorance, and the young lady herself never
dreamed of the true explanation.

The morning brought the awful shock of the death of George Harkins.
Father, mother and daughter wept and mourned him deeply, for he had
endeared himself to all by his nobility of nature.

"We will bury him," said Dr. Avery, when all were present, excepting
Luchman, who remained at his post.

"How can that be done?" asked the missionary.

"We will carry him in there," replied Avery, pointing to the smaller
apartment, occupied by Marian and her mother the night before.  "What
more fitting tomb can be given to him?  It was here he fell while
defending us, and here we will make his sepulcher.  In a temple
consecrated to idolatry we place the body of a Christian, which will
give a sanctity to this infernal pile of stones that they never could
have possessed otherwise."

Accordingly it was so done.  The stiffened form was borne within the
smaller chamber by the missionary and the surgeon, while the ladies,
in the solemn twilight of the temple, looked on with moist eyes and
swelling hearts.

It was laid tenderly upon the stone floor, and, kneeling at the head
of the body, the missionary offered to Heaven a touching and pathetic
prayer, while the faces of the rest were bent, and their hearts
throbbed in unison with the fervent petition of the good man.

Then they came forth and closed the door, which they hoped might
remain sealed until opened by the angel's trump on the resurrection
morn.

The duty to the dead, so far as it was capable of fulfillment, had
been done, and the living were confronted by the problem of their own
safety.  Luchman, when questioned, told them to eat all they wanted,
if it took the last morsel of food, since the coming night was to be
the last spent in the ruins.

The native gave no explanation, but was so positive that the others
acted upon his counsel.  None was particularly hungry, though all
partook, and the portion sent out to the guide was all that was left.

There was less need of food than of water.  Only a little was drank
by each, but it drained the lota, and their thirst was aggravated
rather than satisfied.

Another long, hot, seemingly endless day broke upon them.  The
flaming sun rose once more in the brassy sky, its rays glowing with a
fervor that made all nature gasp and pant.

Looking out from their refuge, the Ghoojurs were seen in the
distance, beyond rifle shot, but still vigilant Luchman went out of
the temple and climbed to the most elevated portion of the ruins, so
as to gain the best view.  He spent some time among the limbs of the
twisted trees, and carefully scrutinized every part of the landscape.

On the one hand was the grove, and beyond that the jungle.  In the
shade of the former, Wana Affghar and most of his ruffians were
waiting, while in the opposite direction, and distant only a couple
of hundred yards, was the gleam of a broad but muddy stream.  Trees
were growing on its banks, and the current was seen only at intervals
through the interstices of the vegetation.

Had any one watched the brown countenance of the native he would have
noted that his gaze was fixed for a long time in the direction of the
stream.  It was apparent that he felt that if any possible hope
remained to the fugitives it was there.  The river was more friendly
than the jungle.

Such had been the belief of the guide during the preceding evening,
and he had made an effort, unknown to Avery, to extend his
reconnaissance to the water, but the Ghoojurs were there, as he
feared.  They could not have failed to note how tempting it would be
to the fugitives, and they took care to guard it well.

No doubt they were still doing so, crouching among the tall grass
along the bank, and at the base of the overhanging trees, their black
eyes turned eagerly in the direction of the ruined temple, anxious
that the hated Feringhees should venture within their reach.

Luchman was convinced of another fact: if Wana Affghar had received
any re-enforcements, they did not number more than one half his
original force.

This was strange, since it would seem to have been impossible to
prevent the spreading of the news that a party of Europeans were shut
up in the old temple, thus bringing a continually increasing swarm to
the spot; but in some way or other, as Luchman believed, the brigand
chieftain had kept his secret, and the situation was the same now as
at the beginning.

Across the dark countenance passed an expression that told of bitter
hopelessness and desperation, as he slowly made his way down from his
perch and joined his friends below.

Under heaven their hopes were centered upon him.  He was the
instrument that had brought them safely through many perils to this
point, and he alone was to lead them to safety, if such an
achievement was within the reach of human attainment.

The entire company gathered in the arched way, for after a night
spent in the close apartments they longed for the fresher air, which
could be secured only by running some risk from the stealthy shots of
their enemies, who might choose to expose their own lives in the
attempt to reach the Feringhees.

The refugees hoped, since the rainy season was not far off, that some
disturbance of the elements would bring a cloudy night, or one in
which the moon would be hidden to such an extent that it would give
some faint chance of success with their desperate venture.

A slight vapor in the west raised expectations, but it proved similar
to that which sometimes hovers over the burning wastes of the Sahara.
As the heat of the day intensified, it became thinner, and finally
vanished.

Late in the afternoon all were thrown into alarm by the appearance of
Wana Affghar to make a charge upon the temple.  He galloped out at
full speed from the edge of the grove, followed by his horde of
ruffians, and rushed directly for the entrance way.

Mr. Hildreth and Dr. Avery cocked their guns, and awaited the moment
when their aim would be sure.  Luchman placed his hand upon his
pistol, and stood like a bronze statue, his eyes fixed upon the
advancing brigands.  The ladies withdrew beyond the reach of any
flying bullets.

But the demonstration amounted to nothing.  When the leader had
brought his men to a certain point, their courage failed them, or the
chieftain changed his mind.

They stopped, talked violently for a few moments, and then melted
like the cloud in the western sky.  They did not stay where they
were, but fell back until in the shelter of the trees again.

"A lame and impotent conclusion," remarked the surgeon, with a
scornful laugh; "their courage melted like snow in the sun."

Luchman believed that most of the Ghoojurs took part in the idle
display, though no doubt the guard remained by the river, so as to
meet any flight of the fugitives in that direction.

The result was accepted as evidence that the enemy would not make any
attack at all.  Why should they do so, when they had but to wait a
brief while longer, and avoid all personal danger?

Meanwhile, the retreat of the ladies to the interior did not prove as
safe as was expected.

Naturally they paused near the door leading out from the arched
passage, watching and listening with anxious hearts.  A slight noise
caused Marian to turn her head, when she saw the muzzle of a gun
pushed through one of the circular openings that admitted light into
the place.  She and her parent stood in direct range.  Catching the
arm of her mother, she drew her toward the frightful weapon.  The two
were thus placed below its range, since the musket could not be
depressed enough to reach them.

The barrel was cautiously advanced until nearly its whole length was
visible.  Had the ladies remained by the door, they would have seen
the murderous face of a fierce Ghoojur, as he wrinkled his brow in
the effort to pierce the twilight within.

He was still glaring like a beast of prey, when the sharp crack of a
pistol rang through the apartment, and with a rasping scream the
Ghoojur went over backward, his skull bored by a bullet from the
pistol of Luchman the guide.

The latter caught a faint sound just as the party retreated from the
front, and, suspecting something of the kind, he ran back just in
time to perforate the Asiatic, who had shoved his gun so far into the
interior that it dropped from his nerveless grasp as he went over
backward, and fell with a ringing sound upon the flinty floor below.

"God has sent us another weapon," was the cool remark of Luchman, who
strode across the apartment, picked up the gun, and walked outside
without another word.

When a quarter of an hour passed and brought no news from the front,
the ladies timidly ventured out again.

"All danger is ended for the present," said Mr. Hildreth; "they got
ready to charge, but changed their mind."

"Are they not likely to change it again?" asked his wife.

"Not to the extent of opening battle with us: why should they do so,
when they can attain the same end without the least risk to
themselves?"

At this moment Luchman straightened up, and, compressing his thin
lips, said,

"It is in vain, sahibs; it is death for us to stay here longer; the
lives of you all are worth more than the Star of India."

"The life of any one of us is worth more than that."

"Then, sahib, I shall go out and meet Wana Affghar face to face, and
offer to give him the diamond, if he will let us go."

"When will you do that?" asked the astonished Avery.

"Now, sahib; let all gather around me where we are not so close to
the entrance, and I will make known my plan."

The party quickly grouped themselves near Luchman, who made known his
extraordinary scheme.



CHAPTER XXXI.

THE PLEDGE.

Without giving the words of Luchman and the numerous questions and
answers that passed, his intentions may thus be described:

The native had racked his brain for some feasible means of getting
the fugitives out of the temple and on the road to Kurnal again.  But
there was no such means.  They were surrounded by the Ghoojurs, and
as helpless as were the wives and daughters whom Nana Sahib some time
afterward shut up and massacred in Cawnpore.  Nothing, therefore,
remained but to buy off the ruffians.

The ladies learned for the first time that Luchman had in his
possession the famous diamond, the Star of India, with which he
proposed to ransom them; but they asked how it was possible to do
that when dealing with such a conscienceless miscreant as the Ghoojur
chieftain.

The guide's recklessness as to his own fate gave him an advantage
that he would not have had otherwise.  He intended to walk directly
out on the plain, and ask an audience with the chieftain, who would
be eager enough to grant it.  The offer of Luchman would be the
surrender of the wonderful gem, on condition that the whole force of
Ghoojurs should withdraw, and allow the Feringhees a long start on
the way to Kurnal.

When pressed to explain in what manner he would guard against the
perfidy of Wana Affghar, the guide said the plan was clear in his
mind, but it was not necessary that he should explain it at that time.

"You carry a watch, sahib," said he addressing the surgeon; "when it
shows the hour of eight this evening, you and the rest will walk out
of the entrance way, turn toward the north, and approach the river,
about one fourth of a mile from here.  You will keep walking all
night, and pay no thought to me.  I will join you before morning, if
I can, but do not tarry for me.  If I fail to appear, press your
strength to the utmost.  You will not be very far from Kurnal, and by
sunrise you ought to be almost safe."

Both the surgeon and the missionary believed that the faithful guide
would sacrifice his own life for the rest.  How bitterly they
reproached themselves that they had ever doubted him!  They were
inclined to protest, but he would not listen.  He went over the
instructions again, and, without so much as saying good by, he strode
out on the parched plain, until he had crossed the ditch where the
assassins concealed themselves the day before.

Luchman was not in fear of trickery at this stage of the proceedings,
for Wana Affghar knew better than thus to defeat the realization of
his cherished dream: the double dealing would come afterward.

As Luchman anticipated, he was no more than fairly in view when a
horseman rode forward to meet him.  It was Wana Affghar himself, who,
halting beyond range of the deadly guns of the Feringhees, awaited
the approach of the footman.  Each carried a knife and pistol, but no
gun.  Their conversation may be liberally translated:

"What is it you want with me?" asked Wana.

"Do you wish the great diamond that is called the Star of India?"

"I do, and I will have it."

"Boast not too soon, for it rests with me whether you shall ever hold
it in your palm."

"How can you prevent me, when you and all the Feringhees are in my
power?"

"If we fall into your hands the diamond will not."

"How can you save it?"

"The Star of India is hidden where only he who hid it and God himself
can find it."

"If I give you the choice of surrendering it to me or suffering
torture, what will you do?"

Luchman laughed scornfully.

"Have I been a Hindoo for two score years to care for pain or
suffering?  Has my Christianity so weakened me that I am become a
child?  Talk not such language to me.  But, Wana Affghar, if you will
keep faith with me the Star of India shall be yours: it rests alone
with you."

"What do you offer me?" asked the chieftain, whose serpent-like eyes
greedily flashed.

"If you will allow the Feringhees in the temple to proceed on their
journey, and not try to harm them afterward, I will give you the
diamond, which I brought over the Himalayas, and which is but a
younger sister of the Koh-i-noor of the Queen of England."

Here was the proposition, clear and unmistakable.  Having made it,
Luchman looked straight in the face of the Ghoojur chieftain and
asked with military curtness,

"Wana Affghar, will you do it?"

The answer was prompt.

"I will do so; hand me the diamond, and you and the Feringhees may go
from one end of India to the other without molestation from me or any
of mine."

But Luchman was too wise to be entrapped in that manner.

"Listen: if I should take you to the hiding place of the Star of
India, and digging it up hand it to you, then your Ghoojurs would
turn upon the Feringhees and kill them."

"What do you wish to do?"

"I will deliver it to you after you have fulfilled your promise."

This was a staggering proposal, and the objection of the chieftain
was natural.

"Suppose I allow you all to go free, what assurance have I that you
will keep your pledge?"

"You have my promise: that is all I will give."

"But I may not be willing to accept that."

"Then do what you choose," was the defiant response.  "You may kill
us all, but that will not give you the diamond; you may slay me and
every one of the Feringhees, but that will not help you to find the
diamond for which you have sighed so long, nor will you and the
Ghoojurs get much plunder from our bodies.  Even if you keep your
promise, there remain many miles to be passed before the Feringhees
can be beyond danger.  It may be that if the diamond is paid to you,
it will only avert their death for a few hours, since there are
others who will hunt them like tigers in the jungle.  But I am
willing to do what I promised: if you will withdraw all your men so
far away that the Feringhees may have a long start, I will place in
your palm the Star of India."

Wana Affghar breathed fast, for already he saw the diamond in his
possession.  He was in such a mood that he was ready to accept almost
any proposition.

"Tell me, Luchman, more plainly what you want me to do."

"You must take all of your men two miles to the southward: I will go
with them.  You must stay there till twelve o'clock tonight.  Then
you shall have the Star of India."

Here were the conditions at last.  If Wana Affghar and all his
Ghoojurs should withdraw for a distance of two miles, and stay there
till midnight, the Europeans in the temple would be given all the
start they could ask or want.  By following the directions of Luchman
they could place themselves beyond danger from this particular band.
The guide would keep the company of the brigands, as he had proposed,
so as to make sure that every condition was fully met before he
surrendered the gem.

True, this plan would leave him in a terrible position, but he cared
naught for that.

Having made his proposition, Luchman added, indifferently:

"Do as you choose, Wana Affghar, for it makes little difference to
me.  We have water and provisions in the temple, and we may have help
before long from the British cavalry, who are galloping through the
country.  It is hard for me to give up the Star of India, for which I
have risked my life many times.  But the ladies are impatient, and I
come to you to show the only way by which your eyes can ever rest
upon the diamond for which you have hunted so long."

Beyond question, Luchman understood the art of putting things.  He
made as if to move away, when the Ghoojur chieftain interrupted him:

"It shall be as you wish.  You may go with me, and I will tell the
plan to my people.  Have no fear, for they dare say nothing which
does not please me."

The sun was just dropping in the west when the compact was made.  The
Europeans saw Luchman walk slowly away toward the Ghoojurs under the
trees, keeping pace beside the black pony of Wana Affghar, until he
could be no longer distinguished among the group.

As if to prove his sincerity, Wana made a signal with his arm toward
the four scamps who were crouching in the grass along the stream.
Immediately they rose to view, and, by a circuitous route, joined the
main body under the trees.

The Ghoojurs scrutinized the new arrival with no little interest, and
the situation would have been trying to any one else, but Luchman was
as self possessed as when talking with his own friends.  He counted
the miscreants, and saw that there were just fourteen.  It was fair
to conclude, therefore, that if the same number, including Wana
Affghar, were two miles south of that point at midnight, he had
complied with his part of his agreement, and had fairly won the Star
of India.

Luchman carefully listened to the leader while he was explaining the
agreement made with the native guide, and he never used his eyes with
more skill, but he neither heard nor saw anything to cause misgiving.
Luchman believed that Wana intended to carry out his part of the
agreement, not because he had promised to do so, but because it
offered him the only chance to obtain the diamond.

Since there was an abundance of time at command, the Ghoojurs stayed
where they were until it began growing dark.  Then, when Wana Affghar
announced that the start would be made, two of the men walked a short
distance to the edge, to the left of the jungle.

The vigilant Luchman asked the meaning of the movement.  Their leader
answered that they were going only a short way to gather some cooking
utensils which they brought with them.  They would be back in a few
minutes, and Wana suggested that his guest should bear them company,
that he might feel sure that no deception was meant.

Luchman took a step to do so, but restrained himself, ashamed to
betray such weakness.  The two Ghoojurs reappeared almost the next
minute, bearing their cooking kit with them.

Ah, Luchman was a cunning Asiatic, but he had already been outwitted
by Wana Affghar, and it looked as if he was to become his victim
again.

He saw two men come back again, but he noted not in the gathering
gloom that the couple which departed were not the couple that
returned.



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE RANSOM.

One of the Ghoojurs who left the main party in quest of the cooking
kit came back, but his companion was a stranger.  The one who did not
return knew the whole scheme of Wana Affghar.  He was the chieftain's
trusted lieutenant, and he went away to carry out a certain agreement
that he had made with his leader, in spite of the unceasing
watchfulness of Luchman the guide.

Wana was obsequious to his brother, as he called his guest, to the
extent even of offering him his pony to ride, but Luchman's sense of
propriety would not allow him to accept the kindness.  They talked
freely, the brigand expressing his belief that British rule in India
was ended forever.  The Mogul Empire that had been proclaimed a few
days before at Delhi would last as long as the sun and stars.  The
miscreant tried to proselyte the guide to his view of the question,
though in the mutiny of 1857 the Ghoojurs were bushwhackers, caring
little which cause triumphed, so that it gave them opportunity to
gather loot.

Wana Affghar seemed to go beyond his pledge.  He had promised to take
them two miles from the temple, but he never stopped in the march
until he had gone fully double that distance.  He was too cunning to
call attention to the same, and it need not be said that Luchman held
his peace.

They finally halted near a grove of mango trees of large size, whose
shadows were heavy enough to hide the company from any others that
might pass by.  They were near the stream which wound by the temple,
where the fugitives were doubtless waiting and wondering whether
their deliverance was to be made complete.

The halting place was a good one for resting.  They were removed from
all huts, houses and highways, and did not seem likely to attract
notice from any wanderers through the neighborhood.  The Ghoojurs
lolled upon the ground, smoking their hookahs, and, as the night
advanced, several of them started a large fire.  Wana Affghar sat
somewhat apart, with Luchman upon the ground close to him.  Though
the chieftain could not repress his restlessness, the guide was as
unmoved as if stretched on his charpoy a thousand miles from all
danger.

There was no chronometer in that company of ruffians, but all could
note with reasonable accuracy the passage of time.  Just before the
turn of night, Luchman carefully counted the ruffians.  There were
precisely fourteen, exclusive of the leader--the exact force that had
withdrawn from the vicinity of the temple.

And yet, despite this fact, a misgiving took shape in the mind of
Luchman that Wana Affghar, after all, would try to play him false.
This dread, however, was founded rather upon his vivid recollection
of the clever manner in which the chieftain had dogged him during the
past year or so than upon any possible scheme that presented itself
to the suspicious native.

"_The turn of night has come._"

It was Wana Affghar who spoke the words in a sepulchral voice, while
he was the embodiment of suppressed emotion.

Just then the two were seated near the fire, the others dawdling
about as though unaware of any important transaction pending.

"Yes," quietly replied Luchman as he began calmly passing his fingers
through his turban.

Could it be possible that the daring native had walked into the camp
of the Ghoojurs bearing that priceless gem about his person?  Wana
Affghar stared at him dumfounded and almost speechless, and yet,
while he was staring, Luchman drew the piece of brown paper from the
folds of his head gear, just as he did on the previous occasions
described, and took the gem from within.

"There!" he exclaimed, "the bargain is finished!"

As the gem fell into the trembling, outstretched palm, the Ghoojur
chieftain fixed his eyes upon it like a bird charmed by a serpent.
He sat motionless and rigid as iron, life itself held in suspense.

At last the Star of India was his!

There it lay in his hand, luminous, flaming, variegated in its
reflection of the firelight, wonderful, peerless, marvelous.  This
was the gem for which princes, kings, queens and emperors had fought,
and that had caused the death of multitudes in the centuries that
were gone.

Here it was--his at last!

Could it be real, or was it another of those tantalizing dreams that
had haunted his slumbers for years, until the longing to possess the
Star of India became the ruling passion of his life?

Tremulously and in fear he gently closed his fingers, fearful that
they would shut upon vacancy, as they had done so many times in the
past.  But no; there was the round, cold gem, as big as a robin's
egg, heavy and substantial--not shadowy, but real.

By and by the spell began to lift, and Wana Affghar became himself
again--crafty, cruel, perfidious as Satan himself.

With his gaze still riveted on the diamond, as he slowly opened and
closed his hand, he said:

"It is the will of Allah that the Star of India shall be mine, and I
accept it bismillah (by the will of God); but the infidel deserves
only death.  The Feringhees that profaned the temple are prisoners,
for, despite the cunning of the dog, Luchman, Ramsurun Duss remained
with some of the faithful, and has prevented their flight.  Their
eyes shall not see the rising of tomorrow's sun, nor shall you,
infidel dog, go hence; he who allows Luchman to escape shall lose his
head!"

As Wana Affghar emitted the last exclamation in a loud voice, he
flung off the spell that had held him motionless, raised his eyes
from the sinewy hand that closed fiercely about the gun, and circled
it above his head, as a signal for his ruffians to fall upon Luchman
and hew him to pieces.

But _dekhna_!  Luchman was not there!



CHAPTER XXXIII.

ASIATIC HONOR.

Luchman the guide was expecting treachery, and he therefore took no
chances.

Observing the fixedness of the chieftain's gaze and the spell that
held his senses captive, he felt that it was an appropriate time for
him to leave.  The majority of the Ghoojurs were some yards distant,
and they were not likely to interfere, when they had noticed the
consideration he received from their leader.

As noiselessly as an Apache he rose to his feet, and, without
attracting attention, moved back among the trees until beyond sight
of them all.  So it came about that, when Wana Affghar spoke the
words, Luchman was too far off to hear them.

The latter started toward the river, in the hope of finding his
friends with the least possible delay, but before going far he paused.

"Wana Affghar offered me his horse to ride; I will borrow him for the
elder lady."

The project was a good one, but its success was not worth the risk
involved.  He resolved, however, to secure the tough little pony.

It will be recalled that there was but the one animal with the
Ghoojurs, and that belonged to the leader himself.  Luchman noticed,
while in camp, that it was tethered a short distance away, where
there was a slight growth of grass.  If the animal was still there,
he was confident of getting him without difficulty.

Guided by the twinkling light of the camp fire, he approached the
spot by a circuitous route.  The ground was favorable, and he
stealthily crawled through the high jungle grass, which shut him from
sight so long as he was flat on the ground.  His chief fear was that
when the pony saw him, it would utter a whinny or neigh that would
warn the Ghoojurs that an enemy was in camp.

He was within twenty feet or so of the animal, when it did the very
thing he dreaded.  It neighed, and Luchman, who was in the act of
rising to his feet, lay down again, until he could learn whether the
outcry had attracted the notice of the brigands.

It did not seem to have done so, and, while he was peering through
the gloom, he discovered that one of the Ghoojurs was with the steed.
Luchman could not understand why he should be there, but the fellow
patted his haunches, and spoke soothingly to the animal.  A closer
view showed the guide that the man was a syce, whose business it was
to look after his master's horse.

Finding everything right, the syce moved back in the direction of the
camp.  The course which he took led him so close to where Luchman
crouched that discovery seemed inevitable.  The guide silently drew
his pistol and awaited him.

But the Ghoojur was not looking for interlopers, and, striding back
to camp, he lit his hookah and joined the rest of the smokers, never
dreaming by what a narrow chance he took his life with him.

The coast was now clear, and the couchant native in the jungle grass
rose upright with a quickness that would have startled the bravest
man.  Then, without pause or hesitation, he walked to the steed,
which probably took him for the syce who had just left, for he merely
raised his head, and then resumed grazing.

A rope around his neck was fastened to a stake, a rod or so distant,
so that he had all the pasturage needed.

Without stopping to untie the thong, Luchman cut it with his knife,
and the pony was at his disposal.  Wana Affghar sported a large
saddle, which he must have stolen.  A minute later Luchman had
mounted, and turned the head of the steed away.

The guide had reached a point where it may be said he would have been
justified in dismissing all thought of the Ghoojurs, when he checked
the animal.

"I have stolen him," he muttered with a feeling akin to dismay, "and
though Wana Affghar is my enemy, I have no right to do this thing."

He was holding audience with his conscience.

It did not last long.  He wheeled about, rode back, refastened the
horse to the stake, and started off again in a much happier frame of
mind, since he carried the approval of the inward monitor with him.

During this little by play the Ghoojurs had made search for the
native whose death Wana Affghar had commanded, but he was safely
beyond their reach, even while still in the vicinity of the camp fire.

Looking up in the moonlit sky, Luchman gave fervent thanks to his
Heavenly Father for His protection and care.

"They are far on their way to Kurnal," was his thought of his loved
friends; "they have had more than four hours' start; they have walked
fast, though the night is very warm.  They must be almost a dozen
miles on the road; I shall have to hasten, for the distance is long,
but I hope to reach them by sunrise."

Less than an hour was occupied in passing the four miles which
brought him back to the ruined temple, where he parted with his
friends when he went forth to ransom them.

"Can anything have happened to them?" he asked himself, drawing near
and conscious of the same vague uneasiness that had troubled him more
than once since he saw them.

When he left Ghoojur camp, it was with no thought of stopping at the
ruins, but now when they loomed up in the moonlight the desire to
enter was irresistible.  He strode across the plain until he stood in
front of the shaded entrance, through which he, Dr. Avery and Harkins
had fled in such hot haste before the pursuing Ghoojurs.  The silence
of death rested upon them, and the hot air did not rustle a leaf.

"They have gone," reflected Luchman, walking slowly through the
arched way; "that which resistance could not do has been done by the
Star of India.  They have been led out of the valley of death and
Heaven will deliver them from further trouble."

His soft footstep gave out a faint echo as he walked toward the
interior.  A few seconds took him to the larger apartment, where most
of the time had been spent by the besieged.  The interior was dark,
and he guided himself by the sense of feeling.

He pronounced the names of the missionary and Dr. Avery, but there
was no answer, as he did not expect there would be.  However, as he
carried a small box of lucifer matches, brought all the way from
Calcutta, he struck one and held it above his head.

The apartment was empty, the prostrate idol lying where it had been
overturned by the visitors.  There was hardly a sign that the place
had been trodden by human feet for a hundred years.

By the aid of the flickering light, Luchman looked at the door
opening into the other room--the tomb of George Harkins.

Should he enter that?

Not often did Luchman waver, for he was quick to make up his mind on
any matter; but he now hesitated.

Finally he pushed the door aside and struck another match, which he
also raised above his head and peered into the breathless darkness,
waiting for the tiny flame to illuminate the interior.

Then with a horrified gasp he recoiled.

"Wana Affghar has betrayed us all!"

Only the dead body of poor Harkins was there, and that had been
plundered by the Ghoojurs.

It was true: Wana Affghar had played them false.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

TOO LATE!

From the moment Wana Affghar of Puneput solemnly pledged himself to
allow the fugitives to go free, in consideration of the Star of India
being turned over to him, his brain was busy in devising some means
of violating his vow.

Two powerful causes spurred him on.  The first was his inherent
viciousness and hatred of the Feringhees, and the second the
necessity of doing something to placate the ruffians who had served
under him during the siege.  Despite his self important assertion
that none of the Ghoojurs dare question his authority, his discipline
was so loose that there would have been open rebellion had he sought
to draw them away from the feast with their appetites unsatisfied.

In the face of the vigilance of Luchman, the chief succeeded in
making known his whole scheme to Ramsurun Duss, his trusted aid, who
gave him all the help he could; for like a true Asiatic, the task was
the most congenial one in all the world to him.

Luchman was mistaken in thinking Wana Affghar had received no
re-enforcements.  He had at least a score of ragged ruffians under
his control, and a half dozen of these were lurking in the edge of
the jungle, where their presence was unsuspected by the guide.
Through the stratagem already described, Ramsurun Duss changed
position with one of them, and stayed behind, while Wana Affghar and
the rest, accompanied by Luchman, moved several miles down the river.

Wana Affghar told his subordinate that as soon as it was fully dark
the Europeans would come out of the temple and start away, though
what precise direction they would take could not be conjectured, nor
was it needful that it should be known.

The seven Ghoojurs were afraid to make an attack upon those who
stayed behind, nor were they required to do so.

They were to steal up to the ruins, and, taking the best positions
they could, so as to command the entrance, pour a volley into the
Feringhees that would not leave one alive.  They would then rush
forward and rob the bodies, dividing the loot with the main band that
were waiting with Wana Affghar down the river, who were to make their
way back to the temple, after Luchman should also be killed.

The Ghoojurs did not know the precise hour fixed for the departure of
the fugitives, but they were prompt themselves.  It was hardly dark
when the wretches stole to their places like so many bees crawling
over the ruins.  They took the precaution to make a long circuit, and
to approach from the rear.

This part of the programme was carried out without break, but so
extreme was their caution that it was close upon eight o'clock when
the seven crouching figures stationed themselves under the shade of
the overhanging trees and dense vegetation, that grew in and out of
the ruins of the temple.

With the utmost care and no little skill, each man secured his
position.

It was then found that every one was so placed that he could empty
his gun into any one of the Feringhees, as he or she came forth.
Having no means of knowing of Harkins's death, they expected to see
three men, whom they meant to kill first, there being two shots and
one to spare.

All in position at last, the Ghoojurs waited patiently, for they were
sure the fugitives must soon present themselves.  The minutes pass
slowly to those who count them, and the Hindoo does not possess the
patience of the Esquimau sitting twenty hours at a stretch beside the
air hole in the ice, waiting to catch sight of the nose of the seal.

So it goes without saying that when seven ruffians had held their
expectant and cramped positions for two full hours, they began to
grow petulant, and to wonder what could possibly keep their victims
out of sight so long.  It could not be that they suspected the danger
on the outside, and they must know how important it was that they
should start at the earliest moment they could.

That the Europeans were within the temple on the arrival of the
assassins was certain, since the murmur of their voices was plainly
heard.

What, then, meant the delay?

A couple of the miscreants approached Ramsurun Duss and questioned
him.  He was as impatient as they, and declared that if their victims
did not soon appear he would lead his followers into the refuge after
them.

The rest were hardly prepared for this, and one proposed they should
go after re-enforcements before undertaking so perilous a task.
Ramsurun Duss replied that they had more than enough, and a larger
number would make too small a share of the loot.

He did not wish any more to be admitted on the "ground floor."

This statement kept matters quiet for another half hour, when the
same Ghoojurs threaded their way to the side of their leader to learn
what he meant to do.

He was in ill humor, and declared that he would not wait much longer.
Since he was the most courageous of the party, he took upon himself
the task of learning why the Europeans persisted in staying within
the temple.

At last the ruffian decided to steal through the arched way.  If
challenged he would say that he was a messenger from Luchman, who
sent word that they must not delay their departure another minute, as
every hour added to their peril.  Since the missionary spoke
Hindustani, there would be no trouble in communicating with him, and
Ramsurun Duss was sanguine of completely deceiving the good man.

In the event of being suspected, or if violent hands were laid upon
him, he would make an outcry that was to be answered by a rush on the
part of the rest of the Ghoojurs.

It cannot be said that the subordinate relished this part of the
undertaking; but he considered detection so unlikely that it was
practically out of the question.  Besides, he wished to set the
example to his men which they needed.

The first thing Ramsurun Duss did was to creep to one of the circular
openings which served for windows.  There he listened for several
minutes.  He fancied he heard whispered voices, but further attention
convinced him he was mistaken.  The stillness within was as profound
as the grave.

"They are asleep," he said, in an undertone, to those around him; "we
will all enter together, and leap upon them before they can awake."

But the others objected.  They could not see the wisdom of exposing
themselves to so much danger.  More likely the Feringhees were making
a pretense of unconsciousness, so as to draw them into a trap.

Their leader became savage at the cowardice of his men.  He declared
that he would manage the whole business himself, and would keep all
the loot of the Feringhees.

With this parting threat he straightway entered upon his own campaign.

Picking his way down from where he was perched above the roof of the
temple, he reached the arched entrance, as he believed, without
betraying himself.  When he came to look into the black, gaping
mouth, which resembled the throat of some enormous piece of ordnance,
he stood still for a full minute.

Some of his comrades had ventured too near that place during the past
two days, and paid dearly for their temerity.  Did a similar fate
await him?

But he would not go back to his men, confessing that he was afraid.
He stole swiftly through the passage way, until the larger apartment
was reached.

Those on the outside were not kept waiting long, when he reappeared,
gnashing his teeth and execrating.

"Too late," he exclaimed; "the Feringhees are gone!"



CHAPTER XXXV.

EUREKA!

As soon as the Ghoojurs learned that the Europeans had fled, their
courage came back, and they made a scrambling rush for the interior
of the temple.  A brief search proved the truth of their leader's
declaration, the only objects found being the overturned idol and the
inanimate body of Harkins.  The latter was plundered so shamelessly
that it told the truth to Luchman the moment his eyes fell upon it.

The Feringhees had departed, and, when the Ghoojurs found that
nothing remained for them to do, they took up their march to the camp
of Wana Affghar, which they reached a half hour after the departure
of Luchman the guide.

The time has come in to make an explanation.

Going back a few hours in the thread of our narrative, the reader
will remember that Dr. Avery and the family of the missionary were
grouped together in the passage way, watching the meeting between
Luchman and Wana Affghar.  Not an eye was removed until the departure
of their friend in the company of the Ghoojur chieftain.

They could not mistake the meaning of what they saw.  The bargain had
been struck between the two.  The fugitives must remain within the
temple until the hour fixed upon by Luchman for their departure.

"If nothing is seen or heard of them," said the surgeon, "by the time
it is dark we shall gain the start that ought to secure safety for us
all.  But I wouldn't give much for the life of Luchman after he parts
with the diamond."

At this juncture, while the conversation was of no special interest,
Marian related her singular experience of the night before.  Avery
was interested at once.

"Have you any idea of the hour?" he asked.

"It must have been near midnight,--perhaps a little later."

"Are you sure of that?"

"As sure as I can be of anything."

"Then you are altogether mistaken in supposing it was Luchman.  He
can prove an alibi.  There was not a minute from the time you
withdrew to rest, or rather from the time he fired the pistol that
you all heard, that he was not within my reach and under my eye.  Not
once did he pass inside."

"Who then could it have been?"

"A stranger."

"But he could not have come through the archway without being seen by
one of you."

"He didn't come through it.  My friends," said the surgeon, "that
confirms a suspicion which I have entertained all along.  There is
some communication with the temple of which we know nothing."

"What can it be?"

"It is subterranean, such as you find in hundreds of buildings, in
every country.  I have no doubt it leads to the river bank, and was
constructed with a view of allowing the priests and fakirs of the
temple to go in and out unknown to others."

"But why was it not used against us?" asked the missionary.

"It may not have been known to Wana Affghar; some of his men, no
doubt the guard along the river bank, stumbled upon it, and one of
them explored it to find out whether it could be used.  They didn't
tell their leader, or, if they did, the old wretch must have seen
that it was unknown to us.  As a consequence, he has simply guarded
the outlet."

"I wonder that it has not been employed against us."

"I believe it would have been used tonight, but for this ransom
business.  Wana Affghar is such a scoundrel that I am convinced he
will attack us if we leave by the regular way.  Let us hunt for the
underground passage."

"I agree with you," remarked Mr. Hildreth, much impressed by what was
said.

"Keep watch, then, for a few minutes, while I make search for it,"
said Avery, hurrying away in considerable excitement.

The story of Marian Hildreth proved that the intruder of the night
before came from the larger apartment into the smaller, so that the
opening must be looked for in the former.  There, then, the doctor
began his explorations.

He first stamped upon the floor, treading upon every portion of the
stone and cement, and listening for the hollow sound which tells of
the excavation below.

After making a complete circuit, he thought he detected this
peculiarity near one of the corners, though it was not pronounced.
He struck a light and carefully scrutinized the floor, but saw
nothing to explain the phenomenon.

"In whatever way he entered, he did not come up through the floor.
Since the opening can't be in the roof, it must be in the wall."

The same manipulation was repeated around the sides of the apartment.
The only portion that gave the hollow response was in the corner
where he had observed it before.

"It is here," he concluded, striking another match.

Eureka! he had found it.  There were the divisions, so plainly marked
that every one of the fugitives must have seen them before but for
the dim light in the room.  They had pressed against the door many
times, but it was less yielding than the one which let them into the
inner apartment.

It was not until he had pushed against it with all his might, that it
slowly swung inward, the draught of air extinguishing the match he
had just lighted.  Igniting another, he shaded it with his hand and
peered into the recess beyond.

At the bottom of the heavy door were three steps, leading down into
the darkness.  The draught that blew inward proved that it was
connected with the outside world, and the surgeon had no doubt that
the underground passage extended in a direct line to the river.

He hastened back to his friends with the announcement.

"If we had only known that last night," said Mr. Hildreth, "we might
have gone right out of the temple.

"And right into an ambush."

"We may do that as it is, for it is difficult to understand why Wana
Affghar has withdrawn his guard."

"They may not have told him."

"It lacks a half hour of eight," said Avery, leaning forward so as to
let the moonlight fall on the face of his watch.

"I believe we should use the way that has been so providentially
opened."

It was while this conversation was going on that Ramsurun Duss and
his Ghoojurs stationed themselves about the entrance to the temple.

Mr. Hildreth and Dr. Avery thought best to look further into the
tunnel before making use of it.

While the elder held the door open, the younger ventured down, and
groped his way for fifty feet or so from the building.  He was amazed
by the perfection of the structure.  The passage way was about three
feet wide and almost twice as high.  Top, bottom and sides were lined
with the same excellent cement that was so plentifully used
throughout the temple itself.  It was hard and smooth, and during
this dry season everything was as free as powder from moisture.

No public building could have required a better hallway than that
along which the surgeon traveled for some distance.

"If it is like this all the way, it is a more pleasant means of
egress than across the plain in the moonlight."

Listening for a few seconds it seemed that he caught the flow of
water at the further end, but it was probably the absence of all
sound, such as often deceives us when a shell is held to the ear.

When Avery came back and reported his discovery to the others, it was
almost eight o'clock.  He walked to the front of the archway and
looked out to see whether the coast was clear.  All seemed favorable
and there was no call for further delay.

How little did any of the party dream that, at that very moment,
Ramsurun Duss and his six murderous Ghoojurs were crouching near the
entrance, impatiently waiting for him and his companions to come
within range of their guns!

Dr. Avery led the way down the steps into the gloom of the
underground passage.  Pausing there, he struck a match, and then
helped Marian to follow him.  Her parents came next, the breadth of
the tunnel allowing each couple to walk side by side.

"Close the door after you," said Avery, "for as likely as not there
will be a search through the temple for us.  Is there any means of
fastening it?"

"There is not, fortunately."

"Why do you say fortunately?"

"If there was, do you suppose it would have been left so that we
could open it?"

"The point of order is well taken," remarked the surgeon, whose
spirits rose with the prospect before them.

Avery deemed it best to walk in front of Marian, so that if any slip
took place it should not involve her.  He kept burning matches at
brief intervals, until they had progressed so far that Mr. Hildreth
suggested that the light might attract attention from the other end
of the passage way.

The tiny flame was allowed to flicker out, and for a time the journey
was pushed in darkness.  The surgeon's outstretched arms and
shuffling feet could find no irregularity in the admirably made
tunnel, which must have been constructed by some master mason of
ancient times.

It has been stated that the distance from the ruined temple to the
river was about two hundred yards, so that the subterranean passage
was undoubtedly the same.  When it seemed to Dr. Avery that he had
gone that distance, he walked more slowly, and felt his way with
extreme care.

At this juncture all the party heard the soft flow of water but a
short distance beyond.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

FROM DARKNESS TO DAWN.

"I see a faint light," said Marian, touching the arm of the doctor
just in front of her.

"It is the starlight at the mouth of the tunnel: this is a good time
to strike another match."

All stood still while their leader rasped the phosphorus against the
dry cement at his side.  The tiny light did not give the view they
sought, but it showed there was no need of stopping on the way.

Fifty feet further and the end of the tunnel was reached.  They
emerged from the mouth close to the river, wondering why it was they
found no means of closing the entrance.  It must have been hidden in
some way, since one of the essentials of underground passages is
secrecy.  A moment later it was observed that there was quite a
growth of vegetation around the mouth, which was not likely to be
observed from the river or bank above.

The most natural thing to do first was to learn whether any of their
foes were in sight.  So far as they could see none of the Ghoojurs
was within call, and the little company made their way to the water's
edge, where they dipped up enough with their hands to quench their
thirst.

"We have been fortunate beyond our deserts," said Mr. Hildreth, "and
I have an abiding faith that we shall be delivered from all our
perils.  Luchman instructed us to approach the river bank a quarter
of a mile above, but we have been unable to follow his directions,
since the tunnel does not trend that way."

"We can soon reach the place which we may consider our starting
point.  Let's be off, for this is a chance that will not come a
second time."

The stream upon whose bank they stood was insignificant at that time,
though during the rainy season it was a huge muddy volume rolling
tumultuously over the entire bed.  The shore was dry and sandy, with
trees scattered at rare intervals, the river showing the peculiarity
that strikes the traveler in ascending the Ganges for the first time.
The bed over which the water flowed was so soft and free from
obstructions that the current made hardly any sound at all.

Like the Ganges, too, the waters were turbid, but the fugitives
gladly drank from them.  Possibly in time they might have acquired a
liking for its roiled current, as do those who voyage up and down our
own Mississippi.

Luchman had told them to lose no time, but to push on without thought
of him.  It was important, above everything else, to lessen the
distance between them and Kurnal, and the few hours thus gained more
than likely would be decisive of their fate.

All this time the Ghoojurs were squatted near the entrance to the
temple, awaiting the coming of the fugitives.

The long, enforced rest made the exercise of walking acceptable to
each, even though the night was suffocatingly hot.  Mrs. Hildreth
told her friends to feel no anxiety because of her, as she was able
to walk a long way.

They followed the stream rather than any beaten path.  Since the
course of that in its upper portion was north and south, any one who
traveled toward its source must draw near Kurnal.

A couple of miles further, they were startled by the appearance of a
small boat, which shot around a curve in the stream above, and was
upon them before they were aware.  It contained five or six men, who
were doubtless fully armed.

The fugitives could do nothing except to hide behind a clump of
peepul trees, and hope for the best.  The stream was so shallow that
the occupants of the craft seemed to devote their whole efforts to
prevent it from sticking fast on the numerous bars.  It was this fact
probably that prevented them catching sight of the figures on shore.
The latter moved on as soon as the danger was past, and kept in the
shelter of trees whenever possible.  In this they were favored by the
great number of groves which are scattered all through India, planted
many years before by wealthy men, who thought thus to obtain enough
merit to outweigh just such atrocities as their descendants were then
committing.

The night was a memorable one to the fugitives, pushing steadily
northward, knowing that in front was safety and behind was death.
There had been other nights of more dangerous adventure, but somehow
the feeling was within all that this was the crisis of their long and
trying wanderings.

Directly in the east the glare of some conflagration was thrown
against the sky.  It was not far off, and it may have had no special
significance, but to the fleeing fugitives it seemed to be a part of
the lurid drama just opening, before which the whole civilized world
was to stand aghast.

The friends indulged in little conversation, for all were oppressed
with anxious thought.  Where the nature of the ground permitted,
Avery drew the arm of Marian within his own, and husband and wife did
the same, for they were an example of beautiful love that grew
brighter with the passage of years.

Eager as they were to push on they could not escape the enervating
effect of the temperature, which at times seemed as if it would
smother them.  There are days and nights in the Deccan and other
parts of India when only a salamander can be considered proof against
the extreme heat.

All were moving languidly along, suffering greatly, when the
missionary was overcome by a faintness which plainly was the result
of the high temperature.  It was a warning that it was death to
disregard, and he knew it.  Without any evidence of alarm he told his
friends that he would have to ask them to allow him to rest for a
brief while.

Fortunately, they were on the edge of a large grove at the time.
Avery thought there was little to be feared from wild beasts, the
monkeys, though in great numbers, being harmless.  They sat down near
the margin, where they decided to stay till morning, which could not
be far away.

The elderly gentleman felt very ill, but he did not let the others
know it, and they did not suspect that anything serious was the
matter with him.  He parried their inquiries so well that they
concluded he needed nothing but rest.  When he lay down on the ground
and sank into slumber no one had a doubt that he would not be fully
recovered in the morning.  It may as well be said that they were not
disappointed.

The night was well spent, and Dr. Avery told his friends to make
themselves as comfortable as they could, for he intended to stay
where they were until dawn.

But with such a smothering temperature comfort was out of the
question.  The leaves over their heads did not give out the faintest
rustle, and the heat was of that trying nature which causes a person
when sitting still to feel the perspiration trickling down his body,
while the oppressed chest vainly seeks relief by means of deep, long
drawn sighs.

The ladies spread their shawls on the ground, and Marian, resting her
head against the tree behind her, compelled her mother to place hers
in her lap.  In this posture they at last fell asleep, and were not
awakened until daylight.  It was much the same with the missionary.

It was different, however, with Dr. Avery.  He seemed to need little
more sleep than Luchman himself, and he was so wide awake that he
felt slumber was out of the question, no matter how hard he might try
to woo it.  So it was unnecessary to walk back and forth as he did
while guarding the temple.  With both guns at his side he threw
himself upon the ground at the edge of the grove, while the other
three were sleeping just within it.

"Confound it!" he growled, mopping his forehead; "talk about the
Upper Nile and the Red Sea being hot, they can't beat this, for if
they did no one would ever live to tell of it.  If England had to
live in India she would give her up in a jiffy.  Now what would I do
without this?"

Drawing a hookah from his pocket, he filled it with the tobacco which
Luchman had procured for him at the same time, and, striking a match,
smoked with the slow, deliberate enjoyment which cannot be
appreciated by one who does not love the weed.

"My supply is rather scant, and this doesn't equal the cheroots I
brought from Calcutta, but it beats nothing by a thousand per cent.
It is such a solace in these horrible nights that I pity those who
don't use it.  How nice now it would be if Mr. Hildreth could enjoy a
good pipe, and what a comfort for Mrs. Hildreth and Marian--Ah!" he
exclaimed, "I must draw the line _there_."

He smoked until there were ashes only, when he refilled the cocoanut
bowl.

"Kurnal isn't such a great distance from Delhi," he added, his
thoughts drifting in another direction, "and it seems to me we have
journeyed far enough to reach it, but I suppose our course has not
always been a direct one--I declare!" he muttered, looking around in
the grove, "I've heard that noise a dozen times; what can it mean?"



CHAPTER XXXVII.

FROM DAWN TO DAYLIGHT.

A low, tremulous whistle sounded on the still night, as it had
sounded several times.  Rising to his feet, Dr. Avery returned the
call, which was immediately repeated.  Several exchanges followed,
and then Luchman walked forward, and the two cordially greeted each
other.

"That was the very signal we agreed upon," remarked the surgeon; "but
I forgot all about it until I heard it several times."

In answer to the inquiries of the guide, Avery said that the family
of the missionary were sleeping but a few yards away, while he was
acting as sentinel--a stupid one, he confessed--but thus far
everything had gone well.

Luchman listened with interest to the story of his friend, after
which he told his own.  When he entered the temple he found that Wana
Affghar had betrayed him, and he resolved that, come what might, he
would slay the perfidious miscreant, no matter what the consequences
to himself might be.

By means of lighted matches he examined the well trodden soil in
front of the arched way, but was surprised when he failed to find the
delicate imprint of the ladies' shoes leading outward.  He began to
think matters might not be as bad as he supposed.  Then came the
suspicion he had entertained all along, namely that there was
underground communication with the temple, and that providentially
the fugitives had availed themselves of it.

Hurrying to the stream, it did not take him long to learn the
thrilling truth: there in the soft soil he saw the tracks of the two
men and the two ladies.

Luchman was happy again, and, despite the frightful temperature, he
pressed on with greater ardor than before.  He saw that while Wana
Affghar had played him traitor, Heaven had brought his schemes to
naught.

"Won't he pursue us when he finds we are gone?" asked the doctor.

"No; the distance is too far; he knows he cannot overtake us.
Besides, it was the diamond, not we, that he was seeking."

"What a pity he should have got it after playing us false!"

"Without it, sahib, we could not have got away."

"I know that, but he is entitled to no thanks therefor: he broke his
pledge to us.  But it is too late now to remedy it.  A fortune has
gone, but what would not a man give for his life?  Perhaps, Luchman,
some day you may get the Star of India back."

The native made no reply, but there were strange thoughts filtering
through his brain--thoughts which he kept to himself, but the time
came when they were known to Dr. Avery.

"What is to be our course?" asked the latter, observing that his
friend did not wish to talk about the diamond.  "Shall we follow the
stream to its source?"

"No, sahib, since it makes a turn to the west a few miles further on,
and we shall have to leave it.  But the task is easier now than at
any time since we left the Cashmere Gate."

"In what respect?"

"We can follow paths through the jungle, since it extends to within
four miles of Kurnal, and we may get a ride with some ryot, that will
give the ladies help on their way."

"But will that be safe?"

"We would have had little trouble after leaving Delhi, sahib, had we
been fugitives like the others were.  All our peril, if you will
pause to think, came mainly from Wana Affghar of Puneput and his
Ghoojurs: that was not because he wanted us, but because he sought
the Star of India.  He has been following me more than a year; had
you taken one direction and I another he would have paid no heed to
you, but followed me.  He will follow me no more."

"It is near morning, is it not, Luchman?"

"It is, sahib; it is growing light now; the people will need food;
stay here till I bring it to them."

Before the rest of the fugitives awoke Luchman came back.

"I have found a hut, sahib, where we can get all we want."

"Why didn't you get it, then?"

"It will be more pleasant for the ladies to go there; they can bathe
if they choose, attend to their toilet, and be in a house while the
hot wind is blowing."

"Is the hut along the main highway?"

"It is some way back from the village, where there can be no danger
to any of them.  I shall urge the ladies to go there."

"They will not need much urging."

By the time it was light all the parties were awake, and they warmly
greeted Luchman, whose escape from Wana Affghar was hardly less
striking than their own.

When he explained about the hut they were glad to act upon his
invitation, for it can be understood how acceptable such
accommodations are to persons whose experience is like theirs.

The mud house was occupied by a man, his wife and two children, all
of whom thought themselves highly honored by receiving such visitors
beneath their roof.  The simple people had never before been spoken
to by a foreign lady.

The dwelling was a tidy one with two rooms.  It was made of sun dried
bricks, thatched with corn stalks, but to the refugees it was a
palace, after their toil and sufferings.  The low caste of the native
permitted him to supply them with food and entertainment.  From the
neighboring well he drew the water for bathing, while his wife ground
the grain in a hand mill, and soon supplied her guests with
chuppaties and a kind of grain porridge known as dalbhat.  This
simple food, eaten in safety, was delicious and nourishing.

The furniture of the house consisted of a charpoy or native bedstead
and some cooking utensils.  Outside, under the shade of a mango tree,
was another charpoy, which was used for a seat during the day.

While our friends were seated on the ground, eating their simple
meal, the housewife stood over them with a dried palm leaf, which she
used deftly as a fan, thus enabling her visitors to eat in comfort.
Having been accustomed in their own home to the huge punkahs,
suspended from the ceiling and kept going day and night during the
burning season, and having undergone such misery on the way to this
primitive hut, it can well be understood how grateful the service of
the housewife was to the weary fugitives.

The ladies spent as much of the day in slumber as they could, for
they expected to travel during the entire night.  Dr. Avery tumbled
into the charpoy under the tree outside, but tumbled out again when
he found that a venomous serpent had pre-empted it.

"The mischief take the snakes!" he growled with a shiver; "you never
know where to look for them in India except just where you don't want
to find them.  We have escaped them thus far, and that particular
pest is doomed."

After some manipulation Avery wriggled out the reptile with the aid
of a long stick, and dispatched it.  Making certain that none of its
friends remained in the charpoy, he rolled into it, and slept until
the afternoon was gone.

When the day was drawing to a close, the gentle housewife prepared
the evening meal for them.  As she moved about, she was accompanied
by a musical tinkle from her toe rings and the jingle of her
bracelets and amulets on her ever busy arms.

Shortly after the evening meal was finished, it was noticed that
Luchman was absent, and there was some wonder expressed as to the
cause.  There was no misgiving, however, as he had the faculty of
being on hand whenever needed.

A liberal gift of money was made to the natives, who were profuse in
their thanks, and urged their visitors to come to see them again, and
to spend many weeks under their humble roof.

The good missionary was improving the occasion by telling them of the
claims and beauties of the Christian religion, when he was startled
by the sound of wagon wheels in the road, which it will be remembered
was some distance away.

Instantly he and his friends retreated within the house, and with no
little apprehension peered out at the suspicious vehicle.

The next minute all laughed heartily.

They saw a large cart, drawn by a couple of hump shouldered oxen, and
occupied by a single individual as superintendent of motive power.
The name of the individual was Luchman.

He did not explain by what means he had acquired the property, but
there can be no doubt that it was by honest purchase.

The entire party speedily entered the vehicle, and, after profound
salaams from the native and his wife to the "Guriparwan" or
protectors of the poor, headed northward toward Kurnal.

The journey was not without incident, but nothing of a serious nature
took place.  The sight of a native driving such a cart, and
accompanied by several others who seemed to be natives, was so common
as to attract little notice.  They were beyond the ring of fire that
encircled Delhi, and the next day they reached the little town where
the position of the British government was so strong that it may be
said all peril of the flight from the capital of the newly proclaimed
Mogul Empire was at an end.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

SALAAM!

This narrative touches only the fringe of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857.
Its subsequent history is written in letters of flame.  Never has the
world witnessed such scenes of atrocity, perfidy and massacre as
swept over India during those lurid months, when the legions of
darkness were loosed for a season.

The Mogul Empire was proclaimed at Delhi in May.  On the last day of
the same month took place the mutiny at Cawnpore; the city was
invested by Nana Sahib on the 6th of June; it surrendered twenty days
later, and the garrison were butchered the next day.  On the 16th of
July, General Havelock was so close that the most awful massacre of
all (that of the women and children) was perpetrated and Nana Sahib
withdrew, Havelock relieving it the it the day following.

The principal massacres down to the close of July were at Mutta,
Delhi, Lucknow, Bareilly, Neemuch, Fyzabad and Cawnpore.

But the wail of British India was borne across the thousands of miles
of land and sea to England, who arose in the might of her wrath and
sent her veterans of the Crimea to visit retribution on the merciless
Sepoys.  In the face of a flaming climate, malignant disease and
wholesale treachery on every hand, her heroes hurled themselves
against the united Hindoos and Mussulmans, and her vengeance was all
the more terrible because it was delayed.

Delhi, the Mogul capital, was invested by General Barnard on June 8,
assaulted September 14, and captured on the 20th.  The wretched
puppet, Mohammed Suraj-oo-deen Shah Gezee, over four score years old,
fled before the furious hosts.  He was pursued and captured by
Captain Hodson, who promised his life in case of surrender.  On the
same day, two sons and one grandson of the Emperor, all three among
the leading demons of the numerous atrocities, were shot dead by
Captain Hodson with his revolver, as they were sitting in a carriage,
surrounded by a frenzied mob that was about to rescue them.

Order having been ultimately restored in Delhi, a military commission
was appointed to try such leading mutineers as had been captured in
or near the city.  Such commissions generally convict, and by the
sentence of this one twenty members of the Delhi royal family were
executed, together with a number of red handed Ghoojur chiefs.

In the month of January, the King himself was put on trial.  He was
found guilty of each of the four charges alleged against him, the
penalty of which is death as a traitor and felon, but, because of the
assurance given at the time of his surrender to Captain Hodson, he
was sentenced to a life transportation to the Andaman Islands.  This
was changed to British Kaffraria, and this in turn to a station in
British Burmah, known as Tonghoo, some three hundred miles inland
from Rangoon, where he arrived on the 9th of December, 1858.  And
there, in 1861, miserably ended the career of the last sovereign of
the race of Timur.

Nana Sahib was the leading fiend in the Sepoy Mutiny.  His ultimate
fate will never be known.  The British government offered a reward of
a lac of rupees (fifty thousand dollars) for his capture, and several
persons were arrested because of their resemblance to him.  It was
reported that he had crossed the Himalayas, and found refuge among
the tribes to the north.  It was claimed that he was afterwards seen
in different parts of Hindostan, while others were convinced that he
was killed during the closing scenes of the insurrection.  Strange as
it may seem, there are people today in India who believe that Nana is
still alive, so changed by years and so disguised that none but his
most intimate friends would suspect his identity.  It is incredible,
however, that such can be the case.

The author of the "Land of the Veda" uses the following impressive
language:

"When again defeated, for the fifth time, he fled to the congenial
society of Khan Bahador at Bareilly, where he made his last stand;
and he then, having filled to overflowing the measure of his guilt,
passed away like a thief in the night, and left his wealth to the
spoiler.  He and his followers entered the jungles of Ouda, and
penetrated deep into desolate wilds, where the malarious fever soon
thinned out his company and reduced the remnant to the final
distress.  For the last that is known of this man's doom we have to
depend upon the reports of two native spies who followed him, and two
of his servants who subsequently found their way out of those
Himalayan solitudes.  Wasted and worn at last by fever and
starvation, they are reported to have held a council and concluded to
put their swords each through his own women, and then to separate and
die alone.  Certainly a remnant of any of them has never since been
seen.  The Nana Sahib wore that great ruby which was so celebrated
for its size and brilliancy.  His priests had told him that it was an
amulet which secured to him a charmed life.  He trusted in it, no
doubt, to the very last.  It was probably in his turban when he
wandered up the deep ravine to die alone; and if so, there it lies
today, for no human hand will penetrate those pestilential jungles to
gather it/ The eagles of the Himalayas alone, as they look down from
their lofty heights for their prey, are the only creatures that will
ever see the burning rays of that ruby, as it shines amid the rags of
the vagrant who perished there long years ago."

--------

Early in the year 1858, Reverend Francis Hildreth, the missionary,
and his family, reestablished themselves in the royal city of Delhi.
Their house was destroyed during the commune of the preceding twelve
months, but the good man had enough means left to procure another,
and he resumed his work in his Master's vineyard.

Luchman did good service as a guide for the British forces, and
proved, as did every native convert, faithful under all temptations.
It is one of the most striking facts connected with the Sepoy Mutiny
that not a single instance is known where a native professing
Christianity swerved from his faith.

Surgeon Baird Avery was professionally employed during the closing
scenes of the rebellion.  He and Luchman were generally within
communicating distance of each other, and one evening they met at the
house of the missionary, where no two persons could have been made
more welcome.

Dr. Avery had done his full duty to his friend, George Harkins, and
the little company were indulging in reminiscences of those memorable
days and nights following the flight from Delhi, when Luchman, who
was in unusually high spirits, asked Mr. Hildreth whether he would be
kind enough to write a letter for him.  The gentleman said he would
do so with pleasure, and ink, pen and paper were brought forth.

"We will withdraw," said Marian, supposing there leas something
private about the matter.

But the native protested: he wanted all to have a hand in the
composition of the missive.  He had some knowledge of written
English, and spoke it remarkably well, though, for the sake of
smoothness in our narrative, we have always aimed to give him help in
that respect.

"I am ready," said the missionary, with a smile; "to whom shall it be
addressed?"

"To Wana Affghar of Puneput."

"Ah," exclaimed the amanuensis, while all looked at Luchman in
astonishment; "do you mean to give him a lecture on his wickedness?"

"No, sahib; I have something to tell him which will surprise him."

"But how is the communication to be delivered?"

"I will get it to him, sahib."

"I am ready: proceed."

Luchman moved uneasily as he sat on the floor: this was not the kind
of business to which he was accustomed.  Noticing his embarrassment,
Mr. Hildreth addressed the letter.

"Unto Wana Affghar of Puneput, Luchman sends salaams."

Reading this aloud, the writer added:

"Now, my good friend, instead of trying to think of the form, tell me
what you want to say, and I will put it together for you."

Still the native was restless.

"Recall to Wana Affghar the agreement which I made for the ransom of
the Feringhees that were shut in the temple."

This was done in proper form.

"Tell him I meant to keep my part as a Christian."

"I will write that you _did_ do so."

"No, sahib, write it as I said."

It was so written.

"But I distrusted him, and so I waited until I was sure he had not
broken his word."

It took the rapidly moving pen but a minute or so to put this in
shape, while every one began to wonder what was coming next.

"Say that if he had been faithful I would have given him the great
diamond, the Star of India."

Every one was breathless with amazement, and, instead of writing the
words as dictated, Mr. Hildreth stared at Luchman.  The latter smiled
and said:

"I am waiting, sahib."

"But--but--I do not understand."

And then the guide explained:

"I did not give him the real diamond; I gave him a false one, and
brought away the Star of India with me.  It was in my turban all the
time, close to the false one.  Had I found that he had kept his
promise, I would have given him the true diamond afterwards, for I
had promised to do so, and I am a Christian.  But he broke his vow;
therefore he had no right to the Star of India.  I had the false one
made when I was in Calcutta, and carried it with me alongside the
real one."

"It wasn't the paste one which you showed _me_?" ventured Dr. Avery,
when he could find his breath.

"No, sahib; no one ever saw that after I brought it away until I
placed it in the palm of Wana, but you could hardly know any
difference.  Wana Affghar will never see the Star of India, for I
have given it to another."

The pen of the writer dropped to the floor.

"Can this be possible?"

"Will you write that, sahib?"

The old gentleman picked up his pen in a mechanical way, but it was
some time before he could recover from the daze in which he was
thrown by the astounding declaration.

At last the words were written, and when the excitement grew less the
story was completed.

Between Wana Affghar and Luchman the game was a genuine one of
"diamond cut diamond;" and though the reader of this narrative may
have concluded that the Ghoojur chieftain overmatched the Hindoo, yet
I am sure he will now revise that verdict and decide the other way.

During one of the visits of Luchman to Calcutta, he secured the
services of a native lapidary, who, by some alchemy unknown out of
his country, made a perfect imitation of the Star of India, which
Luchman took with him, impelled by a vague idea that it might serve
him in some such contingency as arose.

Inserting his fingers again in his turban, he brought forth a piece
of soft brown paper, as he had done before, and partly turning so as
to face Marian Hildreth, tossed the gem into her lap.

"I have saved it for you," said he, "but did not give it before,
because I was afraid you could not keep it while the war was raging
about you.  Now it is safe: will you take it?"

"But why do you give it to me, Luchman?"

The native was silent a moment, as if struggling to control his
emotion.  Then in a low, touching voice, he said:

"Your father, the sahib, told me so much about Christianity that I
could not sleep for thinking; I was sorrowed by the words of your
good mother; but I had been such a bad man that I did not believe God
would pardon me.  But it was you, the daughter, who showed me that my
Heavenly Father would pardon the greatest of sinners.  I asked God to
forgive me, and He did so; I found the jewel of great price; you had
it long ago; take this not from me, but from my _heart_."

There could be no refusing such a request.

Thus it was that the Star of India came into the possession of Marian
Hildreth.

"It is a fortune," said Dr. Avery some weeks later, "but vast as is
its worth, a thousand such are not to be compared with my jewel,--my
own beloved wife."

And she did not say him nay.



THE END.





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