Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 7, 1899, Page 6

CHAPTER XX. Nothing can be imagined more splen- did, and rather in accordance with the fabled stories of “Arabian Nights” than reality, than this triumphal pro- cession in honor of Jagernath. First came battalions of native sol- diers; then the rajahs, costumed in Oriental magnificence, priests and priestesses, officers and fakirs. A troop of gigantic elephants, bearing idols of a hundred arms, painted in purple and gold, followed these, and preceded the car, drawn by a dozen white horses, on which rested the fig- ure of Jagernath. From moment to moment, the fanat- ics, thinking by religious suicide. to gain eternal happiness, threw them- selves beneath the wheels of the chari- ot, which crushed them as it passed, their blood flowing at the feet of the maddened crowd, which cried: “Glory to Jagernath, the all-powerful Goa!” Around the car danced the Nautch Girls. Fa tically-clother Brahmins escorted it. A regiment of soldiers completed the procession, while sounds of cannon, fife and trumpet ceaselessly echoed, as on the field of battle. Djella and Doorgal, leaning from the balcony. looked on. “Why do they wait?” asked the ra- jah. “I do not know.” answered Djella. “The moment is favorable.” Hardly had she uttered these words, than a shrill whistle made itse!f heard above the other sounds. It was the first of the two signals agreed upon. A sort of eddy was ap- parent in the crowd at the entrance of ‘the street, where Midley guarded the prisoner. .0ok, Doogal!” cried the princess. “The moment is at hand, The voice of Saugor uprose. “The Sepoys take a prisoner to the * he said. nglishman!” added the fakir. assassin!” continued Ar. E “A miserable Folear. “A parricide!” resumed Saugor. “Do you hear—a parricide? Death to the infamous one who slays his father!” A movement of horror took place in the crowd. An immense clamor se, in the midst of which could be distin- guished the words: “Death to the death!” Kazil heard all. “Oh, unhappy Sir Geerge!” mered. And like a snake he glided in among the people, to gain the side of the es- cort. For the twentieth time within the hour the mu'titude formed itself into a wall. rendering impossible the pa: e of the Sepoys and the prisoner.” “Room!” cried Lieutenant Midley— “room!” No one stirred, and Saugor cried, in ringing tones: “Tt is an assassin! ricide!” “Death!” echoed, the crowd. Every look threatened; every face was fierce; all hands touched their daggers. The situation became terrible. ley lebored under no delusion. “Sir George is lost!” he thought. ; “But I am to answer for him, and will meet death, if needs be, to defend him to the last.” ‘Then, in an imperious tone, he again demanded: “Room! or take the consequences!” A sort of dull muttering, full of men- ; ace, was his only response. “Soldiers,” he ordered, “present bay- onets! By will or by force, we must | pass on.” Among the Sepoy ranks was a mo- mentary hesitation; but the instinct of discipline conquered them, and they made the movement commanded. “Siva! Siva!’ evied Saugor. “Siva!” repeated simultaneously Ho}- car and the fakir. { It was the second signal. The na- tives threw themselves upon the sol- | diers, whispering: “Bowhanie! Bowhanie!” This whisper produced instant result. The Sepoys, making no longer a feint of resistance, shouldered their arms and abandoned the prisoner to the fury of the crowd. parricide! Death! he stam- Death to the par- Mid- “Ah, the cowards—the miserable cow- ards!” murmured Lieutenant Midley, in a voice almost indistinguishable through fury. i And, sword in hand, he threw himself before George Malcolm, to defend him ; until death, as he had sworn. But what could one man avail against a multitude? His sword, broken by a j blow from a cudgel, was dashed from | his hand. He was seized from behina, and lifted from one to another far! from the prisoner's side, without possi- | ble resistance. “Ah!” murmured George, “I am about to rejoin my father! I have not avenged him, but he will pardon me. Yet, to die without being able to de- fend myself! It is terrible!” he cried ; "year, oo eorge and Edward,” timidly ventured i | her head. Crossing the threshold, she | our receiving you, though you cannot i fore, have grave reason. aloud. “A weapon! Oh, for some wea- pon. Who will give it to me?” “1,” whispered a well known voice, and Kazil, springing to his side, gave to him-a dagger. “Thanks, child—thanks!” he cried, seizing the dagger. “At least I shall not die alone!” “A. struggle is impossible!” cried the bey. “You will only be killed. The Ganges is there. Fly!” “Death! death!’ repeated the crowd, pressing closer about our hero, “Ah, bandits!” he answered, brand- ishing the dagger—“bandits! You shall not have me living! I will force you to retreat—and look! already you are cow- ards! already you fear! And, truly, while redoubling their vlamor, the Hindoos had recoiled be- fore the threatening blade in this terri- ble hand. A deep angut ish took possession of the princes: ifathlessly regarding this spectacle, and, while, spite of herself, admiring George Malcolm’ heroism, she yet hated the more this man who had disdained her love and refused her hand. “Will he escape us?” she demanded of Doorgal. “How, then? Is it possible?” he an- swered, drawing from his belt a long pistol and taking aim. But already on the square the aspect of the contest had altered. George had behind him the parapet, which bor- dered on the river, and before him the surging, threatening crowd. The first rank of his aggressors had reeeded, as we have stated, but a terri- ble pressure pushed them anew and ir- resistibly forward. he Hindoos al- most touched him. He felt the hot breath of these wild beasts upon his cheek, Kazil had been right. He might slay two, perhaps ten, perhaps twenty, of th number, only to meet certain death himself. And he wished to live— live for revenge. Instead, then, of facing his assail- arts, he brought all his agility and nerve to bear, and springing upon the parapet of the bridge, there command- ing the crowd, he cried, in a voice of thunder: “Follow me if you dare!” and head- foremost, he dove into the river, whose } waters ran twenty feet below him. The Hindoos uttered a groan of rage. Djella touched Doorgal’s arm. “Fire!” she said, “fire!” The rajah touched the trigger. The shot made itself heard at the instant that George Malcolm disappeared be- neath the surface of the water. “Well?” asked the princess. .“T never miss a swallow on the wing,” he said. “Rést easy, princess. He is dead,” while to himself he added: “I have no longer a rival with Agnes Burtell!” “IT am avenged!” thought Djella. “But this is not all. It is to her who stole his heart I turn now—to Agnes Burtell.” Thus, at the same moment, the image of this innocent child crossed the thought of these two sinister beings, of whom one pursued her with his love the other with her hate. What woul this angel do between two devils? In a room on the lower flocr of Sir John Malcolm’s bungalow, two hours after these events had taken place, sat the two sisters, Agnes and Hera Bur- tell. They were dressed in white, but before them on a table, was spread a piece of bla which they were converting garbs of mourning, stopp) each moment to wipe aw; their st-falling tears, remember him to whom they could now yield but this last evidence of affection and re- spect. Suddenly, Hera, stifled by her sobs, rose and walked to the window, j locking eagerly out. ! “No one yet,” she said, “and night approaches. T prolonged absence renders me uneasy.” “But Sir Edward and Sir George are together,” answered her sister, “There could be uo danger. Besides, they were | expected at the Governor's. “1 know, but it seems to me strange that Lord Singleton could detain them so long. Why do they not return or send us some news?” “Perhaps they have discovered some irace of the assassins?” “May God grant it!’ cried Agnes, lifting her eyes to heaven, and clasping her hands. Just then some one knocked gently at the door. It was one of the maids, a pretty little Hindoo, of perhaps fifteen s, carrying in her hands two lamps. “Mistresses,” she said, when she had disembarrassed herself of her burden, “a most beautiful palanquin is before the door and within a beautiful lady, though over her face is a veil. She de- sires, iny mistresses, to see you.” “To see us?” both cried at once. “We receive no one.” “So I told her,” answered the maid, Scindia; “but she insisted. “A visit from an unknown in this house of mourning,” murmured Agnes. “It is strange!” “Perhaps she brings us news of awe are right, dear,” assented Ag- nes. “What other motive could bring her here? We will receive her. My child,” turning to Scindia, “let the lady come in.” “God grant she brings us no ill news!” prayed Hera, as the door re- opened. Scindia introduced a lady magnifi- cently dressed, but whose features were completely concealed by a black veil, thrown. in Spanish fashion, over slowly traversed a portion of the salon, and stopped at several steps’ distance from the young girls, whom she grace- fully saluted. Agnes motioned for Scindia to withdraw, addressed the stranger: “You have insisted, madame, upon be ignorant that great affliction makes solitude to us a law. You must, there- Will you per- mit me to ask it?” “You would know it?” answered the unknown, throwing back her veil. Fors! a moment the girls believed them- selves dreaming. “Yes,” she contin- Oren ued, with a sweet, sad smile, replying to their mute astonishment, “it is even L” ‘rhe Princess Djella!” cried Agnes, in amaze, while Hera, almost breath- less, added: “The princess! In our house!” And to the poor child it appeared that her worst presentiments were about to be realized. For several mo- ments Djella regarded the two or- phans withut uttering a word. An ex- pression of the mest acute and affec- tionate interest was depicted upon her features. At length she broke the si- lence: “Poor, dear children!” she said, “my presence astcnishes, perhaps terrifies you. But, reassure yourselves. The motive which brings me, which has made me insist upon intruding on your solitude, springs from the deep interest and, (8! mpathy with which you inspire me.” While the princess spoke, any one standing near the window might have detected a strange sight—the sight of q frail, human form gliding among the vires and growing plants, which con- stituted a dome above the entrance door, and, by these, climbing with the agility of a mouse to the verandah, on which opened the window of the room, Here, crouching behind two large Jap- anese vases, he murmured, with evi- dent satisfaction: “Ah, here I can see and hear all!” This human form was’ Kazil. “Well, dear children,” continued the princess, “you say nothing.” “We are grateful,” stammered Ag- nes. “for your interest and sympathy.” “But,” finished the princess, “your astonishment is still great, for you see in me only a stranger. Is it not true? Yet, I am a friend—Yes, a most sin- cere friend. It is my heart which guides me, and to which, alone, I list- en, At the moment misfortune came to you, I wished to hasten to sustain, console and protect you.” “We have a protector, madame, powerful protector, if of that we are in need.” “A protector?” “Who, then? “The Governor of the Presidency of Benares—our countryman, Lerd Sin- gleton.” “Lord Singleton!” echced Djella. “Only this moment we have parted. It is he who sends me.” Ah!” cried the two: girls, who in- stantly felt themselves calmer and repeated the princess, | more reassured. “Yes, dear children,” resumed the princess, “Then you have seen Sir George and Sir Edward?" eagerly asked Agnes. “Certainly.” “And you can tell us the cause of their extended absence.” “They are with Lord Singleton, and some sad duties may detain them some time longer—” “You hear, sister?’ interrupted He: ra, “our uneasiness was folly.” “Presentiments always deceive,” murmured Agnes. : “IT have talked of you fer a Iong time with our mutual friend, Lord Single- ton,” the princess went on. “Whatevy- er may be your independence in Eng+ land, here it is not permitted for two young girls to live under the same roof with two young men, unrelate:! by ties of blood. It is of this new danger which threatens you we have spoken. danger, not to yoursely but to your reputations. yeung gir most precious treasur “The pring is right,” responded Hera. “Of this we had not thought.” “But happily I have thought, through | love for you,” answered Djella. “What shall we do?” asked one sister of the other. “Oh, that is very simple!” replied the princess. “You must but follow ow the wishes of Lord Singleton, who rakes me their interpreter. He asks you to accept in my palace the shelter I offer you. He thought of offering you the hospitality of his own roof, but he reflected that the hand of @ woman is gentler in wiping away tears and her voice more persuasive in ban- ishing grief. In short, he has not wished to deprive me of the joy of re- ceiving you.” “You are too kind, madame!” said Agnes, “You overwhelm us!” timidly added Hera. “When I give my heart, I*never take it back. From the moment I saw you I became your friend, and, as I saw that my feeling was not shared, I swore to myself that, by force of ten- der affection, I would make you love me.”” As Djella spoke she united in her hands the hands of Hera and Agnes. “Will you not help me a little to keep my werd?” she continued. “Will you not consent to love me?” Her voice held an irresistible fasein- ation—she combined the glance of a siren with the smile of a young moth- er. Hera and Agnes had not strength to resist longer a comedienne of such power. defiance vanished. They reproached themselves with having doubted so long. “Oh, madame!” exclaimed Hera; we understand now how good you are!” “Is it goodness to love you, poor, dear angels? Who, then, after seeing you, would not be held captive? And you, Miss Agnes—do you. too, begin to com- prehend me? For in you I have in- spired only fear and distrust.” “I think new with my sister, ma- dame.” Djella clasped Agnes in her arms and embraced her warihly. “Ol, thanks! thanks!’ she cried. “You no longer repulse my affection— you accept my devotion! You render me, indeed, happy!” And, having embraced Agnes, covered Hera with caresses, “Then it is understood?” she contin- ued, “my palace of Schahabad will be your temporary residence, and there Sir George and Sir Edward will yisit you ‘each day.” While Djella uttered these words, one of the Indian hangings which served as a portiere, was lifted, she | They felt the ice melt—thei | Sir Edward Malcolm stood upon the threshold of the room! CHAPTER XXL His pallor was terrifying. At sight of the princess he halted, in perfect stupefaction. “She here!” he muttered. dacity!” “You wish, then, to accompany me, dear children?’ resumed Djella. . “To accompany her?” repeated Ed- ward to himself. “What au- “Yes, madame,” answered Agnes. “We wish it; and will follow you to- morrow.” “To-morrow! Why put it off until to-morrow?” “Ah!” murmured Edward, stand—I understand!” ‘Why net go at once?” pursued the princess. “Why pass another night in this compromising situation? My lit- ter is below. Come!” “It is impossible, madame,” hesitated Agnes. “We cannot leave this house without acquainting Sir George Mal- colm of our departure.” “And Sir Edward,” added Hera. “He is forewarned,” said Sir Ed- ward, in loud, firm tones, leaving the door and adv: ancing, head erect, his ex- pression grave, his arms folded across his breast, into the center of the room. “Hel”? murmured Djella. “He ar- rives too soon. Five minutes more and I would have triumphed!” “Hera! Agnes!” he evclaimed. “I am here, and you do not go!” Then. turning toward the princess, he said to her, with a bitterness he took no pains to conceal: “In truth, madame, I cannot under- stand you. What do you in this house? You know that these young girls, John Malcolm's wards, and the betrothed of George and Edward Malcolm, eannot accept the Princess Djella’s hospital- jer" “I under- nd why?" “Yes, Edward—why?’ exclaimed the sisters, “We cannot remain in this house alone with you,” continued Agnes, “Why forbid our acceptance of this generous offer?) Why answer the kind- ness of madame by refusal which is almost insult?” “You wish to know?” “Ses.” “These young girls wish it, and I demand it!” added the prircess. “So be it,” ansiwered Eiward. “I will speak, and madame will under: stand me. Between the Princess Djel- la, the friend of the Rajah Doorgal Sahib, and Sir John Malcolm’s wards, there can be nothing in commen. The offer of madame is a snare, extended for I know not what infamous end; but this snare I foil, and in the name of my eldest brother, George Malcolm, sole master here, I order the Princess Djella to leave this house!” Hera and Agnes threw themselves in each other’s arms. The princess made two steps toward Edward, and throwing upon him a look in which mingled all the ferocious instincts of the old blood of the Tam- erlides, she said: “You drive me out!” ddward bowed assent, speaking. Djella’s expression changed abrupt- ly. Calm instantly succeeded rage. She smiled upon the two orphans, and the princess then slowly walked to- ward the door, drawing around he: head, with raceful couquetry, the folds of her Iong veil. ‘ At the moment that she reached the docr she turned. and, in a sweet, low voice, murmnred: y “Agnes—Hera—Edward! [will not say to you adieu. I will au revoir! —for we shall see each other again.” And she went out. At this instant, Kazil, mute and un- seen witness of all that had taken place, disappeared from the verandah, A minute of sad silence followed the prine ’ departure. It was Agnes who broke it. exclaimin: “Edward! Edward! done?” “My duty,” he replied. “This woman is our enemy—our irreccneilable, piti- less enemy. She wished to get posses- sion of you only to ruin you.” “Why do you mistrust her?” “Because, some hours since, in Lord Singleton’s presence, she had the in- fernal audacity (while appearing to defend him) to accuse my brother | George, through the Rajah Doorgal Sa- hib, of our father’s murder!” “Horrible!” cried the listeners. without What have you ' “But George defended himself?” asked Agnes, eagerly. “He was justi- fied?” “Lord Singleton was convinced of his innecence. He detained me. with the} doctor, to give us his positive assur- ance. But to oppose ryse with ruse, and to better overthrow the plots of our etemies, by appearing to be their dupe, he has ordered George's arrest, and had him conducted, under military escort, to the fortress.” Agnes, pale before, became livid, and for a moment almost lost conscious- ress. ‘Sir George a prisoner!” she gasped. “He is no longer one.” “How?” “While crossing the Grand Square of | Benares, filled by an immense crowd, because of the fete of the god Jager- nath, the escort of Sepoys was sur- rounded and disarmed by the populace, | who cried out, ‘Death to the English- | man! Death to the parricide! ” “Wretches!” exclaimed Hera. “This wild scene took place on the! bridge,” continued Sir Edward. “Sir | George managed to escape from the midst of the daggers raised against him. He leaped upon the parapet and dove into the river, where not one of the cowardly assailants dared follow him.” “The Ganges!” exclaimed Agnes, in horror. The river filled with corpses. Great God! he is then lost!” “1 do not believe it,” replied Edward, | “Does the Ganges ever render up its prey?” “My brother is a skillful, tireless swimmer. In the sea he defies the} storm and plays with the waves. His soul is inacceible to fear. His nerves and muscles, are of steel. I have faith | in his courage and his strength. Above all, I have faith in God. We shall again see George, I am fully confident.” ' “May God hear you,” answered Ag- nes. “But you must seek him. You must explore the banks of the river.” “Stop and Dr. Dieudonne do so at this moment.” : fi { | my hair. | Edovard. “You must follow them.” “I wish to do so. I had even begun ‘the search, when a presentiment of evil recalled me here. You see it did not deceive me, since, without me, you would have fallen into the Priacess Djella’s web.” “Yes,” cried Agnes. “But you mist leave us, and think only of him.” “The doctor and Stop are coming!” at this moment anrounced Scindia, bursting, in her excitement, into the room: They quickly followed her, heads bowed and sad faces. “We are here,” said the French phy- sician, as Edward ran toward them. “Speak, doctor—speak quickly!” Dieudonne sadly shook his head. “We have discovered nothing,” he murmured, sadly. “Absolutely nothing!’ added Stop. “Ah, my master—my poor master!” “The Ganges has kept its secret!” said Dieudonne. “Sir George’s body has not reappeared!” “Oh, my God! my God! murmured Agnes, wringing her hands in despair, while Hera, taking her in her arms, strove to comfort her. “Have you not wearied too soon?’ asked Edward. ‘We had not cased our search until darkness prevented our continuing it.” “Have you questioned the boatmen?” “We have let none pass without in- quir answ e red Stop. “They have seen nothin “Have you visited the huts of the fishermen?” asked Tera. “Yes, miss; from the first to the last. “We searched for more than four miles along the banks of the river,” said Dieudonne, “and there is not a cabin, not a bush, not a tuft of tall grass, that we have not explored, and explored vainly.” “Then,” cied Edward, whom lope began to desert. and whom grief con- quered—“then God is against us and misfortune overwhelming up in its un- pitying force. Yesterday it was the father. To-day it was the son! Ev- erything crumbles about us. My broth- dead!” ‘Sadly the little greup repeated this last sinister word: “Dead!” “No, living!” answered a deep voice behind the Indian hangings, which, De- with ing Efted, revealed a man with bronzed | face, clad in the costume of the boat. men of the Ganges. CHAPTER XXI.. Every heart beat violently; every look turned toward the newcomer; and Sir Edward, after a momentary hesi- tation, threw himself into George Mal- colm’s arms, whom he recognized, de- spite his disguise. “My brother!” he cried, while young girls, pressing his hands, mured, “God be praised!” One by one, they gathered about him, scarcely daring to believe in his tiesh-and-blood reality. “You have not doubted me?” he sui- denly asked Edward. srother,” he answered, “surely, it is not in seriousness that you put to me such a question?” “Doubt you?” added Dieudonne, “I should sooner have doubted myself!” “Ah, my friends, thanks!" ‘Sir George!’ sobbed Agnes, “who, then, could have pretended you were an assassin? the mur- “They only who invented the scheme.” “Ah, the miserable ones!” “And they,” continued George, “con- trived well for my death. But fer a child who bore faise witness against me a few minutes previously, yet who, notwithstanding, came to my rescu yeu would never again have seen me. child, George?” asked Edwar “Is it Kazil?” “Yes” ‘What did he do?” “He put a dagger in my hand, in the moment that my situation was desper ate, Thanks to him, I made the band- its recoil, and sprang into the river. Some one fired at me without hitting me. If I am alive, it is a miracle. I felt myself lost. I had’ given my soui to God, and murmured lew the names of Agnes ard my brother. A pistol ball whistled past my ear and singed I gained the water, which losed above my head like a moist and transparent tomb. I have sounded the frightful mysteries of the Ganges, and T ask myself how, in this moment, my hair is not bleached with terror I dare not tell of the horrors I have seen. 1 found myself in the midst of a charnel house, surrounded by a hideous assem- blage of spectres. By a supreme ef- tort I broke the chain of corpses floor- ing the sacred river, and rose to the surface, only, however, to take breath, swimming or floating beneath its sur- | face except for those necessary breath- ing times, until darkness fell, and, ut- terly exhausted, I gained the bank. In a canoe, moored near a cabin, I found this dress. I took it, leaving in its place two pieces of gold—four times its |) value. I darkened my face and hands: with a little lemon, to make me resem- ble a native, and then took the road toward Benares. I am out of danger for at least to-day.” “And now,” asked Diendonne—“‘now, what will you do?” “Let the news of my death spread and be accredited,” he answered. “I must leave this house.” Agnes made a gesture of alarm, and, shuddering, extended her arms to her betrothed. “What?” she sobbed. “You will leave us?” “Tt is necessary, dear child.” “But why?” “You shall eomprehend. If ra have returned, it is only to reassure you all, and to provide myself with gold and weapons. Now I shall disappear. On your silence rests my safety. Weep for me as if I were dead, and weep | very loud. You will be watched. Let them be duped by your tears. George ‘ Malcolm no longer lives, and it is a stranger, an unknown, an adventurer, who goes to explore the mysteries of India, until he has traced in the depths of the shadows which conceal them Sir John Malcolm’s: murderers!” “Be without fear, my brother,” said We will. religiously obey your will, No one here will have seen you.” ‘We will promise a great reward,” added Dieudonne, “for any news of ou.” “We will breathe your name only in our prayers,” murmured Agnes, add- ing, to herself: “Only we will pray without ceasing.” While they exchanged these words, Stop appeared a prey to some extraor- dinary emotion. At last he burst out: “Well, I, tod, shall disappear from among the living. I shall share the expedition of my master. Wheresoev- er Sir George goes, I will follow.” “You must not think of it. Danger threatens me at every moment.” “I scorn danger!” “Ah, you have grown brave, then, Master Stop?” “I do not know that I am brave, but I well know that I would hesitate nei- ther at fire nor water to follow your honor!” “In short, this is really your wish, my good Stop?” “Yes—yes, your honors so.” 80.” “Since, then, it is thus,” answered George, pressing the hand of his faith- ful valet with affection, “your will shail be done. I consent—you shall follow me.” “Ah!” cried Stop, enthusiastically, “TI sm, indeed, content!” “Will you pass the night here?” in- quired Edward. “Certainly not! And, to commence my véew stence, I must take ad- vantage of the favoring darkness. I do not fear that they have traced me here, since none of my enemies imag- ine me ali but you know as well as I that night is the friend of those who hide themselves.” “Then you will leave us?” “As soon as I have taken. from my room some revolvers and a well filled purse.” “Must we remain long with no news from you?’ “I shall doubtless find some method to put myself in communication with you without endangering my secret. If, however, for many days, you hear nething, do not say that I am dead. Agnes, my dear, promised wife, and Herfa, dear sister, I hope, God grant it, to see you soon again!” “Ah. George! George!” sobbed Ag- nes, “to lose you just as we find you— it is terrible?” “Providence watehes. We shall be | reunited one day, to separate no more, | and this day is, perhaps, very near. Now. dear children, go to your reom.” “Already ?” “It is late.” “You wish it?” “I entreat it. As soon as my brother } wnd the doctor shall have received my last instructions, I shall leave the house.” Kissing eaciy other upon the brow, with a few last-murmured words ef love and farewell, he led them to the door, and himself, with Edward and Dieudonne, left the parlor. A quarter of an hour passed. With- out the bungalow, a strange scene was being enacted, all unknown to those within. Sembre forms glided among the trees of the garden, and, without produeing the slightest noise or wttering a word, marshalled themselves about the bun- galow. Suddenly, Kazil reappeared on the verandah and, having glanced into the salon, now deserted, he threw himself on his stomach, listening attentively te eyer sound which reached him. For several seconds he maintained this perfect immobility. Suddenly, a absolutely slight vibration of the verandah warned him that some one scaled it, as he himself, had twice done before. He rose, sprang through the window, and found himself im the @rawing room. Stop, av this moment, entered by the door, Seeing Kazil, whom he did not ex- pect thus to meet, he was about to ut- ter a cry of surprise; but the chila, placing his fingers on his: lips, com- manded silence. “Pe quiet, and listen to me! There is not a second to lose. Great danger threatens the inmates of the bunga- low!” “Danger!” echoed Stop, tremblingly. “Immense! Hasten to ward Sir Ed- ward!” “Little Hindoo, I wish to run; alas, I have no more legs!” “Hasten! hasten! You must aet to save yourself, for you are all threat- ened! Go, go! I will watch here!” “Oh, the natives—the natives!” mur- mured Stop. “What a country!” and he went out, tottering and terrified. “They commanded me to give false testimony,” murmured the ehild, left alone, “and T obeyed;. but mow T will atone for my ¢rime—I will not be am accomplice to new infamy. The cham- ber belonging to the young girls is there—to cuoss: its threshold, ome must pass over: my dead body!” And, joining actions to words, he placed himself, with a gesture of fieree resolution, before the door through ‘which Agnes and Hera had passed. Hardly had ali this takem place, when a@ sort of phantom appeared upon the | veranda, leaped the lew window ledge, and, in his: turn, penetrated the draw. ing room, where reigned profound darkness. . It remained a few sec- nds, motionless, doubtless to locate its: position—fior it appeared to possess | am exact knowledge of the surround- ings—and finally murmuring, “the door | should be oppesite me,” he took from his belt a smal! dark lantern and | turned its light im the direction just indicated. Its feeble rays disclosed the figure of the child standing against the door, his arms folded upon his breast. The Hindeo bearing the lantern made a movement of extreme surprise, and whispered: “It is you, Kazil?” “Yes, Samid,” answered the boy; “it is I.” “What do you there?” “You see.” “I see, but I do not guess.” “TI guard this door.” “Against me?” “Against all.” “I wish to pass.” “You shall not pass.” “Bowhbanie commands.” “I refuse to obey.” “But this is folly.” “No. It is enough of crime, that ts all.” but, ‘Back, child!” “You shall not pass!” s. 4\ \ a] ' = 4 ; \ ~ | < ‘ ; i we he > “Take care! You betray your broth. ers, and they kill traitors!” z “AVell, you will kill me.” “Yet again, take care!” + — “J tell you that you shall not pass! . ; “Then it is you who would so t? (To be continued.)