people they met who were they? what doing? whither going?-to the horsemen, the monotonous tramp of whose horses never ceased, some behind, some before, some around her,— fierce, dark-bearded fellows, whose very proximity she would have dreaded before,—who were now guarding her respectfully by his order; while the kind old man, to whose charge she had been specially committed, rode close to the side of the litter, and where the path was narrow, asked her, through the blinds, if she were well, and wanted anything.

Fazil, son of Afzool; she remembered the name. It was strenge to Hindu lips, but had a musical cadence, which her memory retained as she repeated it to herself. Fazil, son of Afzool; and he had a sister

Zyna. What would she be like?
What would she be like?

Would she be kind

and loving to her? like Radha? Was he not beautiful, and very fair, almost ruddy.

Into all these channels, confused, and whirling her mind hither and thither like dust and straws before the wind, her thoughts wandered dreamily, apparently avoiding the bare, hideous fact that all were dead whom she loved-all who had protected her up to last night. But this would not long be denied its place. It was a horrible reality not as yet fully understood: -which her gentle mind could not grasp.

Dead! who saw them die? They were alive last night, who had killed them? If she had seen them die, that, indeed, would be surety. No, it was not true. They could not be dead,—they could not have

left her so helpless. It was some fraud, some deception. She had not gone far: Sindphul was close by: she would run and sit in the garden, and wait for her mother; and she half-opened the door of the litter. Shere Khan rode by it, erect and stern, but bowed down to her as the door moved. "Do you want anything, lady?" he said. "Go to sleep; it will rest you."

The voice, kind as it was, dispelled the other thought, and brought back the bitter reality of desolation and the events of the night. How she had been lifted up— and the girl Gunga's laugh of triumph and mockery rang in her ears, and was before her eyes now, as she pressed her hands against them; the rude men who carried her down the steps: the fearful shrieks and din in the temple: the shots and blows, growing fainter as they carried her away: and, above all, the voice of Moro Trimmul, exulting with Gunga that they were safe from death, and had Tara captive. Rutunjun first," he had said, " and then-”

"To

And

"From that worse than death he saved me," she thought, with a shudder. "Fazil saved me-Fazil, son of Afzool-else I were helpless with Moro now. they were dead - her people, all dead? Yes, the detail Fazil had related was brief and circumstantial. The Bhopeys would not lie-why should they? They were weeping, and had taken him up dead. Her father, a negro had killed him, they said. She felt no hope could come out of this detail. They had lifted him up and put him No, she could not follow that. That beloved father, dead-disfigured with ghastly

wounds mother, whom Janoo had seen dead, and Radha . . . . all? He had said so. How could he -Fazil-know of Janoo, or the Bhópeys, her father's dependants, so as to deceive her with names?"

So, round and round, whirling, dashing hither and thither like the motes in a sunbeam, staying nowhere, sometimes utterly blank, the girl's thoughts ministered to her fast growing misery. The hot dry eyes, red and swollen, looked out sometimes vacantly as the bearers changed shoulders. She felt powerless to move, careless as to what became of her. As the reality of the death of all, pressed on her mind occasionally with greater force, she sat up and gasped for breath, and again fell back upon the cushions; then the monotonous cries of the bearers as they shuffled along rapidly, and the dull tramp of the horses, with the sense of motion, were relief from mental agony: and, after a time, she slept.

The action of setting down the litter, awoke her with a start. Under some trees not far from a village gate, there was the small hut of a Fakeer. Shêre Khan was speaking to the old man, and the troopers were dismounting from their horses. Shere Khan came to her.

"I have sent for the Josee's wife," he said.

"The

Syn here says she is a kind woman. She will bring you water and something to eat. We rest here while the men get their breakfasts, and the horses are fed. Fear nothing. Open the litter,-it is cool and pleasant in the shade under the trees," and then he left her.

So it was. She opened the door and looked out. A small grove of mango trees, with a smooth green sward below them, and some cattle and goats grazing there in the cool shade; a boy and a girl tending them looked inquisitively at her, and the girl came up shyly and sat down by her.

"Do you want water, lady?" she said. I am the Josee's daughter, and those are my goats. I will go and tell my mother you want water.

hun, are you not?"

You are a Bram

Tara patted her head in assent-she could not speak; and the girl ran away, crying to the lad not to let her goats stray.

By-and-by the child and mother returned, and the latter brought a copper vessel of water and a drinkingcup.

"Here is water, lady," she said ;

"will you get out

and wash your face? Surely, I know you," she con

tinued quickly, as Tara turned her face to her.

"Where

"I do not know you."

"Perhaps not," said the dame drearily. "So many travellers come and go, and . . . but no matter. Shall I cook anything for you? will you come to our house and bathe?"

"No," said Tara; "they will go on presently; I will stay here."

"Come hither, Ooma," she said to the girl, who was standing apart, and she whispered to her; "Go, and come quickly," she added aloud.

"Do not send for any one else," said Tara; well."

"Are you not ill?" said the woman.

eyes are red and swollen."

"I am

Ah, your

I have a headache," replied Tara; "it is so hot." "Yes," said the woman, sitting down, and putting her arm kindly round Tara, and pressing her head against her own bosom-" yes, you look tired and weary, but it will pass away. Wash your face and hands, and your feet-it will do you good, and refresh you. Put out your feet-so-I will wash them."

The cool water was refreshing as it was poured over her hands and feet; and after the woman had dried them with the end of her saree, she again laid Tara's head against her breast, and patted her as though she were her own child.

"You look so weary," she said; have you travelled far?"

"From Tooljapoor," Tara replied.

66

Is all well there?" asked the woman. It was a common question with no meaning to the asker, but of how much to Tara!

She could not answer, but clung, almost convulsively, to the kind breast on which she had laid her head.

"I see," said the woman; so young and rich, and yet thou art in sorrow, lady-rest here." And she drew her the more closely to her, and patted her as before. So they sat till the child came back, who brought upon a plate, covered with a handkerchief, a few simple sweetmeats and some parched rice. "Eat,"