Chapter III: Part 3

"Look at the mem-sahib," she whispered, so that Horace should not hear. "It is the cry for the lost one shut in her heart that hurts. Don't wake it."

Kathleen hung her head; for the first time in her life it seemed wrong to speak out all her thoughts to her mother. But the hope still lived on--Carl would some day be found. It helped her to fulfil her father's parting charge, and try to give the sunshine to Horace and her mother. The dry heat of May gave place at last to the sultry, oppressive damp of the rainy season; and Mrs. Desborough began to long for home.

*CHAPTER IX.*

_*OLIVER AND HIS UNCLE.*_

When Mr. Desborough returned to fetch his wife and children, he found his little fairy half a head taller and twice as strong as at the never-to-be-forgotten singing-lesson the night before he left.

"Well! and what have you been doing?" he asked, when he found himself seated once more, with a child on each knee. "Setting traps to catch the sunbeams to give away, eh, my precious?" he continued.

"But I think Racy got them all," Kathleen answered.

"_Via_ Racy is one of the best of roads to reach mamma," smiled her father, as he stroked her hair fondly, and turned to his boy, who was clamorously demanding all his attention.

A game at horses round the white-washed sitting-room assured Mr. Desborough that Kathleen's traps had not been set in vain. Horace was riding triumphant on his father's shoulder, shouting at him after the fashion of the native drivers, in high glee, when the card of an English gentleman was brought in by Bene Madho.

Who should it be but the deputy-judge, who was going on circuit, and had just arrived to hold a "bed of justice," as the natives say, in the neighbourhood of Nataban.

"Well set to work, Desborough!" he exclaimed. "Have I followed my bit of pasteboard too quickly?"

"No, no," retorted Mr. Desborough warmly. "We are going away to-morrow. There are rooms enough here to accommodate all for a night."

"My fellows can sleep anywhere," continued the deputy, chucking Kathleen under her chin, and pointing to his train of servants, who were chattering without. "I and my nephew will do our best not to interfere with the ladies' comfort. Only say the word, and we will make quick work here, and hurry forward to our next station."

"Oliver!"

Mr. Desborough scrambled to his feet, and with Horace still tugging at his watch-chain, held out his hand to the boy without recognizing him; but Kathleen knew him again in a moment.

"Mr. Desborough has forgotten you, my boy," whispered the deputy. "Do not refresh his memory; it will only revive a painful recollection."

Oliver nodded; and they all went in together to congratulate Mrs. Desborough on the improvement in her children.

When old neighbours meet there is no lack of conversation. The gentlemen sat long over the dinner, discussing the recent rains, the present attitude of Russia, and the success of the government schools for Hindu boys, in which the deputy was greatly interested. Kathleen sat beside her father, forgetting to eat. At the first movement she glided round to her mother's chair with a breathless request.

"May I show my bird to Oliver? and may we go for a walk--a long walk?" she asked.

"Certainly, my love, if he wishes," answered Mrs. Desborough.

Kathleen tripped on. A gentle pull at Oliver's sleeve made him look round. He was too good-natured to decline the shy invitation.

Life was very free and easy at the little hill-station. The whitewashed bungalow was neither inn nor lodging-house, but something between. When one party went away, there was usually another waiting to take their place, so that the servants who were stationary there were not disconcerted by the deputy's arrival. They were laughing and singing as they hurried about, contriving to make an unusual hubbub, as a sort of tribute to the dignity of the Stunt Sahib, as they called the deputy.

Some of the newly-arrived were seated in groups, cross-legged, on the grass, smoking a friendly pipe with their old acquaintances of a previous year. Oliver would willingly have lingered to watch them, so he divided his attentions between them and Kathleen's wonderful bird.

It was crying so like a child as they drew near its cage, Oliver was looking about for some squalling baby among the dusky smokers. Then it changed its note, and imitated the soft musical tinkle of the temple bell, where Rattam and Aglar went to see the sacrifices to their idol-gods. Oliver was enchanted. "It beats the parrots hollow!" he exclaimed. "It is something like a bird."

"I have not much left to give away," said Kathleen, thinking a little regretfully of all the toys she had bestowed upon the young princes; "but I'll give you my beauty mina, if you will take me for a walk, a very long walk."

"You!" he repeated in astonishment. "Which way do you want to go?"

She tripped down the veranda steps, and pointing to the wilder part of the ground, ran eagerly forward, looking back every now and then to see if Oliver would follow.

The ground around the house was partially gardened, but the further they went the wilder it grew. All path was lost. Arrowroot and ginger plants sprang up spontaneously. By one of their tall green sheaths, with its droop of snow-white bells like a magnified Solomon's seal, Kathleen paused panting until her companion overtook her.

Off she started again.

"Is it a jolly game at hare-and-hounds or follow-my-leader that you are starting?" asked Oliver. "You are not quite right for either. We boys never played just so. In the first place, you should start fair."

"It is not play at all," answered Kathleen, slipping her hand into his and looking up beseechingly. "You do not mind, do you?"

"Not a bit," he retorted, holding back a mimosa bush to let her pass. She had led him on to a dangerous spot, where the ground sloped steeply down to the bottom of a ravine.

Dark shadows of bushes and plants unknown to him obscured its depths. A sound of gurgling water met his ear, but the gloom was so profound he could distinguish nothing.

"Is not that a place where the wild beasts sleep? Now will you take me as far down as you can?" asked Kathleen.

"No," answered Oliver bluntly--"no, indeed; you must be crazy!"

She drew her hand away, and leaning over the edge of the precipice, called, "Carl, Carl, are you there?"

Oliver caught hold of her dress and pulled her back. "You absurd little creature, you'll slip and fall if you do so!"

"Oh, never mind that. If I could make him hear me--if I could but make him hear!" she wailed. "But I am not to talk about the wolves--I'm not to talk."

"Yes, you may to me; you may say anything you like to me," interposed Oliver, resolutely turning her round and walking back towards the house.

"Do you speak the truth?" asked Kathleen.

"I tell you what, young lady: I don't admire your ways one bit. If you had only been a boy, I'd have bowled you over for that in less than a minute. What do you mean by asking me such a question?" he retorted in hot indignation.

"Then I may believe what you tell me, and you said he was alive in the jungle!" she exclaimed.

Oliver gave a long-drawn "Oh!" adding slowly, in a considerate tone, "Yes, I did. I said so because I thought so."

"And the milkmaid thought so!" she cried. Then for the fiftieth time she pictured the dusky face, with its rags and beads, and repeated the soft Indian words until the white walls of the bungalow were once again in sight.

"Now we must not talk any more," she exclaimed, "for fear mamma should hear us. There she is!"

Oliver looked up, and saw Mrs. Desborough seated on one of the fallen trees, talking to his uncle. The ayah was taking Horace for his evening walk. Being new to Indian life, Oliver stared in astonishment at the strange way in which she carried the child. Instead of taking him in her arms, as an English nurse would do, she had a nice little soft saddle strapped round her waist, on which he was riding. Her arm was round him, to keep him from falling, whilst his own clasped her neck, and his little feet were kicking her back and front. For Horace was as restless and fidgety as a young elephant, which every mahout (elephant-driver) knows never is at peace a single moment. It is always shaking its flapping ears, or switching its tail, twisting and untwisting its trunk, or stamping with one or other of its big feet. But the ayah was patience itself in her untiring devotion to her white baby.

"Look at that nephew of mine," laughed the deputy. "I shall have to start him off again to England, for a couple of years at the East India College, before I put him into harness. But Iffley has taken to him wonderfully. Now his sister--"

But Bona's perfections were cut short by a squall from Horace. The Rana's peon was approaching with renewed invitations to the whole party.

"We must go," said the deputy, who was bent upon cultivating friendly intercourse between himself and his dusky neighbours.

He had won their respect by his uprightness--perhaps even their esteem; "but to get a step beyond that beats me," he declared. "You must know as well as I do, Desborough, how these Orientals hedge in their private life with their ceremonies and formalities, and keep us all at a distance. Here I have been coaxing them out of their shyness and reserve for years. What way have I made? One-half the pains I've taken would have brought these monkeys from the woods around me as tame and affectionate as the kitten in your veranda at home. Now you ladies have a chance. The door of the zenana opens to you. That is why I want my niece. I want her to take her share in the Englishwoman's mission to her dusky sisters. You will go with us, Mrs. Desborough?"

"Yes," she replied. "I had intended to do so; but," she added, turning to Mr. Desborough, "we must take the children with us." The fact was, she dare not leave them behind.

"No objection to that, as far as I can see," returned the deputy; and so it was settled.

As Oliver was falling asleep that night, he seemed to hear nothing but the little sister's passionate cry, "Carl, Carl, come back!" How she had clung to the lingering hope his words had implanted! He almost wished he had never said them. Did he and Bona love each other like that? He saw nothing but the fluttering of Kathleen's sash and the flapping of her broad sun-hat as she rushed before him to the very edge of the precipice. How she must have longed to get there! and it was such a dangerous place. Oh the innocence of the thought! The brave, faithful heart! Yes, that was it. Oliver hated himself for having spoken those misleading words. "But then I believed it after what old Gobur had said."

He tossed and slept, and dreamed of Romulus and Remus, and the old Roman fable of the she-wolf. When he waked at last, the day was well begun, and everybody around him was busy preparing for the visit to the Rana's castle. He wished his schoolbooks had not all been left behind him in another hemisphere. There was no Roman history to be found in the hill bungalow, or he would have refreshed his memory about that old-world tale of the founders of Rome. His uncle thought him unusually moody as he mounted his little pony and rode after him. It was a glorious morning. Mrs. Desborough's bearers were chanting gaily. Mr. Desborough, who rode behind her, turned his head to make some remark upon the indigo crops to the deputy, who was still descanting about "that fog-bank which always rises between us and the people of the land, do what we will."

Oliver yawned, feeling quite sure beforehand he should detest a fat boy who ate nothing but butter and sugar, and wouldn't and couldn't run a race if it were to save his life, whatever his colour might be. He was thinking of Major Iffley's impatient interruptions, when his uncle started his favourite topic before him.

"Let the natives alone, St. Faine. They are the most exclusive set on earth. It is all labour in vain, I tell you."

The road by which they reached the Rana's castle was very picturesque, shaded here and there by grand old forest trees and great clumps of waving bamboos. The village houses were very low, and their peaked thatched roofs covered with a climbing plant with melon-like leaves. Clusters of tamarind trees secured the necessary shade. Two men were ploughing in a field, and three more were idly watching their work. Several women were scouring their brass pans; at their feet lay their babies, cooing or fretting. Some graceful girls were drawing water at the village well. There was a native musician with his sitar, and a group of listeners round him, some smoking, and others playing a native game with little bits of wood.

They lifted up their eyes and saw the English party approaching. The women snatched up their infants and ducked under the mats, which serve for doors to their huts, as if to be seen were to be killed. The girls by the trickling water under the tamarind trees muffled up their faces and waddled away as fast as they could. To walk like a goose is a Hindu girl's desire. The very children, intent upon the manufacture of dust-pies, jumped up and hid themselves; whilst the men started, gave a pull at their clothes, pushed the sitar out of sight, threw away their pipes, and stood in a row, bowing like so many machines, humble, shy, and mute.

The deputy's benevolent face wore nothing but smiles; but the poor creatures had received little but cruelty from the hands of foreigners for so many generations, they could hardly believe in a stranger's kindness. The headman of the village had bustled off to put on his company clothes, which he kept very carefully for state occasions.

He looked as if he had wrapped himself in a clean sheet; all his dignity lay in his belt, which had served his grandfather before him. However, he had found his tongue, as the children say, and came to meet the deputy with a string of compliments as extravagant as they were meaningless. Just then the long-drawn, quavering notes of some huge horns, drawing nearer and nearer, announced the approach of the Rana, who was coming to meet his visitors. Presently they saw him sweeping down the castle hill in his bullock-chariot, all brightness and gilding. Four of his men were holding over his head a huge scarlet umbrella with long glittering fringes; several more were running by his side. A small band of horsemen preceded this stately chariot, sounding their big brass trumpets from time to time; and behind it came a motley procession of his chief followers and relations. In the midst of them Oliver detected that fat boy he was so certain he must dislike.

*CHAPTER X.*

_*A VISIT TO THE RANA'S CASTLE.*_

The deputy being the chief of the English party, was pressed to take a seat in the chariot by the Rana's side. Then the runners and the riders turned their faces, and the long procession wound its way up the castle hill. All the dogs in the village collected to bark at the heels of the departing horsemen, and bright little eyes peeped round the corners to see them go. Then the girls returned to their pitchers, and the men to their music and play.

The strong and time-worn castle was all of stone, with rich, deep balconies and oriel windows. The carving of the stone screens which protected them was as delicate as point lace. Behind those splendid screens the ladies of the family were peeping as furtively and shyly as the village children, and quite as anxious to see without being seen. All Kathleen's attention was taken up by the dear little gray monkeys, who were playing at hide-and-seek with each other through the beautiful tracery. Some noise within sent them off with a scamper. Their leader called them round him; and Kathleen soon saw them busy as ever in the court below, turning over stones, and hunting out beetles and scorpions, which they caught by the tail. The biggest of them was about the size of a bull-terrier; and their babies were the dearest little sweets in the world.

It was slow work defiling one by one across the bridge which spanned the stream in front of the castle. Mrs. Desborough and the children had entered the large, untidy court some minutes before Mr. Desborough and Oliver arrived; so they waited, looking round them at the novel scene. In the centre of the court there was a large group of horses picketed, who seemed very much annoyed by the descent of the small gray plagues from the balcony, who showed no respect for stamping hoofs or kicking heels. All round the court there were rows of straw-thatched huts and sheds, where the servants lived, next door to the animals in their charge. There were lynxes, kept for hunting hares; and splendid spotted leopards, tamed, and tied to strong posts, each with a leather hood over its eyes, to keep it from springing unawares. More than a hundred dogs of different kinds were kennelled in their midst. The yelling and the barking which arose on all sides so terrified Mrs. Desborough, that she positively refused to get out of her dandy or suffer Horace to be taken from her arms, although he roared in concert with all his might; so her bearers rested in front of the flight of white steps leading to the porch of the castle.

A group of servants had gathered round them--looking very haughty in their clean white dresses and turbans--who were announcing the arrival of the guests with eager cries.

When Mr. Desborough's puggaree appeared beneath the gateway arch, one of the peons stepped forward with his mace in his hand to meet him; and behind the peon, on the topmost step, stood the guest-receivers of the Rana--two fat little old men, dressed all in white--bowing low, and inviting him to enter.

But no; Mr. Desborough must first of all reassure his terrified wife and pacify his screaming boy. Oliver thought it only manly to follow his example, and stepped up to the other dandy, expecting to find Kathleen in a similar state. The ayah was leaning forward, with her finger on her lips to enjoin silence, and Kathleen was gazing breathlessly in her face.

"Hush!" she whispered, pointing to one of the Rana's men, who stood staring at Horace, as Mr. Desborough lifted him up, with a scared, startled look, as if he had seen some marvellous prodigy.

What was the fellow saying? The ayah knew, and Kathleen more than guessed. She had been learning Indi from her ayah ever since Rattam's visit. She understood it better than Oliver; a great deal better than her mother. She was trying to get out of the dandy in her impatience.

"Let me go! let me go!" she entreated. "I must go to papa."

Mr. Desborough was looking round to see if she were all right. He relinquished Horace to the ayah, and gave his arm to his wife.

"I'll take care of Kathleen," said Oliver, with the air of a grandfather. But she tried to escape from him.

"I must tell papa," she persisted.

"Nonsense!" he urged; "you can't."

He led her up the steps resolutely.

"Which are the Ranee's apartments?" asked Mr. Desborough of the servants.

"They are in that direction looking east; but we cannot point them out," was the deferential reply, with a horrified look, as if to be guilty of such rudeness as pointing out the window of a lady's room would indeed have been unparalleled.

But then they all entertained a private opinion that these English sahibs were utterly incomprehensible, and on some points downright lunatics.

Kathleen turned round, and pointing to the jogie, who still stood staring after them, she whispered to Oliver, "That is the man. He was looking at Horace, and he said, 'I saw that child last night come down the koond on a booraba'--that is a wolf, you know."

"Is it?" said Oliver, who did not happen to know that booraba was Indi for "wolf." "Well," he continued, "it is certain he did not see your brother there."

"No, not Horace," she cried, clasping her hands passionately; "but could it--could it be Carl?"

She was forced to be silent now. They were entering the Rana's hall of audience, a huge room, thirty feet high, with a gallery at one end, and at the other a much smaller, narrower room, with carved marble arches and glittering walls.

Here they saw the Rana himself, seated upon a large, low sofa, with the deputy by his side; and Aglar, as still and motionless as a lizard, was sitting cross-legged at his feet. A few stout old gentlemen, swathed in costly shawls, looked as if they were propped up against the wall, on English chairs. They had come to see the sahibs, and the Rana thought it only complimentary to provide English seats when English visitors were expected; but his uncles and brothers seemed to find them singularly uncomfortable. They balanced themselves on the edge of the chairs, and threw their heads back with great solemnity. But what to do with their arms seemed the difficulty. One old gentleman stuck his against his sides, and spread out all his fingers; another was vainly trying to rest his hands on his knees without leaning forward.

Horace began to point at them and laugh, and Oliver was nearly as bad, in spite of his uncle's frown.

Beneath the marble arches there were long flights of steps leading down to the gardens, which were overlooked by the back of the zenana, or ladies' rooms. The carefully-screened balconies looked like one splendid mass of stone lace. In the centre of the gardens there was an artificial lake, fed by the mountain stream, where golden fish were leaping in the sunlight, and stately swans were gliding. Around its banks, and almost built out into the water, at equal distances, there were white marble kiosks, or arbours; and high above the stately trees and luxurious wealth of flowers the jagged red cliffs were frowning. Mrs. Desborough was lost in admiration as she was pompously conducted down the snowy steps, across the velvet grass, to a low door leading to the Ranee's apartments, the ayah following with Horace, riding on his little saddle, and Kathleen shyly tripping by her side.

The low door was unfastened, and they entered a dark passage, with an earthen floor, leading to a long staircase, which was very dirty. The contrast to the hall of audience was so great, Mrs. Desborough thought there was some mistake, when out they stepped upon the cool and shadowy balcony. Little dark heads, with snowy whiskers, came poking through the interstices of the stone-work, to watch the English children, and absurd-looking monkey mothers tossed up their babies and jabbered unceasingly. The folding-doors of the Ranee's sitting-room stood wide open. Its Eastern loveliness was spoiled by some smart-looking English tables and looking-glasses, of which the Ranee was very proud. She was seated upon a velvet cushion, with her little girls by her side, and her servants standing round her. The Hindu lady looked so stately and calm and stern, as she surveyed her visitors with a fixed, cold stare, Kathleen was almost afraid of her. Her long black hair was twisted into a sort of coronet, fastened by a silver buckle, and set with large silver bosses. Her fixed and haughty eyes were dark with excessive brightness. Her proud, curving lips and set white teeth seemed as if they could scarcely permit the word of welcome to pass between them. A little girl, as beautiful as her mother, was leaning against her, and on the other side an elder sister sat with her arm round her mother's waist, embowered in shawls and her own long, dark, waving curls. They were still more fascinating children than their brothers. All the force and fire of the family seemed to have centred in its females. But the youngest girl hid her face in her mother's lap, and the other only ventured on a sidelong glance at the strangers--evidently terrified at Horace, who was manfully kicking at his ayah's waist. The sight of a splendid doll Mrs. Desborough was unpacking drew the shy little Orientals from their mother's side. The ayah was interpreter. Whilst the ladies were admiring each other's children, Kathleen took the doll on her lap, and showed the little sisters how to dress and undress it. Then they sent for their own dolls, and displayed the mystery of their tinselled robes and gossamer veils. Here at least was common ground. And perhaps those little Hindus loved their dolls even more than Kathleen did, for they had scarcely any other pleasure in their dull life; for while their brothers were made so much of by every one, nobody wanted them.

The gentlemen remained in the hall of audience, where the cup-filler and the hookah-filler were in attendance. Oliver had the best of it; for although he could do nothing but laugh at Rattam, in his saffron-coloured satin dress, and flowered silk trousers, and his turban hung round with tigers' teeth set in gold, not to mention his bracelets and chains, he found him a cleverer boy than himself. They went together into the Rana's armoury; and whilst Rattam was showing him swords of fabulous value, from the jewels in their hilts, and helmets of the strangest shapes imaginable, Oliver decided he was not half a duffer after all.

They were entering the room where the Rana kept his clocks; for he had a perfect passion for clocks, and had accumulated some dozens--French, Dutch, English, and American, all ticking. Oliver thought this a bit of a bore. "Couldn't we have a stroll out of doors?" he asked. Rattam agreed.

Oliver gave a tug at his own hair. It was a habit of his when he felt uncertain what to do. But the momentary hesitation passed over. He turned to Rattam and said, "Do you know that Mr. Desborough lost a child a month or two ago? it was carried off by a wolf."

"Ah!" interrupted Rattam.

"One of your fellows was saying something about a child in the jungle as we rode into your court. I want to ask him what it was," continued Oliver. "I'll tell you all about the loss of the poor little thing as we go along."

"Leave that to me," replied Rattam, waving his hand with the air of a prince. "You would scarcely understand the jogie's tale if you heard it. Our people are very imaginative. It may be nothing but moonshine and shadow. Leave it to me. Before you quit the castle, all he has to tell shall be known."

The boys had broken the ice of ceremony in which their elders were freezing, and agreeing that it would be cruelty to raise false hopes by speaking a word too soon to either Mr. or Mrs. Desborough, they parted. Oliver returned to the hall, to sit in irksome silence, while Rattam speedily vanished. The old gentlemen by the wall looked as if they were longing to slip off their chairs on to the floor, and take a rest after their own fashion. The appearance of the attendants with trays of sweetmeats was a welcome diversion.

The five shawl bundles munched contentedly, mumbling a word or two now and then, when another servant appeared carrying a vase of most overpowering scent. He made a dart at Mr. Desborough's handkerchief and deluged it. Oliver's not being quite so handy, he received a dab on the sleeve of his jacket, where it remained to torment him for many a long day, by its overpowering perfume, which nothing could get rid of. The deputy's handkerchief was forthcoming in a moment. Like a prudent man who knew what he had to expect, he had provided himself with a second; and when he received it again well saturated, he quietly dropped it on the floor. Aglar was at play with his ball in the gardens, tossing it up to the balcony through which his little sisters and Kathleen were peeping, when Rattam reappeared.

He was anxious to show the young sahibs the wild beasts in the gardens; not only Oliver, but Horace also. That unmanageable young gentleman was clamouring for the ball, which bounded high over Aglar's head; so that Rattam's proposition was thankfully acceded to by all parties. The boys visited the dark dens, with their paved floors, well sluiced with water from the lake, which were built at intervals in the midst of myrtle bowers and clustering roses, and watched the fierce striped tigers, growling behind the strong iron bars which enclosed the front of the dens.

Rattam drew Oliver aside. "It is a tale of magic," he whispered, "in which all our people believe, but yours do not. Yet the beebee Desborough must possess some powerful charms. Think of the breastplate she gave my brother! A bit of sticky paper, but possessing such virtue."

"Bosh!" muttered Oliver. "It was a plaster, wasn't it?" and he laughed heartily.

"These charms that I wear," continued Rattam, touching the loops of tigers' teeth in his turban and the silver chains round his neck, "will keep me from all evil, unless I destroy their power by some act of my own."

"Then," retorted Oliver, "I should call them reminders to do right and fear no evil."

"Ah, you English have such different ideas to ours!" said Rattam. "But I have sent for an old man from the village--a hunter who has roamed the forests all his life. He knows the footprint of every animal that lives in them. I will send him into the jungle to see if there is a wild child about; such things do occasionally happen, as our people know."

Rattam had been working hard at his English since he brought the fruit and flowers to Mrs. Desborough, and he was an apt scholar; but he learned it all from books. As they were speaking, a remarkable old man entered the gardens, and approached Rattam, bowing to the ground.

*CHAPTER XI.*

_*THE FOOTPRINT.*_

"There he is!" said Rattam, waving his hand grandly. "Look at him well. Did you ever see such eyes? He is Tara Ghur, the oldest shikaree, or hunter, among the hills, and he does what few beside himself would dare to do. He goes alone into the forest for days, marking the tracks of the game, that he may know which way to lead the hunting-parties. He was ready to start when I sent for him."

Oliver looked curiously at the wiry figure before him, so unlike the rest of the Rana's servants. His eyes were light blue, with a piercing glance and a flash like burnished steel. His cap and waistcloth were a dull greeny brown, that yet approached to yellow in the sunlight. In fact, it was so exactly the same hue as the parched and dying leaves in the drought of summer, that when he was creeping among the bushes he could scarcely be distinguished from them. He carried a light bamboo over his shoulder, with a small water-pot slung at one end, and a skin of atta, or meal, at the other. This was all the food he took with him. His hunting-knife was in his hand, as if he had been trying its edge, but he stuck it in his belt and lowered his rusty matchlock to do honour to the son of his chief.

"He has the true Tartar eye," continued Rattam, "gifted with a power of sight that can detect the smallest speck in the distance and recognize it at once, no matter how far off it is or how queer it looks. He is never deceived, and we have never known him make a mistake. Now tell him what you like."

Oliver did not trust much to his own scant stock of Indi. He caught up the ball and sent it bounding before him. This, as he expected, set off Horace running after it, whilst Aglar called out to his bearer to pick up his "golee."

Down tumbled Horace. Oliver pulled him up, and taking off his hat, showed him to the shikaree. The old man surveyed him curiously.

"Child like this carried off by booraba. Search for any trace of it. Reward sure," said Oliver, asking Rattam to repeat his words for fear old Tara should not understand.

He did so, adding, "Search in the koonds by the ruined temple."

The old man's keen eye glittered as he salaamed to the very ground.

Oliver turned round to the fat boy in his silks and satins, and shook him warmly by the hand until he made the twining, serpent-shaped bracelets jingle. "We are going to be chums after this," he said.

"Chums!" repeated Rattam; "what are they?"

"Friends, if you like it better," retorted Oliver.

"Friends! ah, that I understand. That is good," replied the young chieftain, taking Oliver's hand between his own in his Eastern fashion. Happily for Oliver, no little bag of musk was near to drop into it. He was perfumed past all endurance already by "that beggar with the scent-bottle."

"Now," cried Oliver, "I should like to be off with the old man. I'm good for a ten-mile walk any day. What say you? Could we be back again before my uncle starts?"

Rattam drew himself up with dignity. "It would hardly become me to walk," he said with emphasis.

Oliver's impatient shrug was cut short by a summons to the hall of audience. The deputy was going. It was Rattam's turn to sigh, for he was as weary of perching on a chaukee, or chair, as Oliver was of the scent-bottle. He managed to draw up one leg unseen by his tutor.

Mrs. Desborough was amused to discover the fabulous powers attributed to her, and soothed the Ranee's disappointment by sketching the three little girls as they stood together in the flickering light and shade cast from the fretwork of the balcony.

But now the word passed round that the sahib was going. A breath of life entered into the five shawl bundles. Rattam's other foot found its way to the floor. In walked the two stout gentlemen in white with a tray of wreaths. Oliver espied the scent-bottle in the back-ground, and thought about flight. The Rana took up a splendid wreath of weeping jessamine, with its pure white blossoms trailing loosely over his outspread arm, and dropped it solemnly over the deputy's head. He, poor man, was doing his utmost to preserve his gravity, and half succeeded. But Mr. Desborough's utterly failed when a superb circlet of white and orange _immortelles_ found its way to his neck. He took refuge in a fit of coughing, which approached strangulation when he caught sight of Horace's face. The little fellow was just brought in from the gardens, and stared with wide-open eyes, literally struck dumb by his father's absurd appearance. For the five by the wall gravely left their chairs and followed the Rana's example, until Mr. Desborough's shirt front was lost to sight beneath the multitude of garlands.

The band was gathering in the porch, and the pompous peons were waiting.

"Good-night, gentlemen," said the deputy, shaking hands all round.

"By your honour's condescension, may your slaves be reserved in health," replied the five, salaaming to the ground, and they followed him to the top of the steps, where the Rana was standing.

The tomtoms and trumpets struck up with a sudden blare as the horses were led forward.

Oliver squeezed Rattam's hand as he whispered his last question, "When will the shikaree get back?"

"I shall send him to you," answered Rattam; and they parted.

Mrs. Desborough and the children were already in their dandies, crossing the bridge, as the horses cantered out of the castle gate sniffing the cool hill breezes.

"In pity, free me from this rubbish, boy," sighed the deputy, turning to his nephew; when he beheld ten coolies running behind them, carrying between them jars of sweetmeats slung upon bamboos--a parting gift from the Rana.

"Uncle," said Oliver in a low voice, "I have something to tell you."

Whilst Mr. Desborough shunted wreath after wreath into his wife's lap, shaking himself after each surrender like a dog emerging from the water, Oliver was explaining to his uncle about Rattam and the shikaree.

Horace was fast asleep, and Kathleen's eyes were blinking, when they reached the bungalow.

"Cheer up, little woman!" whispered Oliver, as he bade her good-night; "Master Gravity, in his saffron satin, is going to find out what his fellows have really seen."

"You shall have my bird!" she exclaimed in her rush of gratitude.

"Nonsense, you silly little goose! You must not give away a keepsake. Do you think I am like those dusky beggars on the hill? My hands are empty enough, ready for work, and I mean to keep them so," retorted Oliver, stretching them out with intense satisfaction to prove the truth of his words.

He did not see her again, for by daybreak the Desboroughs were all _en route_ for home, sweet home.

How happy the children were to see the many-gabled roof once more, embowered as usual in an ever-increasing mass of foliage and flowers, and replete with joyous life in every corner! The owl still sat in the entrance of his hole, blinking benevolently at Kathleen and Horace as they took their first run round the wide, cool veranda hand in hand, just to see if all the old pets were safe. Kites and hoopoes and blue jays were screaming and croaking to their hearts' content.

The ayah called Kathleen to look at her billee, as she called the kitten, which had grown immensely in their absence. Then she lifted up Horace to watch the gitchree, or squirrel, leaping from bough to bough among the garden trees, and to listen to the cooing of the jangalee, or wood-pigeon.

The dark faces of the gardener and the bhisti appeared at unexpected corners, with new treasures they had been saving for the little beebee.

One had tamed a moongus, a cat-like creature as big as a greyhound, and excellent for rats and mice, and equally good for cockroaches and many another insect pest which life in India knows only too much about.

Its soft gray coat and arching back, and all its amusing ways, won a smile from mamma as it ran about the house, sniffing at every new thing, and examining every hole and corner with the greatest curiosity. Finally, it set to work with teeth and claw, and dug itself a subterranean retreat by the door-step, where it could munch its dinner undisturbed by the liberties of its many neighbours. It was so clean, mamma had not a word to say against it. So with that and Kathleen's mina, who was trusted to leave his cage whenever he liked, the children had plenty of amusement, and the first few days at home sped rapidly away.

One evening, when they were returning from their walk, Kathleen with Sailor by her side, and a coolie holding an umbrella over them both, they were hailed by Oliver, who was driving in his uncle's boondee (a hooded gig drawn by two oxen) to the gates of the indigo factory. A long train of native carts, creaking under their load of indigo pulp, were waiting to enter. One ghareewan, or carter, had brought a rumour that a fair child had been seen by some hunters in the jungle. The tale had passed from lip to lip, until it had reached Mr. Desborough, who was pacing his office floor in unwonted agitation.

Oliver sprang out of the chaise and made his way through the press with most unusual energy for India. He entered the labyrinth of straw-thatched sheds, passed the great crushing-mill, which a party of half-dressed men were treading, and got splashed by the dark-blue stream issuing from it. Never mind; on he pressed, inquiring for the sahib. He was almost deafened by the hissing and sputtering of the steam from the huge boiling vat, when he became aware that on all sides the men were rushing from their work, and pointing to a dark reddish cloud that had suddenly appeared in the north.

He could not tell in the least what all this uproar could mean, so he tried to edge his way through the crowd of hideous blue figures who were gesticulating and screaming at their loudest. Then they began to snatch up the stones around them, which they poised in their hands as if prepared to hurl them at the skies. Oliver thought of a riot, and was thankful to perceive Mr. Desborough himself step out from one of the numerous sheds and glance hurriedly around. Just then a stick struck Oliver on the head. He looked round; a second was thrown at him. The men had not sent it, for it came from an opposite direction. He glanced upwards; another was hurled at his back. He did not like that at all. In spite of the agitation visible in Mr. Desborough's manner, he began to laugh as Oliver tried to run from his unseen persecutors, and pointed to the roof of a great shed out of which the busy workers were rushing pell-mell. Oliver looked up, and saw a troop of black-faced monkeys, big fellows three or four feet high, clambering over it. They caught his eye at last, and then the shower was renewed in earnest. He saw their switching tails and grinning teeth. And oh, the chattering and jabbering from five-and-twenty monkeys in a passion was something very tremendous indeed! Oliver gathered up a handful of the sticks which were showered around him, and shied them back again.

"Stop, stop, my lad!" shouted Mr. Desborough. "Throwing at monkeys will not do. Come in here."

Oliver darted into the counting-house, fully believing the riot he had been anticipating among the men was already in full swing among the monkeys.

"They are hunimans, my boy, the most sacred of all the monkey tribe. Had you hurt one of them you might have paid for it with your life. Timid and peaceable as my men appear, they would have mobbed you in a moment," exclaimed Mr. Desborough.

"Peaceable!" repeated Oliver; "why, they are yelling like furies."

"Oh, they are watching the locusts. Can't you see them coming?" replied Mr. Desborough, pointing to the rapidly-moving cloud, which seemed extending itself in every direction, darkening the air as it came.

"Strange," said the boy; "but I have something here for you that is stranger still."

As he was speaking Oliver unpacked a lump of clayey earth, and showed it to him with an elation he could scarcely conceal.

"Look at that, Mr. Desborough. Do you see those marks? What are they?" he demanded breathlessly. "The print of a child's foot," he added, after a momentary pause. "The most sagacious hunter among the hills dug it up two nights ago at the entrance of the koond by the ruined temple. It is proof positive that a wild child is wandering in the jungle. Can it be your lost little one?"

The father's hand trembled as he held up the lump of earth to the fast-decreasing light.

"Send for Iffley!" he exclaimed.

"He is waiting for you, Mr. Desborough--waiting at my uncle's with the wonderful old man who dug up the footprint. We have gathered the most experienced beaters and trackers from the villages round. By the time we reach my uncle's bungalow he will have everything ready to beat the koond."

Mr. Desborough waited to hear no more. He was already striding across the open space between the sheds towards his home. Oliver hurried after him. The sky above them was darkened by a fluttering host of beating wings. Look which way they would, the air was thick with locusts, appearing like dark-red spots in the increasing gloom, but white as snowflakes where the sunlight still lingered.

The fearful hullaballoo the factory-workers were making to prevent the locusts settling down was caught up and redoubled by every ghareewan at the factory gate. The living cloud that now completely overhung the place was slowly and surely descending.

Up went the shower of stones, forcing it to rise some feet into the air and flutter further.

The men knew well if the locusts were once permitted to settle, not a green leaf would be left in the village, and the sahib's garden would become a barren waste before sunrise.

The exceeding singularity of the sight, which held Mrs. Desborough spell-bound on her veranda, was altogether lost upon her husband, who saw nothing but his children slowly returning from their evening stroll, like all the rest of the world, gazing upwards. Oliver alone cast a wary eye at the monkeys, who, having given the young stranger notice to quit in their most peremptory fashion, were making off again to rob the nearest fruit-shop whilst its owner stood gazing at the wondrous insect army hovering in mid-air.

Mr. Desborough snatched his boy from under the ayah's arm, pulled off his shoes and socks, and bade him stamp his feet with all his might on the garden bed.

Mrs. Desborough called out in horror, for she thought some one of the myriad insects in earth or air would be sure to dart a fiery sting into the pretty "pink, five-beaded sole."

Determined to spare her the burning suspense which Mr. Desborough was telling himself was sure to end in the bitterest disappointment, he would not let Oliver enter the compound.

"Iffley has sent for me," was all the explanation he volunteered as he seized the gardener's spade, and dug up the clod upon which Horace had been stamping. He dared not tell her more, for he saw too plainly her grief for the missing little one was sapping her life. Any sudden shock and a spasm at the heart might snatch her from him in a moment.

*CHAPTER XII.*

_*BEATING THE KOOND.*_

As the boondee, with its two Mysore oxen, came in sight, Major Iffley, who had been watching for it at the gate of the deputy's compound, rode out to meet it.

"Come, old boy," he said to Mr. Desborough; "we are only waiting for you. Marching orders have been out an hour or more. Come in and change your coat. No use going on an errand like ours in any colour but dead-leaf brown. St. Faine has got one waiting for you. Only be quick, for the brutes have not yet left their lair, and we have a four-mile ride to reach it."

Out sprung Mr. Desborough. Dare he put so much faith in a few faint marks on a crumbling clod? Yet he was the first in the saddle as the hunting-train set forth from Runnangore. A most singular sight awaited them. As they looked down into the valleys they saw them filled with fluttering wings, and every mountain height encircled by its reddish cloud. All locusts, and nothing but locusts. Vultures and kites flew about in great disorder. A cold breeze from the hills told of the probability of a coming storm. In sheltered places the oppression in the air was awful. The locusts called off the attention of the men, but they also concealed them from the keen, bright eyes that were waking up with thoughts of evening prey.

As they drew nearer the hills, the ground became so rough and broken the horses began to stumble. There was nothing for it but to dismount, leave the horses with the grooms, and proceed on foot. Tara Ghur, the old hunter with the wonderful Tartar eye, took the lead. On, on they crept in perfect silence, until they perceived the sheen of a pool of water sparkling at their feet. It lay at the base of a projecting spur of rock, and was overlooked by the picturesque ruins of a native temple. It was small, and overgrown with tall tropical weeds. The flight of steps to the temple court was half buried in mud. The white pillars of the colonnade which surrounded it were still unbroken, but the dome above the shrine had fallen in. Yew and cypress flourished on the spot where Hindu suppliants were used to bring their offerings to Mata Devee, the dreaded goddess of destruction.

How strange Oliver felt it to be living in a land where idols abound! One by one they climbed the broken stair, and gathering round the prostrate figure of the fallen idol, arranged their plan. From this ascent they looked down upon the sombre depths of the rugged koond. Round the shoulder of the hill, on the other side, was the entrance to a similar gorge. Tara Ghur led them towards the one in which he had dug up the footprint. He sent the jogies forward one after the other, like a living ladder, until they reached the topmost height of the precipice at the back of the koond.

Another division, who were to act as scouts, climbed the trees, some of them warily venturing further and further into the leafy abyss, leaping like monkeys from bough to bough.

Mr. Desborough, the deputy, and the major took up their position where the opening was the narrowest, so that no living thing hiding within the darkest recesses could rush out unseen. Mr. Desborough and the deputy were on one side; the major, Oliver, and the old shikaree on the other. The space between them was scarcely more than fifty yards across. Old Tara had marked the trees commanding the surest outlook. Mr. Desborough was the first to mount to his post of observation. The hunter handed him up his loaded gun.

"No, no," said the father; "no firing."

"No firing!" repeated the major. "Then how do you expect to recover the child from a pack of raging wolves? Face the truth like a man, Desborough. If your boy is alive in this jungle, some wolf has adopted him, and it will guard that child with all the affectionate fidelity of a noble-hearted dog."

"Ah! but you need the true, clear eye and unerring hand of a William Tell. Not one of us possesses them. No, no; I dare not suffer a single shot to be fired," answered the father desperately.

"Well," interposed the deputy soothingly, "nothing of the sort may be necessary. We are not yet sure this child, if child there be, is yours. Trust us, we have come to save it, not to hurt it. Still, I say, we must rescue it at all risks."

"Time, sahib, time presses," urged the shikaree.

They climbed into their appointed places. The deputy and Mr. Desborough on their side commanded the better view. Then the jogies began their work at the back of the koond, hurling down fragments of rock and stones, striking and crashing among the trees, beating tomtoms and howling with all their might. The terrific row they made was repeated by the hollow echoes from the opposite side of the winding gorge, and was enough to scare even bears and tigers from their sleep.

The shouts redoubled. A tiny white flag, waving on the top of a long bamboo, fluttered above the tree-tops. It was the signal from the jogies on the heights. Something had been viewed. All the father's life seemed centring in his eye and ear. The cry of the jackals was beginning. The scream of the owls was echoed back from the temple ruins, where the bats were wheeling in endless circles. Then up rose the moon, flooding the temple hill with its silvery radiance, and giving an exaggerated profundity to the depths of the ravine. The pool, or jheel, below the overhanging rock shone like a burnished shield. In the open ground between, which the beasts must cross as they were driven out of the koond, any object could be clearly seen. Then the scouts who were posted in the trees by the sides, each with his matchlock, blazed away with powder only, to prevent any of the beasts rushing up the steep, and turn them back towards the watchers by the entrance. There was a crashing and heaving in the thick underwood. A tiger showed and hid again in the jow.