'Well, sir, I don't quite know what to say, except that I believe it will be all right in the end about my people.'

'Did you come to any understanding?'

'Not exactly, sir; but I think it will be all right now. The fact is, my mother wanted me to marry some one she has taken a fancy to, but I think she understands now that this is impossible, and that if she insists it may mean my staying in India for good.'

'Then they did not withdraw their objections?'

'Not openly, but I am sure they will give in now.' 'Then you stand very much where you were?'

'Yes, just at present, but it won't last, and meanwhile we can manage, sir, I'm sure.'

'What do you want to do, then? Do you intend to stay in your regiment?'

'I really am not sure, sir. I thought I would ask your advice. I am ready to do anything you think right, if only,—you will agree to our marriage.'

6

So that was the end of it, Colonel Treveryan thought. Everything just in the same position as before. Well, it was too late to think it all out to-night. After a minute he got up. We had better sleep on it, Langley. 'I can't see my way clear yet, and it is getting late. We must be up early to-morrow. Good-night. Breakfast at seven.'

'Good-night. I hope, sir, you don't blame me; I have done my best.'

'No, my dear fellow; I wish things were all settled, but I'm sure it isn't your fault. We'll talk it over to-morrow. Goodnight.'

Guy walked over to Goldney's tent, and found the little Pink 'un kneeling by his bedside in a night-shirt, like a child, saying his prayers.

Guy motioned to his servant to stay outside, and began undressing very quietly. What an honest little beggar it is,' he thought, with a touch of pity, and a feeling that all the same it was not quite the thing for Goldney to be saying his prayers like that, with the native servants about. But the native servants thought the better of him; they did not practise or understand reserve in these matters.

The bed was a comfortable one with a spring mattress of broad woven tape, Goldney having, in fact, handed over his own for Guy's use, and taken for himself a short native charpoy,

strung with cord, which his men had got from a neighbouring police-station. The night was calm and still. A faint breeze occasionally rustled the leaves above the tent, and from the distance came the barking of some village dogs; the frogs were croaking in the tank behind the trees; the shikari was refreshing himself after his labours by smoking a pipe, and Guy could hear the gurgle of the water in the cocoanut bowl: with these sounds in his ears he fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXIV

A MORNING'S SHOOTING

GUY woke with a delightful sense of excitement; and as the occurrences of the previous evening came back to his mind, he felt supremely happy. He sat up in bed, and found that Goldney was drinking a cup of tea, while another cup was on the chair by his bedside.

The young men were dressed and out of the tent half an hour later; and having put his guns together and got ready his cartridge-belt and bag, Guy strolled off to see what was going on in camp. It was a bright sunny morning. Colonel Treveryan was in his tent, and Guy did not like to disturb him. Under the trees at the back Guy found the servants cooking breakfast in round pans, which were placed on the ground across two wedge-shaped fire-holes. In an open space near the tank some elephants were having their howdahs fastened on with girths made of hide and massive iron chains; it seemed a slow and troublesome process. Guy walked up to one of the kneeling beasts and stood looking at its little pig-like eye and bristly scalp till he was warned that he had better not come too close; it was sometimes vicious. He went back to the tents, and found Colonel Treveryan standing in the open talking to some natives, with Goldney near him.

'Come along, Langley,' he said; 'it's all right. They say the tiger is in the same patch. We shall know for certain when Khema comes in; but they say they are sure of it. The sooner we're ready the better. It will take us a good hour to get there.'

They had breakfast,-a very substantial one,-and then climbed up on to their elephants, Colonel Treveryan going alone in one howdah, and Guy and Goldney together in another.

As Colonel Treveryan started he lighted a cheroot, and opened

the canvas bag containing his letters, which had been sent on from Syntia the night before. Before breakfast he had answered one or two telegrams, and disposed of everything requiring immediate action. Now he went through his dak again quietly, putting aside two or three private letters which he stuck into the rack by his rifle-stocks. The letters bearing official stamps he read and put back one after another into the bag. There was nothing particular in them, but the Government was worrying him again, in a rather nasty tone, for some useless returns which he had found much difficulty in extracting from his subordinates. The Government was itself being worried by the Secretary of State for India, who was being worried by a troublesome Member of the House of Commons, who neither knew nor cared anything at all about the matter and merely wanted to bring himself to notice. But Treveryan did not know all this. 'Confound those secretariat fellows!' he said; always the same. There is not a man up at headquarters who knows anything about the country; nothing but old office-hacks and boys who think it clever to write impertinent letters.' He sighed and tied up the bag again. How tired he was sometimes of the whole thing! Success and reward always went to the unscrupulous and the pushing. It was useless to do your duty like an Englishman; writing was everything, particularly writing oneself up in the newspapers.

He put the bag away under his seat and took up his private letters. There were only three,-one was from England in an unknown hand, and two bore Indian stamps. He opened the Indian letters first. Nothing to answer, thank goodness. One was a receipt from a tradesman in Bombay, and the other a few lines from a friend thanking him for a small service. The English letter Colonel Treveryan opened without curiosity. Some one, he supposed, who had an idle son to be provided for and wanted his help in getting an appointment. It was Charles Langley's letter about Guy.

As Treveryan read it his bronzed cheek grew red, and an angry light came into his eyes. 'Damn his impudence!' he said;

'he writes as if he were a duke and Helen were a barmaid.'

Then his anger turned upon Guy. The letter was strangely inconsistent with Guy's account of the state of affairs. For a time Colonel Treveryan chafed hotly against the whole thing; and if Guy had been in the howdah with him at the time, there would have been some sharp words spoken. Happily Guy was some way behind chatting with Goldney, and looking at the low wooded

hills which they were approaching by a cart track through the long rank grass. Colonel Treveryan had plenty of time, therefore, to think matters over, and as he was an eminently placable man, his anger soon cooled down. After all, he thought, it was not so much the boy's fault. He had stuck to Helen in spite of them, and apparently had done his best. Very likely the letter misrepresented him deliberately, in the hope of making mischief. Anyhow, Helen's happiness was concerned. She evidently cared for him, and he certainly was a fine young fellow, and seemed to be in earnest. He was young and rather sketchy, but we have all been young.'

By the time the elephants had crossed the grass plain and reached the hilly ground, Colonel Treveryan was himself again. Here they were met by the shikari, who told them there was no doubt about the khubber; the tiger had been marked down to a certainty. They went a little farther, by a rocky path through the woods, the great heavy beasts climbing slowly over the most difficult places where a horse could not have been ridden or even led. Then they came to an open patch where the party dismounted; the rest of the way had to be done on foot. It was not far, perhaps half a mile, and the late break in the rains had dried the jungle, so that the walking was not very bad. In a quarter of an hour they reached their ground.

They stood on the crest of a wooded spur which ran down from the hills above on the right, and formed one side of a ravine about three hundred yards in breadth. Both sides of this ravine were in most places rocky and rather precipitous, though of no great height. At the bottom was the bed of a mountain stream which made its way down through several rocky channels, enclosing two or three long jungle-covered islands. In one of these was their game.

They had two difficulties to contend with. In the first place, though the weather had been fine for some days and the stream was almost dry, yet the grass and jungle were very thick. Secondly, the ground was such that they could not use elephants, and the beaters were very much afraid of the tiger, who bore a bad reputation. They did not much fancy their work, and were not likely to do it very thoroughly. However, there was nothing to be gained by delay. While Khema had come in to report, his brother had collected and placed the beaters, two hundred of them, who were hidden away on the wooded hillside to the right, forming a crescent round the top of the ravine. The brothers had