The anxious listeners within felt sure these were the dacoits and longed for the arrival of the police.  The disguised thieves persisted in their questioning for some time in spite of the house master’s repeated advice that they had better search elsewhere.  At last they departed carrying the palki with them.  And the dwellers in the red brick-house breathed more freely.  But not for long.

The village was a tiny one and the pretended bearers soon returned from their search.  Planting the palki in the doorway, they shouted:  “We know for certain that our mistress is hiding somewhere.  We feel sure she is in your house.  Here we will sit till you send her forth.”

On hearing these words the poor pursued girl fell at the feet of her host, calling herself his daughter and addressing him as “father”, and implored of him not to give her up to these awful dacoits.  The good man assured her of his protection while his wife raised her from the floor, and, embracing her, said they would all sooner suffer death than give her up.

The trying hours dragged on till past midnight.  Then the dacoits announced that the lady must be produced or they would force an entrance into the house.  No reply was given to this ultimatum.  The highwaymen waited awhile and then assailed the door with heavy blows.

The distraught girl besought her hostess to take her jewels and hand them out to the burglars and thus ensure peace and safety for all.  The mistress of the house declared this would not satisfy the ruffians and once more assured her guest that, whatever happened, they would strive to protect her.

Presently the door gave way and, with coarse oaths and triumphant threats, the dacoits entered.  But unknown to them,—­so busy had they been hammering and swearing,—­the police had arrived and now followed in on their heels.  The dacoits were all captured and confessed their guilt as to the murder of the palki-bearers and the probable death of the two durwans, who, they averred, had fought like tigers.

The bodies of these two devoted servants were found, all battered and bruised, on the roadside and were given honourable cremation by their master, whose daughter they had saved by their devotion.

The jhee was found close to the spot, hiding among the branches of a tree.  She had witnessed the fight between the durwans and dacoits and the flight and pursuit of her mistress.  When both reached home again, the jhee filled up dull hours with vivid accounts of their adventure.

This little story is a true one and shows how difficult and dangerous travel was in the old days in Bengal.  Travelling by palki is now in many parts a thing of the past, for the whole Province is being linked together by a network of railways.  Good roads and better police arrangements also lessen the terrors of travelling in places where railways are still wanting.

Trapped by a Cobra