At dinner, of course, every one talked of the day’s sport, and compliments of all kinds were showered on Lord Steepleton, who looked very much pleased, and drank a good deal of wine.  Ghyrkins and the little magistrate expressed their opinion that he would make a famous tiger-killer one of these days, when he had learned to wait.  Every one was hungry and rather tired, and after a somewhat silent cigar, we parted for the night, Miss Westonhaugh rising first.  Isaacs went to his quarters, and I remained alone in a long chair, by the deserted dining-tent.  Kiramat Ali brought me a fresh hookah, and I lay quietly smoking and thinking of all kinds of things—­things of all kinds, tigers, golden hair, more tigers, Isaacs, Shere Ali, Baithop—­, what was his name—­Baithop—­p—.  I fell asleep.

Some one touched my hand, waking me suddenly.  I sprang to my feet and seized the man by the throat, before I recognised in the starlight that it was Isaacs.

“You are not a nice person to rouse,” remarked he in a low voice, as I relaxed my grasp.  “You will have fever if you sleep out-of-doors at this time of year.  Now look here; it is past midnight, and I am going out a little way.”  I noticed that he had a kookrie knife at his waist, and that his cartridge-belt was on his chest.

“I will go with you,” said I, guessing his intention.  “I will be ready in a moment,” and I began to move towards the tent.

“No.  I must go alone, and do this thing single-handed.  I have a particular reason.  I only wanted to warn you I was gone, in case you missed me.  I shall take that ryot fellow with me to show me the way.”

“Give him a gun,” I suggested.

“He could not use one if I did.  He has your kookrie in case of accidents.”

“Oh, very well! do not let me interfere with any innocent and childlike pastime you may propose for your evening hours.  I will attend to your funeral in the morning.  Good-night.”

“Good-night; I shall be back before you are up.”  And he walked quickly off to where the ryot was waiting and holding his guns.  He had the sense to take two.  I was angry at the perverse temerity of the man.  Why could he not have an elephant out and go like a sensible thinking being, instead of sneaking out with one miserable peasant to lie all night among the reeds, in as great danger from cobras as from the beast he meant to kill?  And all for a girl —­an English girl—­a creature all fair hair and eyes, with no more intelligence than a sheep!  Was it not she who sent him out to his death in the jungle, that her miserable caprice for a pair of tiger’s ears might be immediately satisfied?  If a woman ever loved me, Paul Griggs,—­thank heaven no woman ever did,—­would I go out into bogs and desert places and risk my precious skin to find her a pair of cat’s ears?  Not I;—­wait a moment, though.  If I were in his place, if Miss Westonhaugh loved me—­I laughed at the conceit.  But supposing she did.  Just