The first days of her arrival Madame Blavatsky was living at the house of a Bengali gentleman, a Theosophist, refusing to see any one, and preparing, as I thought, to go again somewhere on the borders of Tibet.  To all our importunities we could get only this answer from her:  that we had no business to stick to and follow her, that she did not want us, and that she had no right to disturb the Mahatmas with all sorts of questions that concerned only the questioners, for they knew their own business best.  In despair, I determined, come what might, to cross the frontier, which is about a dozen miles from here, and find the Mahatmas or—­die.  I never stopped to think that what I was going to undertake would be regarded as the rash act of a lunatic.  I had no permission, no “pass” from the Sikkhim Rajah, and was yet decided to penetrate into the heart of a semi-independent State where, if anything happened, the Anglo-Indian officials would not—­if even they could—­protect me, since I should have crossed over without their permission.  But I never even gave that a thought, but was bent upon one engrossing idea—­to find and see my Guru.  Without breathing a word of my intentions to any one, one morning, namely, October 5, I set out in search of the Mahatma.  I had an umbrella and a pilgrim’s staff for sole weapons, with a few rupees in my purse.  I wore the yellow garb and cap.  Whenever I was tired on the road, my costume easily procured for me for a small sum a pony to ride.  The same afternoon I reached the banks of the Rungit River, which forms the boundary between British and Sikkhimese territories.  I tried to cross it by the aerial suspension bridge constructed of canes, but it swayed to and fro to such an extent that I, who have never known in my life what hardship was, could not stand it.  I crossed the river by the ferry-boat, and this even not without much danger and difficulty.  That whole afternoon I traveled on foot, penetrating further and further into the heart of Sikkhim, along a narrow footpath.  I cannot now say how many miles I traveled before dusk, but I am sure it was not less than twenty or twenty-five miles.  Throughout, I saw nothing but impenetrable jungles and forests on all sides of me, relieved at very long intervals by solitary huts belonging to the mountain population.  At dusk I began to search around me for a place to rest in at night.  I met on the road, in the afternoon, a leopard and a wild cat; and I am astonished now to think how I should have felt no fear then nor tried to run away.  Throughout, some secret influence supported me.  Fear or anxiety never once entered my mind.  Perhaps in my heart there was room for no other feeling but an intense anxiety to find my Guru.  When it was just getting dark, I espied a solitary hut a few yards from the roadside.  To it I directed my steps in the hope of finding a lodging.  The rude door was locked.  The cabin was untenanted at the time.  I examined