it on all sides and found an aperture on the western side.  It was small indeed, but sufficient for me to jump through.  It had a small shutter and a wooden bolt.  By a strange coincidence of circumstances the hillman had forgotten to fasten it on the inside when he locked the door.  Of course, after what has subsequently transpired, I now, through the eye of faith, see the protecting hand of my Guru everywhere around me.  Upon getting inside I found the room communicated, by a small doorway, with another apartment, the two occupying the whole space of this sylvan mansion.  I laid down, concentrating every thought upon my Guru as usual, and soon fell into a profound sleep.  Before I went to rest, I had secured the door of the other room and the single window.  It may have been between ten and eleven, or perhaps a little later, that I awoke and heard sounds of footsteps in the adjoining room.  I could plainly distinguish two or three people talking together in a dialect unknown to me.  Now, I cannot recall the same without a shudder.  At any moment they might have entered from the other room and murdered me for my money.  Had they mistaken me for a burglar the same fate awaited me.  These and similar thoughts crowded into my brain in an inconceivably short period.  But my heart did not palpitate with fear, nor did I for one moment think of the possibly tragical chances of the moment.  I know not what secret influence held me fast, but nothing could put me out or make me fear; I was perfectly calm.  Although I lay awake staring into the darkness for upwards of two hours, and even paced the room softly and slowly without making any noise, to see if I could make my escape, in case of need, back to the forest by the same way I had effected my entrance into the hut—­no fear, I repeat, or any such feeling ever entered my heart.  I recomposed myself to rest.  After a sound sleep, undisturbed by any dream, I awoke at daybreak.  Then I hastily put on my boots, and cautiously got out of the hut through the same window.  I could hear the snoring of the owners of the hut in the other room.  But I lost no time, and gained the path to Sikkhim (the city) and held on my way with unflagging zeal.  From the inmost recesses of my heart I thanked my revered Guru for the protection he had vouchsafed me during the night.  What prevented the owners of the hut from penetrating to the second room?  What kept me in the same serene and calm spirit, as if I were in a room of my own house?  What could possibly make me sleep so soundly under such circumstances,—­enormous, dark forests on all sides abounding in wild beasts, and a party of cut-throats—­as most of the Sikkhimese are said to be—­in the next room, with an easy and rude door between them and me?

When it became quite light, I wended my way on through hills and dales.  Riding or walking, the journey was not a pleasant one for any man not as deeply engrossed in thought as I was then myself, and quite oblivious to anything affecting the body.  I have cultivated the power of mental concentration to such a degree of late that, on many an occasion, I have been able to make myself quite unconscious of anything around me when my mind was wholly bent upon the one object of my life, as several of my friends will testify; but never to such an extent as in this instance.