“I have an ambition to shoot a tiger,” said Nigel to Van der Kemp that evening.  “Do you think the people would object to my getting up into a tree with my rifle and watching beside the grave part of the night?”

“I am sure that they would not.  But your watch will probably be in vain, for tigers are uncommonly sagacious creatures and seem to me to have exceptional powers for scenting danger.”

“No matter, I will try.”

Accordingly, a little before dark that evening our hero borrowed the professor’s double-barrelled rifle, being more suitable for large game than his own gun, and sauntered with Moses down to the grave where he ensconced himself in the branches of a large tree about thirty feet from the ground.  The form of the tree was such, that among its forks Nigel could form a sort of nest in which he could sit, in full view of the poor youth’s grave, without the risk of falling to the ground even if he should chance to drop asleep.

“Good-night, massa Nadgel,” said Moses as he turned to leave his companion to his solitary vigil.  “See you not go to sleep.”

“No fear of that!” said Nigel.

“An’ whateber you do, don’t miss.”

“I’ll do my best—­Good-night.”

While there was yet a little daylight, our hunter looked well about him; took note of the exact position of the fence, the entrance to the enclosure, and the grave; judged the various distances of objects, and arranged the sights of the rifle, which was already loaded with a brace of hardened balls.  Then he looked up through the tree-tops and wished for darkness.

It came sooner than he expected.  Night always descends more suddenly in tropical than in temperate regions.  The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when night seemed to descend like a pall over the jungle, and an indescribable sensation of eerieness crept over Nigel’s spirit.  Objects became very indistinct, and he fancied that he saw something moving on the newly-made grave.  With a startled feeling he grasped his weapon, supposing that the tiger must have entered the enclosure with cat-like stealth.  On second thoughts, however, he discarded the idea, for the entrance was between him and the grave, and still seemed quite visible.  Do what he would, however, the thought of ghosts insisted on intruding upon him!  He did not believe in ghosts—­oh no!—­had always scouted the idea of their existence.  Why, therefore, did he feel uncomfortable?  He could not tell.  It must simply be the excitement natural to such a very new and peculiar situation.  He would think of something else.  He would devote his mind to the contemplation of tigers!  In a short time the moon would rise, he knew—­then he would be able to see better.

While he was in this very uncomfortable state of mind, with the jungle wrapped in profound silence as well as gloom, there broke on the night air a wail so indescribable that the very marrow in Nigel’s bones seemed to shrivel up.  It ceased, but again broke forth louder than before, increasing in length and strength, until his ears seemed to tingle with the sound, and then it died away to a sigh of unutterable woe.