prayed him to open and read words contained therein, retaining meanwhile possession of the casket and its contents until further tidings.  With many reverences Nama further informed him that the Fairest of all the Lilies pined for him, was grieving at his absence, but was now to be gladdened by the prospect of his speedy return, which tidings the Maharanee had deputed her to convey forthwith to the household of Lehna Singh.  Notwithstanding the joy of knowing himself an object of tender solicitude, a vague foreboding once again filled the soul of Atma.  When the woman left him he considered thoughtfully the messages he had just received, slowly meanwhile undoing the claspings of the onyx box and raised the lid.  Immediately a powerful odour issued from it and almost overcame him.  He reeled and gasped for breath, nearly losing consciousness.  However, having seated himself, he presently recovered, and somewhat more cautiously opening the casket, he drew from it a paper which contained a strangely worded commendation of himself, “The staunch and courageous friend of the Ranee, the Restorer of the Sapphire of Fate, the foe of whatever was inimical or false to the Sikh interest.”  Thought Atma, “This praise is no doubt won by the good report conveyed to her by Lal Singh, who, notwithstanding faults, can be generous as well as just to a Sikh brother.”

He remained seated for some time, his head supported on his hand, for he still felt giddy, thinking painfully and earnestly.  The numbing effects of the odour he had inhaled testified to its poisonous nature, but no precautions, he reflected, had been taken to ensure its effect; on the contrary, its immediate result was to alarm and warn the rash meddler ere mischief could be wrought.  Nama also had hastened away, as not expecting any such terrible issue, of which certain tidings would be desired if murder such as he dreamed of had been contemplated.  It could not be, he thought, and Rajah Lal would explain on his return what now appeared so mysterious.

Returning the paper to its case he secured it about his attire and sought Bertram, who had wandered along the woody banks of the lake, and whom he found at some distance away, listening to the rare song of a swan, distant and strange and sweet.  Soon it glided into death at the opposite shore.  It brought back to Atma’s mind the morning when a noble bird had by his aid escaped its captors.  He recalled its subsequent restoration to its kind, and the sympathy and undefined aspirations awakened in his breast.

They entered a boat and crossed the water, landing speedily on the soft, damp islet sward.  The grotto was still clad in morning freshness, for the strong beams of the sun had not yet penetrated to the heart of the sacred grove.  The entrance was hung with garlands, votive offerings from the poorer pilgrims.  More costly gifts lay near and all around knelt worshippers.