I arrived to find her there before me, anxiously peering at the passers-by.  She was certainly looking for me,—­there was ecstasy in the thought!

It is not necessary, my dear child, that I should describe the details of our love-making, for my present purpose is not merely to interest you, but rather to acquaint you with certain occurrences which I now deem it wise you should know.  Time only intensified our love for each other, and for several months all went well.  One serious obstacle to our union presented itself,—­that of caste.  Her people, Lona said, would never permit her to marry outside her own station in life, besides which there was another ground upon which we might be equally sure of their opposition.  They had already chosen for her and she was betrothed to Rama Ragobah.  It is of this man that I have chiefly to speak.  By birth he was of the same Vaisya caste as Lona.  Early in life his lot had fallen among fakirs and he had acquired all their secrets.  This did not satisfy his ambitions, for he wished to be numbered among the rishis or adepts, and subjected himself to the most horrible asceticism to qualify himself for adeptship.  His indifference to physical pain was truly marvellous.  He had rolled his naked body to the Ganges over hundreds of miles of burning sands!  He had held his hands clinched until the nails had worn through the palm and out at the back of the hand.  He had at one time maintained for weeks a slow fire upon the top of his head, keeping the skin burned to the skull.

When he came wooing Lona, his rigid asceticism had much relaxed, but he would still seek to amuse her by driving knives into his body until she would sicken at the blood, a condition of affairs which, she said, afforded him great enjoyment.  Ragobah was a man of gigantic build and immense physical strength.  His features were heavy and forbidding.  You are familiar with pictures of Nana Sahib.  If I had not known this fiend to have died while beset in a swamp, I should have mistaken Ragobah for him.  It was to such a being that Lona was betrothed in spite of the loathing her parents knew she felt for him.  She told me all this one night at our accustomed tryst on Malabar Hill.  We had chosen to meet here on account of the beauty of the place and the seclusion it offered.  There, on bright moonlit nights, with the sea and the city below me, the “Tower of Silence” in the Parsees’ burial plot ablaze with reflected glory, the majestic banyan over me rustling gently in the soft sea breeze, while Lona nestled close beside me,—­the exquisite perfume of the luxuriant garden less welcome than the delicious fragrance of her breath,—­hours fraught with years of bliss would pass as if but pulse-beats.  In the world of love the heart is the only true timepiece.  On one or two occasions Lona had thought she had been followed when coming to meet me, and she began to conceive a strange dislike for a little cavelike recess in