of whom he had a lively recollection from their repeated meetings in social circles.  None of the other officers’ wives—­and there were many beautiful and amiable women among them—­had made such a deep and abiding impression upon him as Edith Irwin, whose personal charms had fascinated him as much as her extraordinary intellectual powers had astonished him.  The reflection that this graceful creature was fettered with indissoluble bonds to a brutal and dissolute fellow of Irwin’s stamp, and that her husband would perhaps one day drag her down with him into inevitable ruin, awoke in him most painful feelings.  He would so gladly have done something for the unhappy wife.  But he was obliged to admit that there was no possibility for him, a stranger, who was nothing to her but a superficial acquaintance, to achieve anything in the way he most desired.  The Captain would be completely justified in rejecting every uncalled-for interference with his affairs as a piece of monstrous impudence; and then, too, in what way could he hope to be of any assistance?

A sudden noise in the next room aroused Heideck from his sad reverie.  He heard loud scolding and a clapping sound, as if blows from a whip were falling upon a bare human body.  A minute later and the door between the rooms flew open and an Indian, dressed only in cummerbund and turban, burst into the room, as if intending to seek here protection from his tormentor.  A tall European, dressed entirely in white flannel, followed at the man’s heels and brought his riding-whip down mercilessly upon the naked back of the howling wretch.  Heideck’s presence did not, evidently, disturb him in the least.

At the first glance the young German perceived that his neighbour could not be an Englishman, as his servant had told him he was.  His strikingly thin, finely-cut features, and his peculiarly oval, black eyes and soft, dark beard betrayed much more the Sarmatic than the characteristic Anglo-Saxon type.

The man’s appearance did not make an unfavourable impression, but he could not possibly overlook his behaviour.  Stepping between him and his victim he demanded, energetically, what this scene meant.  The other, laughing, let drop the arm which had been again raised to strike.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said with a foreign accent, “a very good boy, but he steals like a crow, and must have the whip occasionally.  I am sure that he has concealed somewhere about him the five rupees which have been stolen from me again to-day.”  On saying this, as if he considered this information quite sufficient explanation, he again caught hold of the black fellow, and with a single wrench tore the turban from his head.  From the white, red-bordered cloth a few pieces of silver fell and rolled jingling over the tiles; and at the same time a larger object fell at Heideck’s feet.  He picked it up and held in his hand a gold cigarette-case, the lid of which was engraved with a prince’s