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LIBRARY
UNIVEFºs!"Y of
CALl For NIA
sANTA CRUZ





_ _ __----， ， ） ----





- - - - --
HER FACE was whit ER THAN HIS, THough Not A QUIVER OF
MOUTH or eyelash Betr AYED HER EMOTION.
–Mr. /saacs


sº sº
T H E N O V E L S O F
F. MARION CRAW FORD
MR. ISAACS
A Tale of
Modern India
º,
oº: BY
Y.
F. MARION GRAWFORD
W IT H F R O N T I S P I E C E
COLLI E R & SON
NEW YORK
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§35:23:83.383,333333333; :*
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CoPYRIGHT 1882
By F. MARION CRAWFORD
All Rights Reserved
i


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| 93.2
MR. ISAACS.
CHAPTER I.
IN spite of Jean-Jacques and his school, men are
not everywhere born free, any more than they are
everywhere in chains, unless these be of their own
individual making. Especially in countries where
excessive liberty or excessive tyranny favours the
growth of that class most usually designated as ad-
venturers, it is true that man, by his own domi-
nant will, or by a still more potent servility, may
rise to any grade of elevation; as by the absence of
these qualities he may fall to any depth in the social
scale. -
Wherever freedom degenerates into license, the
ruthless predatory instinct of certain bold and un-
scrupulous persons may, and almost certainly will,
place at their disposal the goods, the honours, and
the preferment justly the due of others; and in those
more numerous and certainly more unhappy coun-
tries, where the rule of the tyrant is substituted for
* * - Vol. I


MR. ISAACS. 8
of ill-gotten millions. With the strong personal des-
potism of the First Napoleon began a new era of
adventurers in France; not of elegant and accom-
plished adventurers like M. de St. Germain, Caglios-
tro, or the Comtesse de la Motte, but regular rag-
tag-and-bobtail cut-throat moss-troopers, who carved
and slashed themselves into notice by sheer animal
strength and brutality.
There is infinitely more grace and romance about
the Eastern adventurer. There is very little slash-
ing and hewing to be done there, and what there is,
is managed as quietly as possible. When a Sultan
must be rid of the last superfluous wife, she is quietly
done up in a parcel with a few shot, and dropped
into the Bosphorus without more ado. The good
old-fashioned Rajah of Mudpoor did his killing with-
out scandal, and when the kindly British wish to
keep a secret, the man is hanged in a quiet place
where there are no reporters. As in the Greek trag-
edies, the butchery is done behind the scenes, and
there is no glory connected with the business, only
gain. The ghosts of the slain sometimes appear in
the columns of the recalcitrant Indian newspapers
and gibber a feeble little “Otototoil” after the man-
ner of the shade of Dareios, but there is very little
heed paid to such visitations by the kindly British.
But though the “raw head and bloody bones” type
of adventurer is little in demand in the East, there is
plenty of scope for the intelligent and wary flatterer,
and some room for the honest man of superior gifts,


4 MR. ISAACS.
who is sufficiently free from Oriental prejudice to do
energetically the thing which comes in his way, dis-
tancing all competitors for the favours of fortune by
sheer industry and unerring foresight.
I once knew a man in the East who was neither a
flatterer nor freebooter, but who by his own mas-
terly perseverance worked his way to immense wealth,
and to such power as wealth commands, though his
high view of the social aims of mankind deterred him
from mixing in political questions. Bon chien chasse
de race is a proverb which applies to horses, cattle,
and men, as well as to dogs; and in this man, who
was a noble type of the Aryan race, the qualities
which have made that race dominant were developed
in the highest degree. The sequel, indeed, might
lead the ethnographer into a labyrinth of conjecture,
but the story is too tempting a one for me to forego
telling it, although the said ethnographer should lose
his wits in striving to solve the puzzle.
In September, 1879, I was at Simla in the lower
Himalayas, -at the time of the murder of Sir Louis
Cavagnari at Kabul, -being called there in the in-
terests of an Anglo-Indian newspaper, of which I was
then editor. In other countries, notably in Europe
and in America, there are hundreds of spots by the
sea-shore, or on the mountain-side, where specific ills
may be cured by their corresponding antidotes of air
or water, or both. Following the aristocratic and holy
example of the Bishops of Salzburg for the last eight
centuries, the sovereigns of the Continent are told


MR. ISAACS. 5
that the air and waters of Hofgastein are the only
menuphar for the over-taxed brain in labour beneath
a crown. The self-indulgent sybarite is recom-
mended to Ems, or Wiesbaden, or Aix-la-Chapelle,
and the quasi-incurable sensualist to Aix in Savoy,
or to Karlsbad in Bohemia. In our own magnificent
land Bethesdas abound, in every state, from the
attractive waters of lotus-eating Saratoga to the mag-
netic springs of Lansing, Michigan; from Virginia,
the carcanet of sources, the heaving, the warm, the
hot sulphur springs, the white sulphur, the alum, to
the hot springs of Arkansas, the Ultima Thule of our
migratory and despairing humanity. But in India,
whatever the ailing, low fever, high fever, “brandy
pawnee” fever, malaria caught in the chase of tigers
in the Terai, or dysentery imbibed on the banks of
the Ganges, there is only one cure, the “hills;” and
chief of “hill-stations” is Simla.
On the hip rather than on the shoulder of the as-
piring Himalayas, Simla — or Shumla, as the natives
call it—presents during the wet monsoon period a
concourse of pilgrims more varied even than the
Bagnères de Bigorre in the south of France, where
the gay Frenchman asks permission of the lady with
whom he is conversing to leave her abruptly, in
order to part with his remaining lung, the loss of the
first having brought him there. “Pardon, madame,”
said he, “je m'en vais cracher mon autre poumon.”
To Simla the whole surpeme Government migrates
for the summer—Viceroy, council, clerks, printers,


6 MR. ISAACS.
and hangers-on. Thither the high official from the
plains takes his wife, his daughters, and his liver.
There the journalists congregate to pick up the news
that oozes through the pent-house of Government
secrecy, and failing such scant drops of information,
to manufacture as much as is necessary to fill the
columns of their dailies. On the slopes of “Jako”
—the wooded eminence that rises above the town —
the enterprising German establishes his concert-hall
and his beer-garden; among the rhododendron trees
Madame Blavatzky, Colonel Olcott and Mr. Sinnett
move mysteriously in the performance of their won-
ders; and the wealthy tourist from America, the
botanist from Berlin, and the casual peer from Great
Britain, are not wanting to complete the motley
crowd. There are no roads in Simla proper where
it is possible to drive, excepting one narrow way,
reserved when I was there, and probably still set
apart, for the exclusive delectation of the Viceroy.
Every one rides — man, woman, and child; and
every variety of horseflesh may be seen in abun-
dance, from Lord Steepleton Kildare's throughbreds
to the broad-sterned equestrian vessel of Mr. Currie
Ghyrkins, the Revenue Commissioner of Mudnugger
in Bengal. But I need not now dwell long on the
description of this highly-favoured spot, where Baron
de Zach might have added force to his demonstration
of the attraction of mountains for the pendulum.
Having achieved my orientation and established my
servants and luggage in one of the reputed hotels, I


MR. ISAACS. 7
began to look about me, and, like an intelligent
American observer, as I pride myself that I am, I
found considerable pleasure in studying out the char-
acter of such of the changing crowd on the verandah
and on the mall as caught my attention.
At last the dinner-hour came. With the rest I
filed into the large dining-room and took my seat.
The place allotted to me was the last at one side of
the long table, and the chair opposite was vacant,
though two remarkably well-dressed servants, in tur-
bans of white and gold, stood with folded arms
behind it, apparently awaiting their master. Nor was
he long in coming. I never remember to have been
so much struck by the personal appearance of any
man in my life. He sat down opposite me, and
immediately one of his two servants, or khitmatgars,
as they are called, retired, and came back bearing a
priceless goblet and flask of the purest old Venetian
mould. Filling the former, he ceremoniously pre-
sented his master with a brimming beaker of cold
water. A water-drinker in India is always a phe-
nomenon, but a water-drinker who did the thing so
artistically was such a manifestation as I had never
seen. I was interested beyond the possibility of hold-
ing my peace, and as I watched the man’s abstemious
meal, - for he ate little, – I contrasted him with
our neighbours at the board, who seemed to be vying,
like the captives of Circe, to ascertain by trial who
could swallow the most beef and mountain mutton,
and who could absorb the most “pegs” — those vile


8 - MR, ISAACS.
concoctions of spirits, ice, and soda-water, which
have destroyed so many splendid constitutions under
the tropical sun. As I watched him an impression
came over me that he must be an Italian. I scanned
his appearance narrowly, and watched for a word that
should betray his accent. He spoke to his servant
in Hindustani, and I noticed at once the peculiar
sound of the dental consonants, never to be acquired
by a northern-born person.
Before I go farther, let me try and describe Mr.
Isaacs; I certainly could not have done so satisfac-
torily after my first meeting, but subsequent acquaint-
ance, and the events I am about to chronicle, threw
me so often in his society, and gave me such ample
opportunities of observation, that the minutest de-
tails of his form and feature, as well as the smallest
peculiarities of his character and manner, are indeli-
bly graven in my memory.
Isaacs was a man of more than medium stature,
though he would never be spoken of as tall. An
easy grace marked his movements at all times,
whether deliberate or vehement, — and he often went
to each extreme, – a grace which no one acquainted -
with the science of the human frame would be at a loss
to explain for a moment. The perfect harmony of all
the parts, the even symmetry of every muscle, the
equal distribution of a strength, not colossal and
overwhelming, but ever ready for action, the natural
courtesy of gesture—all told of a body in which
true proportion of every limb and sinew were at once


MR. ISAACS. 9
the main feature and the pervading characteristic.
This infinitely supple and swiftly-moving figure was
but the pedestal, as it were, for the noble face and
nobler brain to which it owed its life and majestic
bearing. A long oval face of a wondrous transparent
olive tint, and of a decidedly Oriental type. A
prominent brow and arched but delicate eyebrows
fitly surmouned a nose smoothly aquiline, but with
the broad well-set nostrils that bespeak active cour-
age. His mouth, often smiling, never laughed, and
the lips, though closely meeting, were not thin and
writhing and cunning, as one so often sees in eastern
faces, but rather inclined to a generous Greek ful-
ness, the curling lines ever ready to express a sym-
pathy or a scorn which the commanding features
above seemed to control and curb, as the stern,
square-elbowed Arab checks his rebellious horse, or
gives him the rein, at will.
But though Mr. Isaacs was endowed with excep-
tional gifts of beauty by a bountiful nature, those I
have enumerated were by no means what first attracted
the attention of the observer. I have spoken of his
graceful figure and perfect Iranian features, but I
hardly noticed either at our first meeting. I was
enthralled and fascinated by his eyes. I once saw in
France a jewel composed of six precious stones, each
a gem of great value, so set that they appeared to
form but one solid mass, yielding a strange radiance
that changed its hue at every movement, and multi-
plied the sunlight a thousand-fold. Were I to seek


10 MR. ISAACS.
a comparison for my friend's eyes, I might find an
imperfect one in this masterpiece of the jeweller's
art. They were dark and of remarkable size; when
half closed they were long and almond-shaped; when
suddenly opened in anger or surprise they had the
roundness and bold keenness of the eagle's sight.
There was a depth of life and vital light in them
that told of the pent-up force of a hundred genera-
tions of Persian magii. They blazed with the splen-
dour of a god-like nature, needing neither meat nor
strong drink to feed its power.
My mind was made up. Between his eyes, his
temperance, and his dental consonants, he certainly
might be an Italian. Being myself a native of Italy,
though an American by parentage, I addressed him
in the language, feeling comparatively sure of his
answer. To my surprise, and somewhat to my con-
fusion, he answered in two words of modern Greek
—“8ev čvámara”—“I do not understand.” He evi-
dently supposed I was speaking a Greek dialect, and
answered in the one phrase of that tongue which he
knew, and not a good phrase at that.
“Pardon me,” said I in English, “I believed you
a countryman, and ventured to address you in my
native tongue. May I inquire whether you speak
English?”
I was not a little astonished when he answered me
in pure English, and with an evident command of
the language. We fell into conversation, and I
found him pungent, ready, impressive, and most


MR. ISAACS. 11
entertaining, thoroughly acquainted with Anglo-
Indian and English topics, and apparently well read.
An Indian dinner is a long affair, so that we had
ample time to break the ice, an easy matter always
for people who are not English, and when, after the
fruit, he invited me to come down and smoke with
him in his rooms, I gladly availed myself of the
opportunity. We separated for a few moments, and
I despatched my servant to the manager of the hotel
to ascertain the name of the strange gentleman who
looked like an Italian and spoke like a fellow of
Balliol. Having discovered that he was a “Mr.
Isaacs,” I wended my way through verandahs and
corridors, preceded by a chuprassie and followed by
my pipe-bearer, till I came to his rooms.
The fashion of the hookah or narghyle in India
has long disappeared from the English portion of
society. Its place has been assumed and usurped by
the cheroot from Burmah or Trichinopoli, by the
cigarette from Egypt, or the more expensive Manilla
and Havana cigars. I, however, in an early burst
of Oriental enthusiasm, had ventured upon the obso-
lete fashion, and so charmed was I by the indolent
aromatic enjoyment I got from the rather cumbrous
machine, that I never gave it up while in the East.
So when Mr. Isaacs invited me to come and smoke
in his rooms, or rather before his rooms, for the
September air was still warm in the hills, I ordered
my “bearer” to bring down the apparatus and to pre-
pare it for use. I myself passed through the glass


10 MR. ISAACS.
a comparison for my friend's eyes, I might find an
imperfect one in this masterpiece of the jeweller's
art. They were dark and of remarkable size; when
half closed they were long and almond-shaped; when
suddenly opened in anger or surprise they had the
roundness and bold keenness of the eagle's sight.
There was a depth of life and vital light in them
that told of the pent-up force of a hundred genera-
tions of Persian magii. They blazed with the splen-
dour of a god-like nature, needing neither meat nor
strong drink to feed its power.
My mind was made up. Between his eyes, his
temperance, and his dental consonants, he certainly
might be an Italian. Being myself a native of Italy,
though an American by parentage, I addressed him
in the language, feeling comparatively sure of his
answer. To my surprise, and somewhat to my con-
fusion, he answered in two words of modern Greek
—“8ev évémora”—“I do not understand.” He evi-
dently supposed I was speaking a Greek dialect, and
answered in the one phrase of that tongue which he
knew, and not a good phrase at that.
“Pardon me,” said I in English, “I believed you
a countryman, and ventured to address you in my
native tongue. May I inquire whether you speak
English?”
I was not a little astonished when he answered me
in pure English, and with an evident command of
the language. We fell into conversation, and I
found him pungent, ready, impressive, and most


MR. ISAACS. 11
entertaining, thoroughly acquainted with Anglo-
Indian and English topics, and apparently well read.
An Indian dinner is a long affair, so that we had
ample time to break the ice, an easy matter always
for people who are not English, and when, after the
fruit, he invited me to come down and smoke with
him in his rooms, I gladly availed myself of the
opportunity. We separated for a few moments, and
I despatched my servant to the manager of the hotel
to ascertain the name of the strange gentleman who
looked like an Italian and spoke like a fellow of
Balliol. Having discovered that he was a “Mr.
Isaacs,” I wended my way through verandahs and
corridors, preceded by a chuprassie and followed by
my pipe-bearer, till I came to his rooms.
The fashion of the hookah or narghyle in India
has long disappeared from the English portion of
society. Its place has been assumed and usurped by
the cheroot from Burmah or Trichinopoli, by the
cigarette from Egypt, or the more expensive Manilla
and Havana cigars. I, however, in an early burst
of Oriental enthusiasm, had ventured upon the obso-
lete fashion, and so charmed was I by the indolent
aromatic enjoyment I got from the rather cumbrous
machine, that I never gave it up while in the East.
So when Mr. Isaacs invited me to come and smoke
in his rooms, or rather before his rooms, for the
September air was still warm in the hills, I ordered
my “bearer” to bring down the apparatus and to pre-
pare it for use. I myself passed through the glass


12 MR. ISAACS,
door in accordance with my new acquaintance's
invitation, curious to see the kind of abode in which
a man who struck me as being so unlike his fellows
spent his summer months. For some minutes after
I entered I did not speak, and indeed I hardly
breathed. It seemed to me that I was suddenly
transported into the subterranean chambers whither
the wicked magician sent Aladdin in quest of the
lamp. A soft but strong light filled the room,
though I did not immediately comprehend whence it
came, nor did I think to look, so amazed was I by
the extraordinary splendour of the objects that met
my eyes. In the first glance it appeared as if the
walls and the ceiling were lined with gold and pre-
cious stones; and in reality it was almost literally
the truth. The apartment, I soon saw, was small,
—for India at least, — and every available space,
nook and cranny, were filled with gold and jewelled
ornaments, shining weapons, or uncouth but resplen-
dent idols. There were sabres in scabbards set from
end to end with diamonds and sapphires, with cross
hilts of rubies in massive gold mounting, the spoil of
some worsted rajah or Nawab of the mutiny. There
were narghyles four feet high, crusted with gems
and curiously wrought work from Baghdad or Herat;
water flasks of gold and drinking cups of jade;
yataghans from Roum and idols from the far East.
Gorgeous lamps of the octagonal Oriental shape hung
from the ceiling, and, fed by aromatic oils, shed their
soothing light on all around. The floor was cov-


MR. ISAACS. 13
ered with a rich soft pile, and low divans were heaped
with cushions of deep-tinted silk and gold. On the
floor, in a corner which seemed the favourite resting-
place of my host, lay open two or three superbly
illuminated Arabic manuscripts, and from a chafing
dish of silver near by a thin thread of snow-white
smoke sent up its faint perfume through the still air.
To find myself transported from the conventionalities
of a stiff and starched Anglo-Indian hotel to such
a scene was something novel and delicious in the
extreme. No wonder I stood speechless and amazed.
Mr. Isaacs remained near the door while I breathed
in the strange sights to which he had introduced
me. At last I turned, and from contemplating the
magnificence of inanimate wealth I was riveted by
the majestic face and expression of the beautiful liv-
ing creature who, by a turn of his wand, or, to speak
prosaically, by an invitation to smoke, had lifted me
out of humdrum into a land peopled with all the
effulgent phantasies and the priceless realities of the
magic East. As I gazed, it seemed as if the illumi-
nation from the lamps above were caught up and flung
back with the vitality of living fire by his dark eyes,
in which more than ever I saw and realised the inex-
plicable blending of the precious stones with the
burning spark of a divine soul breathing within.
For some moments we stood thus; he evidently
amused at my astonishment, and I fascinated and
excited by the problem presented me for solution in
his person and possessions.


14 MR. ISAACS.
“Yes,” said Isaacs, “you are naturally surprised
at my little Eldorado, so snugly hidden away in the
lower story of a commonplace hotel. Perhaps you
are surprised at finding me here, too. But come out
into the air, your hookah is blazing, and so are the
stars.”
I followed him into the verandah, where the long
cane chairs of the country were placed, and taking
the tube of the pipe from the solemn Mussulman
whose duty it was to prepare it, I stretched myself
out in that indolent lazy peace which is only to be
enjoyed in tropical countries. Silent and for the
nonce perfectly happy, I slowly inhaled the fragrant
vapour of tobacco and aromatic herbs and honey with
which the hookah is filled. No sound save the
monotonous bubbling and chuckling of the smoke
through the water, or the gentle rustle of the leaves
on the huge rhododendron-tree which reared its dusky
branches to the night in the middle of the lawn.
There was no moon, though the stars were bright
and clear, the foaming path of the milky way stretch-
ing overhead like the wake of some great heavenly
ship; a soft mellow lustre from the lamps in Isaacs’
room threw a golden stain half across the verandah,
and the chafing dish within, as the light breeze
fanned the coals, sent out a little cloud of perfume
which mingled pleasantly with the odour of the chil-
lum in the pipe. The turbaned servant squatted on the
edge of the steps at a little distance, peering into the
dusk, as Indians will do for hours together. Isaacs


MR. ISAACS. 15
lay quite still in his chair, his hands above his head,
the light through the open door just falling on the
jewelled mouthpiece of his narghyle. He sighed—
a sigh only half regretful, half contented, and seemed
about to speak, but the spirit did not move him, and
the profound silence continued. For my part, I was
so much absorbed in my reflections on the things I
had seen that I had nothing to say, and the strange
personality of the man made me wish to let him begin
upon his own subject, if perchance I might gain
some insight into his mind and mode of thought.
There are times when silence seems to be sacred, even
unaccountably so. A feeling is in us that to speak
would be almost a sacrilege, though we are unable
to account in any way for the pause. At such
moments every one seems instinctively to feel the
same influence, and the first person who breaks the
spell either experiences a sensation of awkwardness,
and says something very foolish, or, conscious of
the odds against him, delivers himself of a sentiment
of ponderous severity and sententiousness. As I
smoked, watching the great flaming bowl of the
water pipe, a little coal, forced up by the expansion
of the heat, toppled over the edge and fell tinkling on
the metal foot below. The quick ear of the servant
on the steps caught the sound, and he rose and came
forward to trim the fire. Though he did not speak,
his act was a diversion. The spell was broken.
“The Germans,” said Isaacs, “say that an angel
is passing over the house. I do not believe it.”


16 MR. ISAACS.
I was surprised at the remark. It did not seem
quite natural for Mr. Isaacs to begin talking about
the Germans, and from the tone of his voice I could
almost have fancied he thought the proverb was held
as an article of faith by the Teutonic races in general.
“I do not believe it,” he repeated reflectively.
“There is no such thing as an angel “passing'; it is
a misuse of terms. If there are such things as angels,
their changes of place cannot be described as motion,
seeing that from the very nature of things such
changes must be instantaneous, not involving time
as a necessary element. Have you ever thought
much about angels? By-the-bye, pardon my abrupt-
ness, but as there is no one to introduce us, what is
your name?”
“My name is Griggs — Paul Griggs. I am an
American, but was born in Italy. I know your
name is Isaacs; but, frankly, I do not comprehend
how you came by the appellation, for I do not believe
you are either English, American, or Jewish of
origin.”
“Quite right,” he replied, “I am neither Yankee,
Jew, nor beef-eater; in fact, I am not a European
at all. And since you probably would not guess my
nationality, I will tell you that I am a Persian, a
pure Iranian, a degenerate descendant of Zoroaster,
as you call him, though by religion I follow the
prophet, whose name be blessed,” he added, with an
expression of face I did not then understand. “I call
myself Isaacs for convenience in business. There is


MR. ISAACS. 17
no concealment about it, as many know my story;
but it has an attractive Semitic twang that suits my
occupation, and is simpler and shorter for English-
men to write than Abdul Hafizben-Isák, which is my
lawful name.”
“Since you lay sufficient store by your business to
have been willing to change your name, may I
inquire what your business is? It seems to be a
lucrative one, to judge by the accumulations of
wealth you have allowed me a glimpse of.”
“Yes. Wealth is my occupation. I am a dealer
in precious stones and similar objects of value.
Some day I will show you my diamonds; they are
worth seeing.”
It is no uncommon thing to meet in India men of
all Asiatic nationalities buying and selling stones of
worth, and enriching themselves in the business. I
supposed he had come with a caravan by way of
Baghdad, and had settled. But again, his perfect
command of English, as pure as though he had been
educated at Eton and Oxford, his extremely careful,
though quiet, English dress, and especially his
polished manners, argued a longer residence in the
European civilisation of his adopted home than
agreed with his young looks, supposing him to have
come to India at sixteen or seventeen. A pardon-
able curiosity led me to remark this.
“You must have come here very young,” I said.
“A thoroughbred Persian does not learn to speak
English like a university man, and to quote German
C


18 MR. ISAACS.
proverbs, in a residence of a few years; unless,
indeed, he possess the secret by which the initiated
absorb knowledge without effort, and assimilate it
without the laborious process of intellectual diges-
tion.”
“I am older than I look—considerably. I have
been in India twelve years, and with a natural talent
for languages, stimulated by constant intercourse
with Englishmen who know their own speech well,
I have succeeded, as you say, in acquiring a certain
fluency and mastery of accent. I have had an
adventurous life enough. I see no reason why I
should not tell you something of it, especially as
you are not English, and can therefore hear me with
an unprejudiced ear. But, really, do you care for a
yarn?”
I begged him to proceed, and I beckoned the ser-
vant to arrange our pipes, that we might not be dis-
turbed. When this was done, Isaacs began.
“I am going to try and make a long story short.
We Persians like to listen to long stories, as we like
to sit and look on at a wedding nautch. But we are
radically averse to dancing or telling long tales our-
selves, so I shall condense as much as possible. I
was born in Persia, of Persian parents, as I told you,
but I will not burden your memory with names you
are not familiar with. My father was a merchant in
prosperous circumstances, and a man of no mean
learning in Arabic and Persian literature. I soon
showed a strong taste for books, and every opportu-


MR. ISAACS. I9
nity was given me for pursuing my inclinations in
this respect. At the early age of twelve I was kid-
napped by a party of slave-dealers, and carried off into
Roum—Turkey you call it. I will not dwell upon
my tears and indignation. We travelled rapidly,
and my captors treated me well, as they invariably
do their prizes, well knowing how much of the value
of a slave depends on his plump and sleek condition
when brought to market. In Istamboul I was soon
disposed of, my fair skin and accomplishments as a
writer and a singer of Persian songs fetching a high
price.
“It is no uncommon thing for boys to be stolen
and sold in this way. A rich pacha will pay almost
anything. The fate of such slaves is not generally
a happy one.” Isaacs paused a moment, and drew
in two or three long breaths of smoke. “Do you
see that bright star in the south?” he said, pointing
with his long jewel-set mouthpiece.
“Yes. It must be Sirius.”
“That is my star. Do you believe in the agency
of the stars in human affairs? Of course you do not;
you are a European: how should you? But to pro-
ceed. The stars, or the fates or Kāli, or whatever
you like to term your kismet, your portion of good
and evil, allotted me a somewhat happier existence
than generally falls to the share of young slaves in
Roum. I was bought by an old man of great wealth
and of still greater learning, who was so taken with
my proficiency in Arabic and in writing that he


20 MR. ISAACS.
resolved to make of me a pupil instead of a servant
to carry his coffee and pipe, or a slave to bear the
heavier burden of his vices. Nothing better could
have happened to me. I was installed in his house
and treated with exemplary kindness, though he kept
me rigorously at work with my books. I need not
tell you that with such a master I made fair progress,
and that at the age of twenty-one I was, for a Turk,
a young man of remarkably good education. Then
my master died suddenly, and I was thrown into
great distress. I was of course nothing but a slave,
and liable to be sold at any time. I escaped. Active
and enduring, though never possessing any vast
muscular strength, I bore with ease the hardships of
a long journey on foot with little food and scant
lodging. Falling in with a band of pilgrims, I
recognised the wisdom of joining them on their
march to Mecca. I was, of course, a sound Moham-
medan, as I am to this day, and my knowledge of
the Koran soon gained me some reputation in the
caravan. I was considered a creditable addition,
and altogether an eligible pilgrim. My exceptional
physique protected me from the disease and exhaus-
tion of which not a few of our number died by the
wayside, and the other pilgrims, in consideration of
my youth and piety, gave me willingly the few hand-
fuls of rice and dates that I needed to support life
and strength.
“You have read about Mecca; and your hadji
barber, who of course has been there, has doubtless


MR. ISAACS. 21
related his experiences to you scores of times in the
plains, as he does everywhere. As you may
imagine, I had no intention of returning towards
Roum with my companions. When I had fulfilled
all the observances required, I made my way to Yed-
dah and shipped on board an Arabian craft, touching
at Mocha, and bearing coffee to Bombay. I had to
work my passage, and as I had no experience of the
sea, save in the caiques of the Golden Horn, you
will readily conceive that the captain of the vessel
had plenty of fault to find. But my agility and
quick comprehension stood me in good stead, and in
a few days I had learned enough to haul on a rope or
to reef the great latteen sails as well as any of them.
The knowledge that I was just returning from a
pilgrimage to Mecca obtained for me also a certain
respect among the crew. It makes very little differ-
ence what the trade, business, or branch of learn-
ing; in mechanical labour, or intellectual effort, the
educated man is always superior to the common
labourer. One who is in the habit of applying his
powers in the right way will carry his system into
any occupation, and it will help him as much to
handle a rope as to write a poem.
“At last we landed in Bombay. I was in a
wretched condition. What little clothes I had had
were in tatters; hard work and little food had made
me even thinner than my youthful age and slight
frame tolerated. I had in all about three pence
money in small copper coins, carefully hoarded


22 MR. ISAACS.
against a rainy day. I could not speak a word of
the Indian dialects, still less of English, and I knew
no one save the crew of the vessel I had come in, as
poor as I, but saved from starvation by the slender
pittance allowed them on land. I wandered about
all day through the bazaars, occasionally speaking to
some solemn looking old shopkeeper or long-bearded
Mussulman, who, I hoped, might understand a little
Arabic. But not one did I find. At evening I
bathed in the tank of a temple full from the recent
rains, and I lay down supperless to sleep on the steps
of the great mosque. As I lay on the hard stones I
looked up to my star, and took comfort, and slept.
That night a dream came to me. I thought I was
still awake and lying on the steps, watching the
wondrous ruler of my fate. And as I looked he
glided down from his starry throne with an easy
swinging motion, like a soap-bubble settling to the
earth. And the star came and poised among the
branches of the palm-tree over the tank, opalescent,
unearthly, heart shaking. His face was as the face
of the prophet, whose name be blessed, and his limbs
were as the limbs of the Hameshaspenthas of old.
Garments he had none, being of heavenly birth, but
he was clothed with light as with a garment, and the
crest of his silver hair was to him a crown of glory.
And he spoke with the tongues of a thousand lutes,
sweet strong tones, that rose and fell on the night
air as the song of a lover beneath the lattice of his
mistress, the song of the mighty star wooing the


MR. ISAACS. 28
beautiful sleeping earth. And then he looked on me
and said: ‘Abdul Hafiz, be of good cheer. I am
with thee and will not forsake thee, even to the day
when thou shalt pass over the burning bridge of
death. Thou shalt touch the diamond of the rivers
and the pearl of the sea, and they shall abide with
thee, and great shall be thy wealth. And the sun-
light which is in the diamond shall warm thee and
comfort thy heart; and the moonlight which is in
the pearl shall give thee peace in the night-time, and
thy children shall be to thee a garland of roses in the
land of the unbeliever.” And the star floated down
from the palm-branches and touched me with his
hand, and breathed upon my lips the cool breath of
the outer firmament, and departed. Then I awoke
and saw him again in his place far down the horizon,
and he was alone, for the dawn was in the sky and
the lesser lights were extinguished. And I rose from
the stony stairway that seemed like a bed of flowers
for the hopeful dream, and I turned westward, and
praised Allah, and went my way.
“The sun being up, all was life, and the life in
me spoke of a most capacious appetite. So I cast
about for a shop where I might buy a little food with
my few coppers, and seeing a confectioner spreading
out his wares, I went near and took stock of the
queer balls of flour and sugar, and strange oily-look-
ing sweetmeats. Having selected what I thought
would be within my modest means, I addressed the
shopkeeper to call his attention, though I knew he


24 MR. ISAACS.
would not understand me, and I touched with my
hand the article I wanted, showing with the other
some of the small coins I had. As soon as I touched
the sweetmeats the man became very angry, and
bounding from his seat called his neighbours together,
and they all shouted and screamed at me, and called a
man I thought to be a soldier, though he looked more
like an ape in his long loose trousers of dirty black,
and his untidy red turban, under which cumbrous
garments his thin and stunted frame seemed even
blacker and more contemptible than nature had made
them. I afterwards discovered him to be one of the
Bombay police. He seized me by the arm, and I,
knowing I had done no wrong, and curious to dis-
cover, if possible, what the trouble was, accompanied
him whither he led me. After waiting many hours
in a kind of little shed where there were more police-
men, I was brought before an Englishman. Of
course all attempts at explanation were useless. I
could speak not a word of anything but Arabic and
Persian, and no one present understood either. At
last, when I was in despair, trying to muster a few
words of Greek I had learned in Istamboul, and fail-
ing signally therein, an old man with a long beard
looked curiously in at the door of the crowded court.
Some instinct told me to appeal to him, and I
addressed him in Arabic. To my infinite relief he
replied in that tongue, and volunteered to be inter-
preter. In a few moments I learned that my crime
was that I had touched the sweetmeats on the counter.


MR. ISAACS. 25
“In India, as you who have lived here doubtless
know, it is a criminal offence, punishable by fine or
imprisonment, for a non-Hindu person to defile the
food of even the lowest caste man. To touch one
sweetmeat in a trayful defiles the whole baking,
rendering it all unfit for the use of any Hindu, no
matter how mean. Knowing nothing of caste and
its prejudices, it was with the greatest difficulty that
the moolah, who was trying to help me out of my
trouble, could make me comprehend wherein my
wrong-doing lay, and that the English courts, being
obliged in their own interest to uphold and protect
the caste practices of the Hindus, at the risk of
another mutiny, could not make any exception in
favour of a stranger unacquainted with Indian
customs. So the Englishman who presided said he
would have to inflict a fine, but being a very young
man, not yet hardened to the despotic ways of Eastern
life, he generously paid the fine himself, and gave
me a rupee as a present into the bargain. It was
only two shillings, but as I had not had so much
money for months I was as grateful as though it had
been a hundred. If I ever meet him I will requite
him, for I owe him all I now possess.
“My case being dismissed, I left the court with
the old moolah, who took me to his house and in-
quired of my story, having first given me a good meal
of rice and sweetmeats, and that greatest of luxuries,
a little pot of fragrant Mocha coffee; he sat in silence
while I ate, ministering to my wants, and evidently
2 Vol. I


26 MR. ISAACS.
pleased with the good he was doing. Then he
brought out a package of birris, those little cigarettes
rolled in leaves that they smoke in Bombay, and I
told him what had happened to me. I implored him
to put me in the way of obtaining some work by
which I could at least support life, and he promised
to do so, begging me to stay with him until I should
be independent. The day following I was engaged
to pull a punkah in the house of an English lawyer
connected with an immense lawsuit involving one
of the Mohammedan principalities. For this irksome
work I was to receive six rupees— twelve shillings
—monthly, but before the month was up I was trans-
ferred, by the kindness of the English lawyer and the
good offices of my co-religionist the moolah, to the
retinue of the Nizam of Haiderabad, then in Bombay.
Since that time I have never known want.
“I soon mastered enough of the dialects to suit my
needs, and applied myself to the study of English,
for which opportunities were not lacking. At the
end of two years I could speak the language enough
to be understood, and my accent from the first was a
matter of surprise to all; I had also saved out of my
gratuities about one hundred rupees. Having been
conversant with the qualities of many kinds of pre-
cious stones from my youth up, I determined to invest
my economies in a diamond or a pearl. Before long
I struck a bargain with an old marwarri over a small
stone, of which I thought he misjudged the value,
owing to the rough cutting. The fellow was cun


MR. ISAACS. 27
ning and hard in his dealings, but my superior
knowledge of diamonds gave me the advantage. I
paid him ninety-three rupees for the little gem, and
sold it again in a month for two hundred to a young
English “collector and magistrate,” who wanted to
make his wife a present. I bought a larger stone,
and again made nearly a hundred per cent on the
money. Then I bought two, and so on, until having
accumulated sufficient capital, I bade farewell to the
Court of the Nizam, where my salary never exceeded
sixteen rupees a month as scribe and Arabic inter-
preter, and I went my way with about two thousand
rupees in cash and precious stones. I came north-
wards, and finally settled in Delhi, where I set up as
a dealer in gems and objects of intrinsic value. It
is now twelve years since I landed in Bombay. I
have never soiled my hands with usury, though I
have twice advanced large sums at legal interest for
purposes I am not at liberty to disclose; I have never
cheated a customer or underrated a gem I bought
of a poor man, and my wealth, as you may judge from
what you have seen, is considerable. Moreover,
though in constant intercourse with Hindus and
English, I have not forfeited my title to be called a
true believer and a follower of the prophet, whose
name be blessed.” -
Isaacs ceased speaking, and presently the waning
moon rose pathetically over the crest of the moun-
tains with that curiously doleful look she wears after
the full is past, as if weeping over the loss of her


28 MR. ISAACS.
better half. The wind rose and soughed drearily
through the rhododendrons and the pines; and
Kiramat Ali, the pipe-bearer, shivered audibly as he
drew his long cloth uniform around him. We rose
and entered my friend's rooms, where the warmth of
the lights, the soft rugs and downy cushions, invited
us temptingly to sit down and continue our conver-
sation. But it was late, for Isaacs, like a true
Oriental, had not hurried himself over his narrative,
and it had been nine o'clock when we sat down to
smoke. So I bade him good-night, and, musing on
all I had heard and seen, retired to my own apart-
ments, glancing at Sirius and at the unhappy-looking
moon before I turned in from the verandah.


MR. ISAACS. 29
CHAPTER II.
IN India—in the plains—people rise before
dawn, and it is not till after some weeks’ residence
in the cooler atmosphere of the mountains that they
return to the pernicious habit of allowing the sun to
be before them. The hours of early morning, when
one either mopes about in loose flannel clothes, or
goes for a gallop on the green maidón, are without
exception the most delicious of the day. I shall
have occasion hereafter to describe the morning's
proceedings in the plains. On the day after the
events recorded in the last chapter I awoke as usual
at five o'clock, and meandered out on to the verandah
to have a look at the hills, so novel and delicious a
sight after the endless flats of the northwest prov-
inces. It was still nearly dark, but there was a faint
light in the east, which rapidly grew as I watched it,
till, turning the angle of the house, I distinguished
a snow-peak over the tops of the dark rhododendrons,
and, while I gazed, the first tinge of distant dawn-
ing caught the summit, and the beautiful hill blushed,
as a fair woman, at the kiss of the awakening sun.
The old story, the heaven wooing the earth with a
wondrous shower of gold.


MR. ISAACS. 81
The heaven above thy rays have filled,
The broad belovèd room of air,
O splendid, brightest maid of morn 1
I went indoors again to attend to my correspond-
ence, and presently a gorgeously liveried white-
bearded chuprassie appeared at the door, and bending
low as he touched his hand to his forehead, intimated
that “if the great lord of the earth, the protector of
the poor, would turn his ear to the humblest of his
servants, he would hear of something to his advan-
tage.”
So saying, he presented a letter from the official
with whom I had to do, an answer to my note of
the previous afternoon, requesting an interview. In
due course, therefore, the day wore on, and I trans-
acted my business, returned to “tiffin,” and then
went up to my rooms for a little quiet. I might
have been there an hour, smoking and dreaming over
a book, when the servant announced a sahib who
wanted to see me, and Isaacs walked in, redolent of
the sunshine without, his luminous eyes shining
brightly in the darkened room. I was delighted, for
I felt my wits stagnating in the unwonted idleness
of the autumn afternoon, and the book I had taken
up was not conducive to wakefulness or brilliancy.
It was a pleasant surprise too. It is not often that
an hotel acquaintance pushes an intimacy much, and
besides I had feared my silence during the previous
evening might have produced the impression of indif-
ference, on which reflection I had resolved to make
myself agreeable at our next meeting.


32 MR. ISAACS. '
Truly, had I asked myself the cause of a certain
attraction I felt for Mr. Isaacs, it would have been
hard to find an answer. I am generally extremely
shy of persons who begin an acquaintance by making
confidences, and, in spite of Isaacs’ charm of man-
ner, I had certainly speculated on his reasons for
suddenly telling an entire stranger his whole story.
My southern birth had not modified the northern
character born in me, though it gave me the more
urbane veneer of the Italian; and the early study
of Larochefoucauld and his school had not predis-
posed me to an unlimited belief in the disinterested-
ness of mankind. Still there was something about
the man which seemed to sweep away unbelief and
cynicism and petty distrust, as the bright mountain
freshet sweeps away the wretched little mud puddles
and the dust and impurities from the bed of a half
dry stream. It was a new sensation and a novel era
in my experience of humanity, and the desire to get
behind that noble forehead, and see its inmost work-
ings, was strong beyond the strength of puny doubts
and preconceived prejudice. Therefore, when Isaacs
appeared, looking like the sun-god for all his quiet
dress of gray and his unobtrusive manner, I felt the
“little thrill of pleasure * so aptly compared by
Swinburne to the soft touch of a hand stroking the
outer hair.
“What a glorious day after all that detestable
rain!” were his first words. “Three mortal months
of water, mud, and Mackintoshes, not to mention the


MR. ISAACS. 33
agreeable sensation of being glued to a wet saddle
with your feet in water-buckets, and mountain tor-
rents running up and down the inside of your sleeves,
in defiance of the laws of gravitation; such is life in
the monsoon. Pah!” And he threw himself down
on a cane chair and stretched out his dainty feet, so
that the sunlight through the crack of the half-closed
door might fall comfortingly on his toes, and remind
him that it was fine outside.
“What have you been doing all day?” I asked, for
lack of a better question, not having yet recovered
from the mental stagnation induced by the last num-
ber of the serial story I had been reading.
“Oh — I don’t know. Are you married?” he
asked irrelevantly.
“God forbid!” I answered reverently, and with
some show of feeling.
“Amen,” was the answer. “As for me — I am,
and my wives have been quarrelling.”
“Your wives! Did I understand you to use the
plural number?”
“Why, yes. I have three; that is the worst of it.
If there were only two, they might get on better.
You know ‘two are company and three are none,’
as your proverb has it.” He said this reflectively,
as if meditating a reduction in the number.
The application of the proverb to such a case was
quite new in my recollection. As for the plural-
ity of my friend's conjugal relations, I remembered
he was a Mohammedan, and my surprise vanished.
D


84 MR. ISAACS.
Isaacs was lost in meditation. Suddenly he rose to
his feet, and took a cigarette from the table.
“I wonder”—the match would not light, and he
struggled a moment with another. Then he blew a
great cloud of smoke, and sat down in a different
chair—“I wonder whether a fourth would act as a
fly-wheel,” and he looked straight at me, as if asking
my opinion.
I had never been in direct relations with a Mus-
sulman of education and position. To be asked
point-blank whether I thought four wives better than
three on general principles, and quite independently
of the contemplated spouse, was a little embarrassing.
He seemed perfectly capable of marrying another
before dinner for the sake of peace, and I do not
believe he would have considered it by any means a
bad move.
“Diamond cut diamond,” I said. “You too have
proverbs, and one of them is that a man is better
sitting than standing; better lying than sitting;
better dead than lying down. Now I should apply
that same proverb to marriage. A man is, by a simi-
lar successive reasoning, better with no wife at all
than with three.”
His subtle mind caught the flaw instantly. “To
be without a wife at all would be about as conducive
to happiness as to be dead. Negative happiness,
very negative.”
“Negative happiness is better than positive dis-
comfort.”


MR. ISAACS. 85
“Come, come,” he answered, “we are bandying
terms and words, as if empty breath amounted to
anything but inanity. Do you really doubt the value
of the institution of marriage?”
“No. Marriage is a very good thing when two
people are so poor that they depend on each other,
mutually, for daily bread, or if they are rich enough
to live apart. For a man in my own position
marriage would be the height of folly; an act of rash-
ness only second to deliberate suicide. Now, you
are rich, and if you had but one wife, she living in
Delhi and you in Simla, you would doubtless be
very happy.”
“There is something in that,” said Isaacs. “She
might mope and beat the servants, but she could not
quarrel if she were alone. Besides, it is so much
easier to look after one camel than three. I think I
must try it.”
There was a pause, during which he seemed set-
tling the destiny of the two who were to be shelved
in favour of a monogamic experiment. Presently he
asked if I had brought any horses, and hearing I had
not, offered me a mount, and proposed we should ride
round Jako, and perhaps, if there were time, take a
look at Annandale in the valley, where there was
polo, and a racing-ground. I gladly accepted, and
Isaacs despatched one of my servants, the faithful
Kiramat Ali, to order the horses. Meantime the
conversation turned on the expedition to Kabul to
avenge the death of Cavagnari. I found Isaacs held


86 MR. ISAACS.
the same view that I did in regard to the whole busi-
ness. He thought the sending of four Englishmen,
with a handful of native soldiers of the guide regi-
ment to protect them, a piece of unparalleled folly,
on a par with the whole English policy in regard to
Afghanistan.
“You English—pardon me, I forgot you did not
belong to them—the English, then, have performed
most of their great acts of valour as a direct conse-
quence of having wantonly exposed themselves in
situations where no sane man would have placed
himself. Look at Balaclava; think of the things
they did in the mutiny, and in the first Afghan war;
look at the mutiny itself, the result of a hair-brained
idea that a country like India could be held for ever
with no better defences than the trustworthiness of
native officers, and the gratitude of the people for
the “kindly British rule.’ Poor Cavagnari! when he
was here last summer, before leaving on his mission,
he said several times he should never come back.
And yet no better man could have been chosen,
whether for politics or fighting; if only they had
had the sense to protect him.”
Having delivered himself cf this eulogy, my friend
dropped his exhausted cigarette, lit another, and
appeared again absorbed in the triangulation of his
matrimonial problem. I imagined him weighing the
question whether he should part with Zobeida and
Zuleika and keep Amina, or send Zuleika and Amina
about their business, and keep Zobeida to be a light


MR. ISAACS. 37
in his household. At last Kiramat Ali, on the watch
in the verandah, announced the saices with the
horses, and we descended.
I had expected that a man of Isaacs’ tastes and
habits would not be stingy about his horseflesh, and
so was prepared for the character of the animals that
awaited us. They were two superb Arab stallions,
one of them being a rare specimen of the weight-
carrying kind, occasionally seen in the far East.
Small head, small feet, and feather-tailed, but broad
in the quarters and deep in the chest, able to carry a
twelve-stone man for hours at the stretching, even
gallop, that never trembles and never tires; sure-
footed as a mule, and tender-tempered as a baby.
So we mounted the gentle creatures and rode away.
The mountain on which Simla is situated has a
double summit, like a Swiss peak, the one higher
than the other. On the lower height and the neck
between the two is built the town, and the bungalows
used as offices and residences for the Government
officials cover a very considerable area. “Jako,” the
higher eminence, is thickly covered with a forest of
primeval rhododendrons and pines, and though there
are outlying bungalows and villas scattered about
among the trees near the town, they are so far
back from the main road, reserved as I have said for
the use of the Viceroy, as far as driving is concerned,
that they are not seen in riding along the shady way;
and on the opposite side, where the trees are thin, the
magnificent view looks far out over the spurs of the


38 MR. ISAACS.
mountains, the only human habitation visible being a
Catholic convent, which rears its little Italian cam-
panile against the blue sky, and rather adds to the
beauty of the scene than otherwise. As we rode
along we continued our talk about the new Afghan
war, though neither of us was very much in the
humour for animated conversation. The sweet scent
of the pines, the matchless motion of the Arab, and
the joyous feeling that the worst part of the tropical
year was passed, were enough for me, and I drank in
the high, rarefied air, with the intense delight of a
man who has been smothered with dust and heat,
and then steamed to a jelly by a spring and summer
in the plains of Hindustan.
The road abounds in sharp turns, and I, as the
heavier mount, rode on the inside as we went round
the mountain. On reaching the open part on the
farther side, we drew rein for a moment to look down
at the deep valleys, now dark with the early shade, at
the higher peaks red with the westering sun, and
at the black masses of foliage, through which some
giant trunk here and there caught a lingering ray of
the departing light. Then, as we felt the cool of the
evening coming on, we wheeled and scampered along
the level stretch, stirrup to stirrup and knee to knee.
The sharp corner at the end pulled us up, but before
we had quite reined in our horses, as delighted as we
to have a couple of minutes’ straight run, we swung
past the angle and cannoned into a man ambling
peaceably along with his reins on one finger and his


MR. ISAACS. 39
large gray felt hat flapping at the back of his neck.
There was a moment’s confusion, profuse apologies
on our part, and some ill-concealed annoyance on the
part of the victim, who was, however, only a little
jostled and taken by surprise.
“Really, sir,” he began. “Oh! Mr. Isaacs. No
harm done, I assure you, that is, not much. Bad
thing riding fast round corners. No harm, no harm,
not much. How are you?” all in a breath.
“How d'ye do! Mr. Ghyrkins; my friend Mr.
Griggs.”
“The real offender,” I added in a conciliatory tone,
for I had kept my place on the inside.
“Mr. Griggs?” said Mr. Currie Ghyrkins. “Mr.
Griggs of Allahabad? Daily Howler? Yes, yes,
corresponded; glad to see you in the flesh.”
I did not think he looked particularly glad. He
was a Revenue Commissioner residing in Mudnug-
ger; a rank Conservative; a regular old “John Com-
pany” man, with whom I had had more than one tiff
in the columns of the Howler, leading to considerable
correspondence.
“I trust that our collision in the flesh has had no
worse results than our tilts in print, Mr. Ghyrkins?”
“Not at all. Oh don’t mention it. Bad enough,
though, but no harm done, none whatever,” pulling
up and looking at me as he pronounced the last two
words with a peculiarly English slowness after a
very quick sentence.
While he was speaking, I was aware of a pair of


40 MR. ISAACS.
riders walking their horses toward us, and apparently
struggling to suppress their amusement at the mis-
hap to the old gentleman, which they must have wit-
nessed. In truth, Mr. Ghyrkins, who was stout and
rode a broad-backed obese “tat,” can have presented
no very dignified appearance, for he was jerked half
out of the saddle by the concussion, and his near leg,
returning to its place, had driven his nether garment
half way to his knee, while the large felt hat was
settling back on to his head at a rakish angle, and
his coat collar had gone well up the back of his neck.
“Dear uncle,” said the lady as she rode up, “I
hope you are not hurt?” She was very handsome as
she sat there trying not to laugh. A lithe figure in
a gray habit and a broad-brimmed hat, fair as a
Swede, but with dark eyes and heavy lashes. Just
then she was showing her brilliant teeth, ostensibly
in delight at her dear uncle's escape, and her whole
expression was animated and amused. Her compan-
ion was a soldierly looking young Englishman, with
a heavy moustache and a large nose. A certain
devil-may-care look about his face was attractive as
he sat carelessly watching us. I noticed his long
stirrups and the curb rein hanging loose, while he
held the snaffle, and concluded he was a cavalry
officer. Isaacs bowed low to the lady and wheeled
his horse. She replied by a nod, indifferent enough;
but as he turned, her eyes instantly went back to
him, and a pleasant thoughtful look passed over her
face, which betrayed at least a trifling interest in the
stranger, if stranger he were,


MR. ISAACS. 41
All this time Mr. Ghyrkins was talking and ask-
ing questions of me. When had I come? what
brought me here? how long would I stay? and so on,
showing that whether friendly or not he had an
interest in my movements. In answering his ques-
tions I found an opportunity of calling the Queen
the “Empress,” of lauding Lord Beaconsfield's policy
in India, and of congratulating Mr. Ghyrkins upon
the state of his district, with which he had nothing
to do, of course; but he swallowed the bait, all in a
breath, as he seemed to do everything. Then he
introduced us.
“Katharine, you know Mr. Isaacs; Mr. Griggs,
Miss Westonhaugh, Lord Steepleton Kildare, Mr.
Isaacs.”
We bowed and rode back together over the straight
piece we passed before the encounter. Isaacs and
the Englishman walked their horses on each side of
Miss Westonhaugh, and Ghyrkins and I brought up
the rear. I tried to turn the conversation to Isaacs,
but with little result.
“Yes, yes, good fellow Isaacs, for a fire-worshipper,
or whatever he is. Good judge of a horse. Lots of
rupees too. Queer fish. By-the-bye, Mr. Griggs,
this new expedition is going to cost us something
handsome, eh?” -
“Why, yes. I doubt whether you will get off
under ten millions sterling. And where is it to
come from? You will have a nice time making your
assessments in Bengal, Mr. Ghyrkins, and we shall
have an income-tax and all sorts of agreeable things.”


42 MR. ISAACS.
“Income-tax? Well, I think not. You see, Mr.
Griggs, it would hit the members of the council, so
they won’t do it, for their own sakes, and the Viceroy
too. Ha, ha, how do you think Lord Lytton would
like an income-tax, eh?” And the old fellow
chuckled.
We reached the end of the straight, and Isaacs
reined in and bid Miss Westonhaugh and her com-
panion good evening. I bowed from where I was,
and took Mr. Ghyrkins’ outstretched hand. He was
in a good humour again, and called out to us to come
and see him, as we rode away. I thought to myself
I certainly would; and we paced back, crossing the
open stretch for the third time.
It was almost dark under the trees as we re-entered
the woods; I pulled out a cheroot and lit it. Isaacs
did the same, and we walked our horses along in
silence. I was thinking of the little picture I had just
seen. The splendid English girl on her thoroughbred
beside the beautiful Arab steed and his graceful
rider. What a couple, I thought: what noble speci-
mens of great races. Why did not this fiery young
Persian, with his wealth, his beauty, and his talents,
wed some such wife as that, some high-bred English-
woman, who should love him and give him home and
children—and, I was forced to add, commonplace
happiness? How often does it happen that some
train of thought, unacknowledged almost to our-
selves, runs abruptly into a blind alley; especially
when we try to plan out the future life of some one


MR. ISAACS. 43
else, or to sketch for him what we should call happi-
ness. The accidental confronting of two individuals
pleases the eye, we unite them in our imagination,
carrying on the picture before us, and suddenly we
find ourselves in a quagmire of absurd incongruities.
Now what could be more laughable than to suppose
the untamed, and probably untameable young man
at my side, with his three wives, his notions about
the stars and his Mussulman faith, bound for life to
a girl like Miss Westonhaugh? A wise man of the
East trying to live the life of an English country
gentleman, hunting in pink and making speeches
on the local hustings! I smiled to myself in the dark
and puffed at my cigar.
Meanwhile Isaacs was palpably uneasy. First he
kicked his feet free of the stirrups, and put them
back again. Then he hummed a few words of a Per-
sian song and let his cigar go out, after which he
swore loudly in Arabic at the eternal matches that
never would light. Finally he put his horse into
a hand gallop, which could not last on such a road
in the dark, and at last he broke down completely in
his efforts to do impossible things, and began talking
to me.
“You know Mr. Ghyrkins by correspondence,
then 2 ”
“Yes, and by controversy. And you, I see, know
Miss Westonhaugh?”
“Yes; what do you think of her?”
“A charming creature of her type. Fair and


44 MR. ISAACS.
English, she will be fat at thirty-five, and will prob-
ably paint at forty, but at present she is perfection
—of her kind of course,” I added, not wishing to
engage my friend in the defence of his three wives
on the score of beauty.
“I see very little of Englishwomen,” said Isaacs.
“My position is peculiar, and though the men, many
of whom I know quite intimately, often ask me to
their houses, I fancy when I meet their women I can
detect a certain scorn of my nationality, a certain
undefinable manner toward me, by which I suppose
they mean to convey to my obtuse comprehension
that I am but a step better than a ‘native ’ – a
“nigger’ in fact, to use the term they love so well.
So I simply avoid them, as a rule, for my temper is
hasty. Of course I understand it well enough; they
are brought up or trained by their fathers and hus-
bands to regard the native Indian as an inferior
being, an opinion in which, on the whole, I heartily
concur. But they go a step farther and include all
Asiatics in the same category. I do not choose to
be confounded with a race I consider worn out and
effete. As for the men, it is different. They know
I am rich and influential in many ways that are use-
ful to them now, and they hope that the fortunes of
war or revolution may give them a chance of robbing
me hereafter, in which they are mistaken. Now
there is our stout friend, whom we nearly brought to
grief a few minutes ago; he is always extremely
civil, and never meets me that he does not renew
his invitation to visit him.”
2


46 MB. ISAACS.
CHAPTER III.
A Loose robe of light material from Kashmir
thrown around him, Isaacs half sat, half lay, on the
soft dark cushions in the corner of his outer room.
His feet were slipperless, Eastern fashion, and his
head covered with an embroidered cap of curious
make. By the yellow light of the hanging lamps he
was reading an Arabic book, and his face wore a
puzzled look that sat strangely on the bold features.
As I entered the book fell back on the cushion, sink-
ing deep into the down by its weight, and one of the
heavy gold clasps clanged sharply as it turned. He
looked up, but did not rise, and greeted me, smiling,
with the Arabic salutation —
“Peace be with you!”
“And with you, peace,” I answered in the same
tongue. He smiled again at my unfamiliar pronun-
ciation. I established myself on the divan near him,
and inquired whether he had arrived at any satisfac-
tory solution of his domestic difficulties.
“My father,” he said, “upon whom be peace, had
but one wife, my mother. You know Mussulmans
are allowed four lawful wives. Here is the passage
in the beginning of the fourth chapter, “If ye fear


MR. ISAACS. 47
that ye shall not act with equity towards orphans of
the female sex, take in marriage of such other women
as please you, two, or three, or four, and not more.
But, if ye fear that ye cannot act equitably towards
so many, marry one only, or the slaves which ye shall
have acquired.”
“The first part of this passage,” continued Isaacs,
“is disputed; I mean the words referring to orphans.
But the latter portion is plain enough. When the
apostle warns those who fear they “cannot act equit-
ably towards so many,” I am sure that in his wisdom
he meant something more by “equitable’ treatment
than the mere supplying of bodily wants. He meant
us to so order our households that there should be no
jealousies, no heart-burnings, no unnecessary troub-
ling of the peace. Now woman is a thing of the
devil, jealous; and to manage a number of such creat-
ures so that they shall be even passably harmonious
among themselves is a fearful task, soul-wearying,
heart-hardening, never-ending, leading to no result.”
“Just what I told you; a man is better with no
wife at all than with three. But why do you talk
about such matters with me, an unbeliever, a Chris-
tian, who, in the words of your prophet, “shall
swallow down nothing but fire into my belly, and
shall broil in raging flames' when I die? Surely it
is contrary to the custom of your co-religionists; and
how can you expect an infidel Frank to give you
advice?”
“I don’t,” laconically replied my host.


48 MR. ISAACS.
“Besides, with your views of women in general,
their vocation, their aims, and their future state, is it
at all likely that we should ever arrive at even a fair
discussion of marriage and marriage laws? With
us, women have souls, and, what is a great deal more,
seem likely to have votes. They certainly have the
respectful and courteous service of a large proportion
of the male sex. You call a woman a thing of the
devil; we call her an angel from heaven; and though
some eccentric persons like myself refuse to ally
themselves for life with any woman, I confess, as far
as I am concerned, that it is because I cannot con-
template the constant society of an angel with the
degree of appreciation such a privilege justly de-
serves; and I suspect that most confirmed bachelors,
knowingly or unconsciously, think as I do. The
Buddhists are not singular in their theory that per-
manent happiness should be the object.”
“They say,” said Isaacs, quickly interrupting,
“that the aim of the ignorant is pleasure; the pur-
suit of the wise, happiness. Pray, under which
category would you class marriage? I suppose it
comes under one or the other.”
“I cannot say I see the force of that. Look at your
own case, since you have introduced it.”
“Never mind my own case. I mean with your
ideas of one wife, and heavenly woman, and voting,
and domestic joy, and all the rest of it. Take the
ideal creature you rave about 29
“I never rave about anything.”


MR. ISAACS. 49
“Take the fascinating female you describe, and
for the sake of argument imagine yourself very poor
or very rich, since you would not enter wedlock in
your present circumstances. Suppose you married
your object of ‘courteous service and respectful
adoration;' which should you say you would attain
thereby, pleasure or happiness?”
“Pleasure is but the refreshment that cheers us in
the pursuit of true happiness,” I answered, hoping to
evade the direct question by a sententious phrase.
“I will not let you off so easily. You shall
answer my question,” he said. He looked full at me
with a deep searching gaze that seemed hardly war-
ranted by the lightness of the argument. I hesi-
tated, and he impatiently leaned forward, uncrossing
his legs and clasping his hands over one knee to
bring himself nearer to me.
“Pleasure or happiness?” he repeated, “which is
it to be 2 °
A sudden light flashed over my obscured intellect.
“Both,” I answered. “Could you see the ideal
woman as I would fain paint her to you, you would
understand me better. The pleasure you enjoy in
the society of a noble and beautiful woman should be
but the refreshment by the wayside as you journey
through life together. The day will come when she
will be beautiful no longer, only noble and good,
and true to you as to herself; and then, if pleasure
has been to you what it should be, you will find that
in the happiness attained it is no longer counted, or
3 Vol. I


50 MR. ISAACS.
needed, or thought of. It will have served its end,
as the crib holds the ship in her place while she is
building; and when your white-winged vessel has
smoothly glided off into the great ocean of happiness,
the crib and the stocks and the artificial supports
will fall to pieces and be forgotten for ever. Yet
have they had a purpose, and have borne a very
important part in the life of your ship.”
Having heard me attentively till I had finished,
Isaacs relaxed his hold on his knee and threw him-
self back on the cushions, as if to entrench himself
for a better fight. I had made an impression on him,
but he was not the man to own it easily. Presumably
to gain time, he called for hookahs and sherbet, and
though the servants moved noiselessly in preparing
them, their presence was an interruption.
When we were settled again he had taken a nearly
upright position on the couch, and as he pulled at
the long tube his face assumed that stolid look of
Oriental indifference which is the most discouraging
shower-bath to the persuasive powers. I had really
no interest in converting him to my own point of
view about women. Honestly, was it my own point
of view at all? Would anything under heaven
induce me, Paul Griggs, rich, or poor, or comfort-
ably off, to marry any one — Miss Westonhaugh, for
instance? Probably not. But then my preference
for single blessedness did not prevent me from
believing that women have souls. That morning the
question of the marriage of the whole universe had


MR. ISAACS. 51
been a matter of the utmost indifference, and now I,
a confirmed and hopelessly contented bachelor, was
trying to convince a man with three wives that matri-
mony was a most excellent thing in its way, and that
the pleasure of the honeymoon was but the faint
introduction to the bliss of the silver wedding. It
certainly must be Isaacs’ own doing. He had
launched on a voyage of discovery and had taken me
in tow. I had a strong suspicion that he wanted to
be convinced, and was playing indifference to soothe
his conscience.
“Well,” said I at last, “have you any fault to find
with my reasoning or my simile?”
“With your simile — none. It is faultlessly per-
fect. You have not mixed up your metaphors in the
least. Crib, stocks, ocean, ship — all correct, and
very nautical. As for your reasoning, I do not
believe there is anything in it. I do not believe that
pleasure leads to happiness; I do not believe that
a woman has a soul, and I deny the whole argument
from beginning to end. There,” he added with a
smile that belied the brusqueness of his words, “that
is my position. Talk me out of it if you can; the
night is long, and my patience as that of the ass.”
“I do not think this is a case for rigid application
of logic. When the feelings are concerned—and
where can they be more concerned than in our inter-
course with women?—the only way to arrive at any
conclusion is by a sort of trying-on process, imagin-
ing ourselves in the position indicated, and striving


52 MR. ISAACS.
to fancy how it would suit us. Let us begin in that
way. Suppose yourself unmarried, your three wives
and their children removed 99
“Allah in his mercy grant it!” ejaculated Isaacs
with great fervour
“—removed from the question altogether. Then
imagine yourself thrown into daily conversation with
some beautiful woman who has read what you have
read, thought what you have thought, and dreamed
the dreams of a nobler destiny that have visited you
in waking and sleeping hours. A woman who, as
she learned your strange story, should weep for the
pains you suffered and rejoice for the difficulties
overcome, who should understand your half spoken
thoughts and proudly sympathise in your unuttered
aspirations; in whom you might see the twin nature
to your own, and detect the strong spirit and the
brave soul, half revealed through the feminine gen-
tleness and modesty that clothe her as with a garment.
Imagine all this, and then suppose it lay in your
power, was a question of choice, for you to take her
hand in yours and go through life and death together,
till death seem life for the joy of being united for
ever. Suppose you married her—not to lock her up
in an indolent atmosphere of rosewater, narghyles,
and sweetmeats, to die of inanition or to pester you
to death with complaints and jealousies and inoppor-
tune caresses; but to be with you and help your life
when you most need help, by word and thought and
deed, to grow more and more a part of you, an essen-


MR. ISAACS. 53
tial element of you in action or repose, to part from
which would be to destroy at a blow the whole fabric
of your existence. Would you not say that with
such a woman the transitory pleasure of early con-
versation and intercourse had been the stepping-stone
to the lasting happiness of such a friendship as you
could never hope for in your old age among your sex?
Would not her faithful love and abounding sympathy
be dearer to you every day, though the roses in her
cheek should fade and the bright hair whiten with the
dust of life's journey? Would you not feel that
when you died your dearest wish must be to join her
where there should be no parting—her from whom
there could be no parting here, short of death itself?
Would you not believe she had a soul?”
“There is no end of your ‘supposing,” but it is
quite pretty. I am half inclined to ‘suppose' too.”
He took a sip of sherbet from the tall crystal goblet
the servant had placed on a little three-legged stool
beside him, and as he drank the cool liquid slowly,
looked over the glass into my eyes, with a curious,
half earnest, half smiling glance. I could not tell
whether my enthusiastic picture of conjugal bliss
amused him or attracted him, so I waited for him to
speak again.
“Now that you have had your cruise in your ship
of happiness on the waters of your cerulean imagina-
tion, permit me, who am land-born and a lover of the
chase, to put my steed at a few fences in the difficult
country of unadorned facts over which I propose to


54 MR. ISAACS.
hunt the wily fox, matrimony. I have never hunted
a fox, but I can quite well imagine what it is like.
“In the first place, it is all very well to suppose
that it had pleased Allah in his goodness to relieve
me of my three incumbrances — meanwhile, there
they are, and they are very real difficulties I assure
you. Nevertheless are there means provided us by
the foresight of the apostle, by which we may ease
ourselves of domestic burdens when they are too
heavy for us to bear. It would be quite within the
bounds of possibility for me to divorce them all three,
without making any special scandal. But if I did
this thing, do you not think that my experience of
married life has given me the most ineradicable prej-
udices against women as daily companions? Am I
not persuaded that they all bicker and chatter and
nibble sweetmeats alike — absolutely alike? Or if
I looked abroad 22
“Stop,” I said, “I am not reasoner enough to per-
suade you that all women have souls. Very likely
in Persia and India they have not. I only want you
to believe that there may be women so fortunate as
to possess a modicum of immortality. Well, pardon
my interruption, “if you looked abroad,” as you were
saying? 29
“If I looked abroad, I should probably discover
little petty traits of the same class, if not exactly
identical. I know little of Englishmen, and might
be the more readily deceived. Supposing, if you
will, that, after freeing myself from all my present


MR. ISAACS. 55
ties, in order to start afresh, I were to find myself
attracted by some English girl here” — there must
have been something wrong with the mouthpiece of
his pipe, for he examined it very attentively —
“attracted,” he continued, “by some one, for in-
stance, by Miss Westonhaugh—” he stopped short
So my inspiration was right. My little picture,
framed as we rode homeward, and indignantly scoffed
at by my calmer reason, had visited his brain too.
He had looked on the fair northern woman and fancied
himself at her side, her lover, her husband. All this
conversation and argument had been only a set plan
to give himself the pleasure of contemplating and
discussing such a union, without exciting surprise
or comment. I had been suspecting it for some time,
and now his sudden interest in his mouthpiece, to
conceal a very real embarrassment, put the matter
beyond all doubt. -
He was probably in love, my acquaintance of two
days. He saw in me a plain person, who could not
possibly be a rival, having some knowledge of the
world, and he was in need of a confidant, like a
schoolgirl. I reflected that he was probably a victim
for the first time. There is very little romance in
India, and he had, of course, married for convenience
and respectability rather than for any real affection.
His first passion! This man who had been tossed
about like a bit of driftwood, who had by his own de-
termination and intelligence carved his way to wealth
and power in the teeth of every difficulty. Just


56 MR. ISAACS.
now, in his embarrassment, he looked very boyish.
His troubles had left no wrinkles on his smooth fore-
head, his bright black hair was untinged by a single
thread of gray, and as he looked up, after the pause
that followed when he mentioned the name of the
woman he loved, there was a very really youthful
look of mingled passion and distress in his beautiful
eyes.
argument against the opinions you profess to hold
than I could have found in my whole armoury of
logic.”
As he looked at me, the whole field of possibilities
seemed opened. I must have been mistaken in
thinking this marriage impossible and incongruous.
What incongruity could there be in Isaacs marrying
Miss Westonhaugh? My conclusions were false.
Why must he necessarily return with her to England,
and wear a red coat, and make himself ridiculous at
the borough elections? Why should not this ideal
couple choose some happy spot, as far from the cor-
rosive influence of Anglo-Saxon prejudice as from the
wretched sensualism of prosperous life east of the
Mediterranean? I was carried away by the idea,
returning with redoubled strength as a sequel to
what I had argued and to what I had guessed.
“Why not?” was the question I repeated to myself
over and over again in the half minute’s pause after
Isaacs finished speaking.
“You are right,” he said slowly, his half-closed
...”
“I think, Mr. Isaacs, that you have used a stronger


MR. ISAACS. 57
eyes fixed on his feet. “Yes, you are right. Why
not? Indeed, indeed, why not?”
It must have been pure guess-work, this reading
of my thoughts. When he was last speaking his
manner was all indifference, scorn of my ideas, and
defiance of every western mode of reasoning. And
now, apparently by pure intuition, he gave a direct
answer to the direct question I had mentally asked,
and, what is more, his answer came with a quiet,
far-away tone of conviction that had not a shade of
unbelief in it. It was delivered as monotonously
and naturally as a Christian says “Credo in unum
Deum,” as if it were not worth disputing; or as the
devout Mussulman says “La Illah illallah,” not
stooping to consider the existence of any one bold
enough to deny the dogma. No argument, not hours
of patient reasoning, or weeks of well directed per-
suasion, could have wrought the change in the man's
tone that came over it at the mere mention of the
woman he loved. I had no share in his conversion.
My arguments had been the excuse by which he had
converted himself. Was he converted? was it real?
“Yes—I think I am,” he replied in the same
mechanical monotonous accent.
I shook myself, drank some sherbet, and kicked
off one shoe impatiently. Was I dreaming? or had
I been speaking aloud, really putting the questions
he answered so quickly and appositively? Pshaw!
a coincidence. I called the servant and ordered my
hookah to be refilled. Isaacs sat still, immovable,


58 MR. ISAACS.
lost in thought, looking at his toes; an expression,
almost stupid in its vacancy, was on his face, and the
smoke curled slowly up in lazy wreaths from his
neglected narghyle.
“You are converted then at last?” I said aloud.
No answer followed my question; I watched him
attentively.
“Mr. Isaacs!” still silence, was it possible that he
had fallen asleep? his eyes were open, but I thought
he was very pale. His upright position, however,
belied any symptoms of unconsciousness.
“Isaacs! Abdul Hafiz! what is the matter!” He
did not move. I rose to my feet and knelt beside
him where he sat rigid, immovable, like a statue.
Kiramat Ali, who had been watching, clapped his
hands wildly and cried, “Wah! wah! Sahib margyäl"
—“The lord is dead.” I motioned him away with
a gesture and he held his peace, cowering in the cor-
ner, his eyes fixed on us. Then I bent low as I
knelt and looked under my friend's brows, into his
eyes. It was clear he did not see me, though he was
looking straight at his feet. I felt for his pulse. It
was very low, almost imperceptible, and certainly
below forty beats to the minute. I took his right
arm and tried to put it on my shoulder. It was per-
fectly rigid. There was no doubt about it—the man
was in a cataleptic trance. I felt for the pulse again;
it was lost.
I was no stranger to this curious phenomenon,
where the mind is perfectly awake, but every bodily


MR. ISAACS. 59
faculty is lulled to sleep beyond possible excitation,
unless the right means be employed. I went out
and breathed the cool night air, bidding the servants
be quiet, as the sahib was asleep. When sufficiently
refreshed I re-entered the room, cast off my slippers,
and stood a moment by my friend, who was as rigid
aS eVer.
Nature, in her bountiful wisdom, has compensated
me for a singular absence of beauty by endowing me
with great strength, and with one of those excep-
tional constitutions which seem constantly charged
with electricity. Without being what is called a
mesmerist, I am possessed of considerable magnetic
power, which I have endeavoured to develop as far
as possible. In many a long conversation with old
Manu Lal, my Brahmin instructor in languages and
philosophy while in the plains, we had discussed the
trance state in all its bearings. This old pundit was
himself a distinguished mesmerist, and though gen-
erally unwilling to talk about what is termed occult-
ism, on finding in me a man naturally endowed with
the physical characteristics necessary to those pur-
suits, he had given me several valuable hints as to
the application of my powers. Here was a worthy
opportunity.
I rubbed my feet on the soft carpet, and summon-
ing all my strength, began to make the prescribed
passes over my friend's head and body. Very gradu-
ally the look of life returned to his face, the generous
blood welled up under the clear olive skin, the lips


60 MR. ISAACS.
parted, and he sighed softly. Animation, as always
happens in such cases, began at the precise point at
which it had been suspended, and his first movement
was to continue his examination of the mouthpiece
in his hand. Then he looked up suddenly, and see-
ing me standing over him, gave a little shake, half
turning his shoulders forward and back, and speaking
once more in his natural voice, said—
“I must have been asleep! Have I? What has
happened? Why are you standing there looking at
me in that way?” Then, after a short interrogatory
silence, his face changed and a look of annoyance
shaded his features as he added in a low tone, “Oh!
I see. It has happened to me once before. Sit
down. I am all right now.” He sipped a little sherbet
and leaned back in his old position. I begged him
to go to bed, and prepared to withdraw, but he would
not let me, and he seemed so anxious that I should
stay, that I resumed my place. The whole incident
had passed in ten minutes.
“Stay with me a little longer,” he repeated. “I
need your company, perhaps your advice. I have
had a vision, and you must hear about it.”
“I thought as I sat here that my spirit left my
body and passed out through the night air and hov-
ered over Simla. I could see into every bungalow,
and was conscious of what passed in each, but there
was only one where my gaze rested, for I saw upon
a couch in a spacious chamber the sleeping form of
one I knew. The masses of fair hair were heaped as


MR. ISAACS. - 61
they fell upon the pillow, as if she had lain down
weary of bearing the burden of such wealth of gold.
The long dark lashes threw little shadows on her
cheeks, and the parted lips seemed to smile at the
sweetness of the gently heaving breath that fanned
them as it came and went. And while I looked, the
breath of her body became condensed, as it were, and
took shape and form and colour, so that the image of
herself floated up between her body and my watching
spirit. Nearer and nearer to me came the exquisite
vision of beauty, till we were face to face, my soul
and hers, high up in the night. And there came
from her eyes, as the long lids lifted, a look of per-
fect trust, and of love, and of infinite joy. Then she
turned her face southward and pointed to my life
star burning bright among his lesser fellows; and
with a long sweet glance that bid me follow where
she led, her maiden soul floated away, half lingering
at first, as I watched her; then, with dizzy speed,
vanishing in the firmament as a falling star, and
leaving no trace behind, save an infinitely sad regret,
and a longing to enter with her into that boundless
empire of peace. But I could not, for my spirit was
called back to this body. And I bless Allah that
he has given me to see her once so, and to know that
she has a soul, even as I have, for I have looked upon
her spirit and I know it.”
Isaacs rose slowly to his feet and moved towards
the open door. I followed him, and for a few mo-
ments we stood looking out at the scene below us.


62 MR. ISAACS,
It was near midnight, and the ever-decreasing moon
was dragging herself up, as if ashamed of her waning
beauty and tearful look.
“Griggs,” said my friend, dropping the formal
prefix for the first time, “all this is very strange. I
believe I am in love!”
“I have not a doubt of it,” I replied. “Peace be
with you!”
“And with you peace.”
So we parted.


MB, ISAACS, 63
CHAPTER IV.
IN Simla people make morning calls in the morn-
ing instead of after dark, as in more civilised coun-
tries. Soon after dawn I received a note from
Isaacs, saying that he had business with the Mahara-
jah of Baithopoor about some precious stones, but
that he would be ready to go with me to call on Mr.
Currie Ghyrkins at ten o’clock, or soon after. I
had been thinking a great deal about the events of
the previous evening, and I was looking forward to
my next meeting with Isaacs with intense interest.
After what had passed, nothing could be such a test
of his true feelings as the visit to Miss Westonhaugh,
which we proposed to make together, and I promised
myself to lose no gesture, no word, no expression,
which might throw light on the question that inter-
ested me—whether such a union were practical,
possible, and wise.
At the appointed time, therefore, I was ready, and
we mounted and sallied forth into the bright autumn
day. All visits are made on horseback in Simla, as
the distances are often considerable. You ride qui-
etly along, and the saice follows you, walking or
keeping pace with your gentle trot, as the case may


64 MR. ISAACS.
be. We rode along the bustling mall, crowded with
men and women on horseback, with numbers of
gorgeously arrayed native servants and chuprassies of
the Government offices hurrying on their respective
errands, or dawdling for a chat with some shabby-
looking acquaintance in private life; we passed by
the crowded little shops on the hill below the church,
and glanced at the conglomeration of grain-sellers,
jewellers, confectioners, and dealers in metal or
earthen vessels, every man sitting knee-deep in his
wares, smoking the eternal “hubble-bubble; ” we
noted the keen eyes of the buyers and the hawk's
glance of the sellers, the long snake-like fingers
eagerly grasping the passing coin, and seemingly con-
vulsed into serpentine contortion when they relin-
quished their clutch on a single “pi; ” we marked
this busy scene, set down, like a Punch and Judy
show, in the midst of the trackless waste of the Him-
alayas, as if for the delectation and pastime of some
merry genius loci weary of the solemn silence in his
awful mountains, and we chatted carelessly of the
sights animate and inanimate before us, laughing at
the asseverations of the salesmen, and at the hardened
scepticism of the customer, at the portentous dignity
of the superb old messenger, white-bearded and clad
in scarlet and gold, as he bombastically described
to the knot of poor relations and admirers that
elbowed him the splendours of the last entertainment
at “Peterhof,” where Lord Lytton still reigned. I
smiled, and Isaacs frowned at the ancient and hairy


MR. ISAACS. 65
ascetic believer, who suddenly rose from his lair in
a corner, and bustled through the crowd of Hin-
doos, shouting at the top of his voice the confession
of his faith — “Beside God there is no God, and
Muhammad is his apostle!” The universality of the
Oriental spirit is something amazing. Customs,
dress, thought, and language, are wonderfully alike
among all Asiatics west of Thibet and south of
Turkistan. The greatest difference is in language,
and yet no one unacquainted with the dialects could
distinguish by the ear between Hindustani, Persian,
Arabic, and Turkish.
So we moved along, and presently found ourselves
on the road we had traversed the previous evening,
leading round Jako. On the slope of the hill,
hidden by a dense growth of rhododendrons, lay the
bungalow of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins, and a board at
the entrance of the ride — drive there was none—
informed us that the estate bore the high-sounding
title of “Carisbrooke Castle,” in accordance with
the Simla custom of calling little things by big
IlanleS.
Having reached the lawn near the house, we left
our horses in charge of the saice and strolled up the
short walk to the verandah. A charming picture it
was, prepared as if on purpose for our especial delec-
tation. The bungalow was a large one for Simla,
and the verandah was deep and shady; many chairs
of all sorts and conditions stood about in natural
positions, as if they had just been sat in, instead of
F


66 MR. ISAACS.
being ranged in stiff rows against the wall, and
across one angle hung a capacious hammock. There-
in, swinging her feet to the ground, and holding on
by the edge rope, sat the beautiful Miss Westonhaugh,
clad in one of those close-fitting unadorned costumes
of plain dark-blue serge, which only suit one woman
in ten thousand, though, when they clothe a really
beautiful young figure, I know of no garment better
calculated to display grace of form and motion. She
was kicking a ball of worsted with her dainty toes,
for the amusement and instruction of a small tame
jackal — the only one I ever saw thoroughly domesti-
cated. A charming little beast it was, with long
gray fur and bright twinkling eyes, mischievous and
merry as a gnome's. From a broad blue ribbon
round its neck was suspended a small silver bell that
tinkled spasmodically, as the lively little thing
sprang from side to side in pursuit of the ball, alight-
ing with apparent indifference on its head or its
heels.
So busy was the girl with her live plaything that
she had not seen us dismount and approach her, and
it was not till our feet sounded on the boards of the
verandah that she looked up with a little start, and
tried to rise to her feet. Now any one who has sat
sideways in a netted hammock, with feet swinging
to the ground, and all the weight in the middle of
the thing, knows how difficult it is to get out with
grace, or indeed in any way short of rolling out and
running for luck. You may break all your bones in



MR. ISAACS. 67
the feat, and you both look and feel as if you were
going to. Though we both sprang forward to her
assistance, Miss Westonhaugh had recognised the in-
expediency of moving after the first essay, and, with
a smile of greeting, and the faintest tinge of embar-
rassment on her fair cheek, abandoned the attempt;
the quaint little jackal sat up, backing against the
side of the house, and, eyeing us critically, growled
a little.
“I’m so glad to see you, Mr. Isaacs. How do you
do, Mr. —” -
“Griggs,” murmured Isaacs, as he straightened a
rope of the hammock by her side.
“Mr. Griggs?” she continued. “We met last
night, briefly, but to the point, or at least you and
my uncle did. I am alone; my uncle is gone down
towards Kalka to meet my brother, who is coming
up for a fortnight at the end of the season to get rid
of the Bombay mould. Bring up some of those
chairs and sit down. I cannot tell what has become
of the ‘bearer' and the ‘boy,” and the rest of the
servants, and I could not make them understand me
if they were here. So you must wait on yourselves.”
I was the first to lay hands on a chair, and as I
turned to bring it I noticed she was following Isaacs
with the same expression I had seen on her face the
previous evening; but I could see it better now. A
pleasant friendly look, not tender so much as kind,
while the slightest possible contraction of the eyes
showed a feeling of curiosity. She was evidently
going to speak to him as soon as he turned his face.


MR. ISAACS. 69
“You malign me, Miss Westonhaugh. Snap is no
less obedient than I.”
“Then why did you insist on playing tennis left-
handed the other day, though you know very well
how it puzzles me?”
“My dear Miss Westonhaugh,” he answered, “I am
not a tennis-player at all, to begin with, and as I do
not understand the finesse of the game, to use a word
I do not understand either, you must pardon my
clumsiness in employing the hand most convenient
and ready.”
“Some people,” I began, “are what is called ambi-
dexter, and can use either hand with equal ease.
Now the ancient Persians, who invented the game
of polo —”
“I do not quarrel so much with you, Mr. Isaacs
—” as she said this, she looked at me, though entirely
disregarding and interrupting my instructive sen-
tence — “I don’t quarrel with you so much for
using your left hand at tennis as for employing left-
handed weapons when you speak of other things, or
beings, for you are never so left-handed and so adroit
as when you are indulging in some elaborate abuse
of our sex.”
“How can you say that?” protested Isaacs. “You
know with what respectful and almost devotional
reverence I look upon all women, and,” his eyes
brightening perceptibly, “upon you in particular.”
English women, especially in their youth, are not
used to pretty speeches. They are so much accus-


70 MR. ISAACS.
tomed to the men of their own nationality that they
regard the least approach to a compliment as the
inevitable introduction to the worst kind of insult.
Miss Westonhaugh was no exception to this rule,
and she drew herself up proudly.
There was a moment's pause, during which Isaacs
seemed penitent, and she appeared to be revolving
the bearings of the affront conveyed in his last words.
She looked along the floor, slowly, till she might
have seen his toes; then her eyes opened a moment
and met his, falling again instantly with a change of
colour.
“And pray, Mr. Isaacs, would you mind giving us
a list of the ladies you look upon with “respectful
and devotional reverence?’” One of the horses
held by the saice at the corner of the lawn neighed
lowly, and gave Isaacs an opportunity of looking
away.
“Miss Westonhaugh,” he said quietly, “you know
I am a Mussulman, and that I am married. It may
be that I have borrowed a phrase from your lan-
guage which expresses more than I would convey,
though it would ill become me to withdraw my last
words, since they are true.”
It was my turn to be curious now. I wondered
where his boldness would carry him. Among his
other accomplishments, this man was capable of
speaking the truth even to a woman, not as a luxury
and a bonne bouche, but as a matter of habit. As
I looked, the hot blood mantled up to his brows.


MR. ISAACS. 71
She was watching him, and womanlike, seeing he
was in earnest and embarrassed, she regained her per-
fect natural composure.
“Oh, I had forgotten!” she said. “I forgot about
your wife in Delhi.” She half turned in the ham-
mock, and after some searching, during which we
were silent, succeeded in finding a truant piece of
worsted work behind her. The wool was pulled out
of the needle, and she held the steel instrument up
against the light, as she doubled the worsted round
the eye and pushed it back through the little slit. I
observed that Isaacs was apparently in a line with
the light, and that the threading took some time.
“Mr. Griggs,” she said slowly, and by the very
slowness of the address I knew she was going to
talk to me, and at my friend, as women will; “Mr.
Griggs, do you know anything about Mohamme-
dans?”
“That is a very broad question,” I answered;
“almost as broad as the Mussulman creed.” She
began making stitches in the work she held, and
with a little side shake settled herself to listen, antic-
ipating a discourse. The little jackal sidled up and
fawned on her feet. I had no intention, however,
of delivering a lecture on the faith of the prophet.
I saw my friend was embarrassed in the conversa-
tion, and I resolved, if possible, to interest her.
“Among primitive people and very young persons,”
I continued, “marriage is an article of faith, a moral
precept, and a social law.”


72 MR. ISAACS.
“I suppose you are married, Mr. Griggs,” she
said, with an air of childlike simplicity.
“Pardon me, Miss Westonhaugh, I neither con-
descend to call myself primitive, nor aspire to call
myself young.”
She laughed. I had put a wedge into my end of
the conversation.
“I thought,” said she, “from the way in which
you spoke of ‘primitive and young persons’ that you
considered their opinion in regard to —to this ques-
tion, as being the natural and proper opinion of the
original and civilised young man.”
“I repeat that I do not claim to be very civilised,
or very young—certainly not to be very original,
and my renunciation of all these qualifications is my
excuse for the confirmed bachelorhood to which I
adhere. Many Mohammedans are young and origi-
nal; some of them are civilised, as you see, and all of
them are married. “There is no God but God,
Muhammad is his prophet, and if you refuse to marry
you are not respectable,” is their full creed.”
Isaacs frowned at my profanity, but I continued—
“I do not mean to say anything disrespectful to a
creed so noble and social. I think you have small
chance of converting Mr. Isaacs.”
“I would not attempt it,” she said, laying down
her work in her lap, and looking at me for a moment.
“But since you speak of creeds, to what confession
do you yourself belong, if I may ask?”
“I am a Roman Catholic,” I answered; adding


MR. ISAACS. 78
presently—“Really, though, I do not see how my
belief in the papal infallibility affects my opinion of
Mohammedan marriages.”
“And what do you think of them?” she inquired,
resuming her work and applying herself thereto with
great attention.
“I think that, though justified in principle by the
ordinary circumstances of Eastern life, there are
cases in which the system acts very badly. I think
that young men are often led by sheer force of exam-
ple into marrying several wives before they have
sufficiently reflected on the importance of what they
are doing. I think that both marriage and divorce
are too easily managed in consideration of their
importance to a man’s life, and I am convinced that
no civilised man of Western education, if he were
to adopt Islam, would take advantage of his change
of faith to marry four wives. It is a case of theory
versus practice, which I will not attempt to explain.
It may often be good in logic, but it seems to me it
is very often bad in real life.”
“Yes,” said Isaacs; “there are cases —” He
stopped, and Miss Westonhaugh, who had been very
busy over her work, looked quietly up, only to find
that he was profoundly interested in the horses
cropping the short grass, as far as the saice would
let them stretch their necks, on the other side of the
lawn. -
“I confess,” said Miss Westonhaugh, “that my
ideas about Mohammedans are chiefly the result of
4 Vol. 1


74 MR. ISAACS.
reading the Arabian Nights, ever so long ago. It
seems to me that they treat women as if they had no
souls and no minds, and were incapable of doing any-
thing rational if left to themselves. It is a man’s
religion. My uncle says so too, and he ought to
know.”
The conversation was meandering in a kind of
vicious circle. Both Isaacs and I were far too deeply
interested in the question to care for such idle discus-
sion. How could this beautiful but not very intel-
lectual English girl, with her prejudices and her
clumsiness at repartee or argument, ever comprehend
or handle delicately so difficult a subject? I was
disappointed in her. Perhaps this was natural
enough, considering that with two such men as we
she must be entirely out of her element. She was
of the type of brilliant, healthy, northern girls, who
depend more on their animal spirits and enjoyment
of living for their happiness than upon any natural
or acquired mental powers. With a horse, or a ten-
nis court, or even a ball to amuse her, she would
appear at her very best; would be at ease and do the
right thing. But when called upon to sustain a
conversation, such as that into which her curiosity
about Isaacs had plunged her, she did not know
what to do. She was constrained, and even some of
her native grace of manner forsook her. Why did
she avoid his eyes and resort to such a petty little
trick as threading a needle in order to get a look at
him? An American girl, or a French woman, would


MR. ISAACS. 75
lave seen that her strength lay in perfect frankness;
that Isaacs’ straightforward nature would make him
tell her unhesitatingly anything she wanted to know
about himself, and that her position was strong
enough for her to look him in the face and ask him
what she pleased. But she allowed herself to be
embarrassed, and though she had been really glad to
see him, and liked him and thought him handsome,
she was beginning to wish he would go, merely
because she did not know what to talk about, and
would not give him a chance to choose his own sub-
ject. As neither of us were inclined to carry the
analysis of matrimony any farther, nor to dispute the
opinions of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins as quoted by his
niece, there was a pause. I struck in and boldly
changed the subject.
“Are you going to see the polo this afternoon,
Miss Westonhaugh? I heard at the hotel that there
was to be a match to-day of some interest.”
“Oh yes, of course. I would not miss it for any-
thing. Lord Steepleton is coming to tiffin, and we
shall ride down together to Annandale. Of course
you are going too; it will be a splendid thing. Do
you play polo, Mr. Griggs? Mr. Isaacs is a great
player, when he can be induced to take the trouble.
He knows more about it than he does about tennis.”
“I am very fond of the game,” I answered, “but
I have no horses here, and with my weight it is not
easy to get a mount for such rough work.”
“Do not disturb yourself on that score,” said


76 MR. ISAACS.
Isaacs; “you know my stable is always at your dis-
posal, and I have a couple of ponies that would carry
you well enough. Let us have a game one of those
days, whenever we can get the ground. We will
play on opposite sides and match the far west against
the far east.”
“What fun!” cried Miss Westonhaugh, her face
brightening at the idea, “and I will hold the stakes
and bestow the crown on the victor.”
“What is to be the prize?” asked Isaacs, with a
smile of pleasure. He was very literal and boyish
sometimes.
“That depends on which is the winner,” she
answered.
There was a noise among the trees of horses’ hoofs
on the hard path, and presently we heard a voice call-
ing loudly for a saice who seemed to be lagging far
behind. It was a clear strong voice, and the speaker
abused the groom's female relations to the fourth
and fifth generations with considerable command of
the Hindustani language. Miss Westonhaugh, who
had not been in the country long, did not understand
a word of the very free swearing that was going on
in the woods, but Isaacs looked annoyed, and I regis-
tered a black mark against the name of the new-comer,
whoever he might be.
“Oh! it is Lord Steepleton,” said the young girl.
“He seems to be always having a row with his ser-
vants. Don’t go,” she went on as I took up my hat;
“he is such a good fellow, you ought to know him.”


MR. ISAACS. 77
Lord Steepleton Kildare now appeared at the corner
of the lawn, hotly pursued by his breathless groom,
who had been loitering on the way, and had thus
roused his master's indignation. He was, as I have
said, a fine specimen of a young Englishman, though
being Irish by descent he would have indignantly
denied any such nationality. I saw when he had dis-
mounted that he was tall and straight, though not a
very heavily built man. He carried his head high,
and looked every inch a soldier as he strode across
the grass, carefully avoiding the pegs of the tennis
net. He wore a large gray felt hat, like every one
else, and he shook hands all round before he took it
off, and settled himself in an easy chair as near as
he could get to Miss Westonhaugh's hammock.
“How are ye? Ah – yes, Mr. Isaacs, Mr. Griggs
of Allahabad. Jolly day, isn’t it?” and he looked
vaguely at the grass. “Really, Miss Westonhaugh,
I got in such a rage with my rascal of a saice that I
did not remember I was so near the house. I am
really very sorry I talked like that. I hope you did
not think I was murdering him?”
Isaacs looked annoyed.
“Yes,” said he, “we thought Mahmoud was going
to have a bad time of it. I believe Miss Weston-
haugh does not understand Hindustani.”
A look of genuine distress came into the English-
man's face.
“Really,” said he, very simply. “You don’t know
how sorry I am that any one should have heard me.


78 MR. ISAACS.
I am so hasty. But let me apologise to you all most
sincerely for disturbing you with my brutal temper.”
His misdeed had not been a very serious crime
after all, and there was something so frank and
honest about his awkward little apology that I was
charmed. The man was a gentleman. Isaacs bowed
in silence, and Miss Westonhaugh had evidently
never thought much about it.
“We were talking about polo when you came,
Lord Steepleton; Mr. Isaacs and Mr. Griggs are
going to play a match, and I am to hold the stakes.
Do you not want to make one in the game?”
“May I?” said the young man, grateful to her
for having helped him out. “May I? I should like
it awfully. I so rarely get a chance of playing with
any except the regular set here.” And he looked
inquiringly at us.
“We should be delighted, of course,” said Isaacs.
“By the way, can you help us to make up the num-
ber? And when shall it be?” He seemed suddenly
very much interested in this projected contest.
“Oh yes,” said Kildare, “I will manage to fill up
the game, and we can play next Monday. I know
the ground is free then.”
“Very good; on Monday. We are at Laurie's on
the hill.”
“I am staying with Jack Tygerbeigh, near Peter-
hof. Come and see us. I will let you know before
Monday. Oh, Mr. Griggs, I saw such a nice thing
about me in the Howler the other day—so many


80 MR. ISAACS.
to be embarrassed if left alone with a woman, or to
embarrass her. He was too full of tact, and his
sensibilities were so fine that, with his easy com-
mand of language, he must be agreeable quand méme;
and such an opportunity would have given him an
easy lead away from the athletic Kildare, whom I
suspected strongly of being a rival for Miss Weston-
haugh's favour. There is an easy air of familiar pro-
prietorship about an Englishman in love that is not
to be mistaken. It is a subtle thing, and expresses
itself neither in word nor deed in its earlier stages
of development; but it is there all the same, and the
combination of this possessive mood, with a certain
shyness which often goes with it, is amusing.
“Griggs,” said Isaacs, “have you ever seen the
Rajah of Baithopoor?”
“No; you had some business with him this morn-
ing, had you not?”
“Yes—some — business —if you call it so. If
you would like to see him I can take you there, and
I think you would be interested in the – the busi-
ness. It is not often such gems are bought and sold
in such a way, and besides, he is very amusing. He
is at least two thousand years old, and will go to
Saturn when he dies. His fingers are long and
crooked, and that which he putteth into his pockets,
verily he shall not take it out.”
“A pleasing picture; a good contrast to the one
we have left behind us. I like contrasts, and I
should like to see him.”
“You shall.” And we lit our cheroots.


MR. ISAACS. 81
CHAPTER W.
“WE will go there at four,” said Isaacs, coming
into my rooms after tiffin, a meal of which I found
he rarely partook. “I said three, this morning, but
it is not a bad plan to keep natives waiting. It
makes them impatient, and then they commit them-
selves.”
“You are Machiavellian. It is pretty clear which
of you is asking the favour.”
“Yes, it is pretty clear.” He sat down and took
up the last number of the Howler which lay on the
table. Presently he looked up. “Griggs, why do
you not come to Delhi? We might start a newspaper
there, you know, in the Conservative interest.”
“In the interest of Mr. Algernon Currie Ghyr-
kins?” I inquired.
“Precisely. You anticipate my thoughts with a
true sympathy. I suppose you have no conscience?”
“Political conscience? No, certainly not, out of
my own country, which is the only one where that
sort of thing commands a high salary. No, I have
no conscience.”
“You would really write as willingly for the Con-
servatives as you do for the Liberals?”
G


82 MB. ISAACS.
“Oh yes. I could not write so well on the Con-
servative side just now, because they are “in,” and it
is more blessed to abuse than to be abused, and ever
so much easier. But as far as any prejudice on the
subject is concerned, I have none. I had as lief
defend a party that robs India “for her own good,” as
support those who would rob her with a more cynical
frankness and unblushingly transfer the proceeds to
their own pockets. I do not care a rush whether
they rob Peter to pay Paul, or fraudulently deprive
Paul of his goods for the benefit of Peter.”
“That is the way to look at it. I could tell you
some very pretty stories about that kind of thing.
As for the journalistic enterprise, it is only a possible
card to be played if the old gentleman is obdurate.”
“Isaacs,” said I, “I have only known you three
days, but you have taken me into your confidence to
some extent; probably because I am not English. I
may be of use to you, and I am sure I sincerely hope
so. Meanwhile I want to ask you a question, if you
will allow me to.” I paused for an answer. We
were standing by the open door, and Isaacs leaned
back against the door-post, his eyes fixed on me,
half closed, as he threw his head back. He looked
at me somewhat curiously, and I thought a smile
flickered round his mouth, as if he anticipated what
the question would be.
“Certainly,” he said slowly. “Ask me anything
you like. I have nothing to conceal.”
“Do you seriously think of marrying, or proposing
to marry, Miss Katharine Westonhaugh?”


MR. ISAACS. 83
“I do seriously think of proposing to marry, and
of marrying, Miss Westonhaugh.” He looked very
determined as he thus categorically affirmed his
intention. I knew he meant it, and I knew enough
of Oriental character to understand that a man like
Abdul Hafizben-Isák, of strong passions, infinite wit,
and immense wealth, was not likely to fail in any-
thing he undertook to do. When Asiatic indifference
gives way under the strong pressure of some master
passion, there is no length to which the hot and
impetuous temper beneath may not carry the man.
Isaacs had evidently made up his mind. I did not
think he could know much about the usual methods
of wooing English girls, but as I glanced at his
graceful figure, his matchless eyes, and noted for the
hundredth time the commanding, high-bred air that
was the breath of his character, I felt that his rival
would have but a poor chance of success. He guessed
my thoughts.
“What do you think of me?” he asked, smiling.
“Will you back me for a place? I have advantages,
you must allow—and worldly advantages too. They
are not rich people at all.”
“My dear Isaacs, I will back you to win. But as
far as “worldly advantages' are concerned, do not
trust to wealth for a moment. Do not flatter your-
self that there will be any kind of a bargain, as if
you were marrying a Persian girl. There is nothing
venal in that young lady's veins, I am sure.”
“Allah forbid! But there is something very venal


84 MR. ISAACS.
in the veins of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins. I propose to
carry the outworks one by one. He is her uncle, her
guardian, her only relation, save her brother. I do
not think either of those men would be sorry to see
her married to a man of stainless name and consider-
able fortune.”
“You forget your three incumbrances, as you called
them last night.”
“No-I do not forget them. It is allowed me by
my religion to marry a fourth, and I need not tell
you that she would be thenceforth my only wife.”
“But would her guardian and brother ever think
of allowing her to take such a position?”
“Why not? You know very well that the Eng-
lish in general hardly consider our marriages to
be marriages at all—knowing the looseness of the
bond. That is the prevailing impression.”
“Yes, I know. But then they would consider
your marriage with Miss Westonhaugh in the same
light, which would not make matters any easier, as
far as I can see.”
“Pardon me. I should marry Miss Westonhaugh
by the English marriage service and under English
law. I should be as much bound to her, and to her
alone, as if I were an Englishman myself.”
“Well, you have evidently thought it out and
taken legal advice; and really, as far as the technical
part of it goes, I suppose you have as good a chance
as Lord Steepleton Kildare.”
Isaacs frowned, and his eyes flashed. I saw at


MR. ISAACS. 85
once that he considered the Irish officer a rival, and
a dangerous one. I did not think that if Isaacs had
fair play and the same opportunities Kildare had
much chance. Besides there was a difficulty in the
way.
“As far as religion is concerned, Lord Steepleton
is not much better off than you, if he wants to marry
Miss Westonhaugh. The Kildares have been Roman
Catholics since the memory of man, and they are very
proud of it. Theoretically, it is as hard for a Roman
Catholic man to marry a Protestant woman, as for a
Mussulman to wed a Christian of any denomination.
Harder, in fact, for your marriage depends upon the
consent of the lady, and his upon the consent of the
Church. He has all sorts of difficulties to surmount,
while you have only to get your personality accepted
—which, when I look at you, I think might be done,”
I added, laughing.
“Jo hoga, so hoga — what will be, will be,” he said;
“but religion or no religion, I mean to do it.” Then
he lighted a cigarette and said, “Come, it is time to
go and see his Saturnine majesty, the Maharajah of
Baithopoor.”
I called for my hat and gloves.
“By-the-bye, Griggs, you may as well put on a
black coat. You know the old fellow is a king, after
all, and you had better produce a favourable impres–
sion.” I retired to comply with his request, and as
I came back he turned quickly and came towards me,
holding out both hands, with a very earnest look in
his face.


86 MR. ISAACS.
“Griggs, I care for that lady more than I can tell
you,” he said, taking my hands in his.
“My dear fellow, I am sure you do. People do
not go suddenly into trances at a name that is
indifferent to them. I am sure you love her very
honestly and dearly.”
“You and she have come into my life almost
together, for it was not until I talked with you last
night that I made up my mind. Will you help me?
I have not a friend in the world.” The simple, boy-
ish look was in his eyes, and he stood holding my
hands and waiting for my answer. I was so fasci-
nated that I would have then and there gone through
fire and water for him, as I would now.
“Yes. I will help you. I will be a friend to
you.”
“Thank you. I believe you.” He dropped my
hands, and we turned and went out, silent.
In all my wanderings I had never promised any
man my friendship and unconditional support before.
There was something about Isaacs that overcame and
utterly swept away preconceived ideas, rules, and
prejudices. It was but the third day of our acquaint-
ance, and here was I swearing eternal friendship
like a school-girl; promising to help a man, of whose
very existence I knew nothing three days ago, to
marry a woman whom I had seen for the first time
yesterday. But I resolved that, having pledged my-
self, I would do my part with my might, whatever
that part might be. Meanwhile we rode along, and


MR. ISAACS. 87
Isaacs began to talk about the visit we were going
to make.
“I think,” he said, “that you had better know
something about this matter beforehand. The way
is long, and we cannot ride fast over the steep roads,
so there is plenty of time. Do not imagine that I
have idly asked you to go with me because I sup-
posed it would amuse you. Dismiss also from your
mind the impression that it is a question of buying
and selling jewels. It is a very serious matter, and
if you would prefer to have nothing to do with it, do
not hesitate to say so. I promised the maharajah
this morning that I would bring, this afternoon, a
reliable person of experience, who could give advice,
and who might be induced to give his assistance as
well as his counsel. I have not known you long, but
I know you by reputation, and I decided to bring
you, if you would come. From the very nature of
the case I can tell you nothing more, unless you con-
sent to go with me.”
“I will go,” I said.
“In that case I will try and explain the situation
in as few words as possible. The maharajah is in
a tight place. You will readily understand that
the present difficulties in Kabul cause him endless
anxiety, considering the position of his dominions.
The unexpected turn of events, following now so
rapidly on each other since the English wantonly
sacrificed Cavagnari and his friends to a vainglorious
love of bravado, has shaken the confidence of the


88 MR. ISAACS.
native princes in the stability of English rule. They
are frightened out of their senses, having the fear
of the tribes before them if the English should be
worsted; and they dread, on the other hand, lest the
English, finding themselves in great straits, should
levy heavy contributions on them—the native princes
—for the consolidation of what they term the
‘Empire.” They have not much sense, these poor
old kings and boy princes, or they would see that the
English do not dare to try any of those old-fashioned
Clive tactics now. But old Baithopoor has heard
all about the King of Oude, and thinks he may share
the same fate.”
“I think he may make his mind easy on that score.
The kingdom of Baithopoor is too inconveniently
situated and too full of mosquitoes to attract the
English. Besides, there are more roses than rubies
there just now.”
“True, and that question interests me closely, for
the old man owes me a great deal of money. It was
I who pulled him through the last famine.”
“Not a very profitable investment, I should think.
Shall you ever see a rupee of that money again?”
“Yes; he will pay me; though I did not think so
a week ago, or indeed yesterday. I lent him the
means of feeding his people and saving many of them
from actual death by starvation, because there are so
many Mussulmans among them, though the mahara-
jah is a Hindoo. As for him, he might starve to-
morrow, the infidel hound; I would not give him a


MR. ISAACS. 89
chowpatti or a mouthful of dal to keep his wretched
old body alive.”
“Do I understand that this interview relates to
the repayment of the moneys you have advanced?”
“Yes; though that is not the most interesting
part of it. He wanted to pay me in flesh—human
flesh, and he offered to make me a king into the bar-
gain, if I would forgive him the debt. The latter
part of the proposal was purely visionary. The prom-
ise to pay in so much humanity he is able to perform.
I have not made up my mind.”
I looked at Isaacs in utter astonishment. What
in the world could he mean? Had the maharajah
offered him some more wives — creatures of peerless
beauty and immense value? No; I knew he would
not hesitate now to refuse such a proposition.
“Will you please to explain what you mean by his
paying you in man?” I asked.
“In two words. The Maharajah of Baithopoor has
in his possession a man. Safely stowed away under
a triple watch and carefully tended, this man awaits
his fate as the maharajah may decide. The English
Government would pay an enormous sum for this
man, but Baithopoor fears that they would ask awk-
ward questions, and perhaps not believe the answers
he would give them. So, as he owes me a good deal,
he thinks I might be induced to take his prisoner
and realise him, so to speak; thus cancelling the
debt, and saving him from the alternative of putting
the man to death privately, or of going through dan-


90 MR. ISAACS.
gerous negotiations with the Government. Now
this thing is perfectly feasible, and it depends upon
me to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the proposition. Do you
see now? It is a serious matter enough.”
“But the man—who is he? Why do the English
want him so much?”
Isaacs pressed his horse close to mine, and looking
round to see that the saice was a long way behind,
he put his hand on my shoulder, and, leaning out of
the saddle till his mouth almost touched may ear, he
whispered quickly—
“Shere Ali.”
“The devil, you say!” I ejaculated, surprised
out of grammar and decorum by the startling news.
Persons who were in India in 1879 will not have
forgotten the endless speculation caused by the dis-
appearance of the Emir of Afghanistan, Shere Ali,
in the spring of that year. Defeated by the English
at Ali Musjid and Peiwar, and believing his cause
lost, he fled, no one knew whither; though there is
reason to think that he might have returned to power
and popularity among the Afghan tribes if he had
presented himself after the murder of Cavagnari.
“Yes,” continued Isaacs, “he has been a prisoner
in the palace of Baithopoor for six weeks, and not a
soul save the maharajah and you and I know it. He
came to Baithopoor, humbly disguised as a Yogi from
the hills, though he is a Mussulman, and having
obtained a private hearing, disclosed his real name,
proposing to the sovereign a joint movement on


MR. ISAACS. - 91
Kabul, then just pacified by the British, and promis-
ing all manner of things for the assistance. Old
Baitho, who is no fool, clapped him into prison
under a guard of Punjabi soldiers who could not
speak a word of Afghan, and after due consideration
packed up his traps and betook himself to Simla by
short stages, for the journey is not an easy one for a
man of his years. He arrived the day before yester-
day, and has ostensibly come to congratulate the
Viceroy on the success of the British arms. He has
had to modify the enthusiasm of his proposed
address, in consequence of the bad news from Kabul.
Of course, his first move was to send for me, and I
had a long interview this morning, in which he
explained everything. I told him that I would not
move in the matter without a third person—neces-
sary as a witness when dealing with such people —
and I have brought you.”
“But what was his proposal to invest you with a
crown? Did he think you were a likely person for
a new Emir of Kabul?”
“Exactly. My faith, and above all, my wealth,
suggested to him that I, as a born Persian, might be
the very man for the vacant throne. No doubt, the
English would be delighted to have me there. But
the whole thing is visionary and ridiculous. I think
I shall accept the other proposition, and take the
prisoner. It is a good bargain.”
I was silent. The intimate way in which I had
seen Isaacs hitherto had made me forget his immense


92 MR. ISAACS.
wealth and his power. I had not realised that he
could be so closely connected with intrigues of such
importance as this, or that independant native princes
were likely to look upon him as a possible Emir of
Afghanistan. I had nothing to say, and I deter-
mined to keep to the part I was brought to perform,
which was that of a witness, and nothing more. If
my advice were asked, I would speak boldly for Shere
Ali’s liberation and protest against the poor man
being bought and sold in this way. This train of
thought reminded me of Isaacs’ words when we left
Miss Westonhaugh that morning. “It is not often,”
he had said, “that you see such jewels bought and
sold.” No, indeed!
“You see,” said Isaacs, as we neared our destina-
tion, “Baithopoor is in my power, body and soul, for a
word from me would expose him to the British Gov-
ernment as “harbouring traitors,” as they would
express it. On the other hand, the fact that you,
the third party, are a journalist, and could at a
moment’s notice give publicity to the whole thing,
will be an additional safeguard. I have him as in a
vice. And now put on your most formal manners
and look as if you were impenetrable as the rock and
unbending as cast iron, for we have reached his
bungalow.”
I could not but admire the perfect calm and cau-
tion with which he was conducting an affair involv-
ing millions of money, a possible indictment for high
treason, and the key-note of the Afghan question,


MR. ISAACS. 93
while I knew that his whole soul was absorbed in the
contemplation of a beautiful picture ever before him,
sleeping or waking. Whatever I might think of his
bargaining for the possession of Shere Ali, he had a
great, even untiring, intellect. He had the ele-
ments of a leader of men, and I fondly hoped he
might be a ruler some day.
The bungalow in which the Maharajah of Baitho-
poor had taken up his residence during his visit was
very much like all the rest of the houses I saw in
Simla. The verandah, however, was crowded with
servants and sowars in gorgeous but rather tawdry
liveries, not all of them as clean as they should have
been. Horses with elaborate high saddles and em-
broidered trappings rather the worse for wear were
being led up and down the walk. As we neared the
door there was a strong smell of rosewater and native
perfumes and hookah tobacco — the indescribable
odour of Eastern high life. There was also a gen-
eral air of wasteful and tawdry dowdiness, if I may
coin such a word, which one constantly sees in the
retinues of native princes and rich native merchants,
ill contrasting with the great intrinsic value of some
of the ornaments worn by the chief officers of the
train.
Isaacs spoke a few words in a low voice to the
jemadar at the door, and we were admitted into a
small room in the side of the house, opening, as all
rooms do in India, on to the verandah. There were
low wooden charpoys around the walls, and we sat


94 MR. ISAACS.
down, waiting till the maharajah should be advised
of our arrival. Very soon a jemadar came in and
informed us that “if the sahib log, who were the pro-
tectors of the poor, would deign to be led by him,”
we should be shown into the royal presence. So we
rose and followed the obsequious official into another
apartment.
The room where the maharajah awaited us was
even smaller than the one into which we had been
first shown. It was on the back of the house, and
only half lighted by the few rays of afternoon sun
that struggled through the dense foliage outside.
I suppose this apartment had been chosen as the
scene of the interview on account of its seclusion.
Outside the window, which was closed, a sowar
paced slowly up and down to keep away any curious
listeners. A heavy curtain hung before the door
through which we had entered. I thought that on the
whole the place seemed pretty safe.
The old maharajah sat cross-legged upon a great
pile of dark-red cushions, his slippers by his side,
and a huge hookah before him. He wore a plain
white pugree with a large jewel set on one side,
and his body was swathed and wrapped in dark thick
stuffs, as if he felt keenly the cold autumn air. His
face was long, of an ashy yellowish colour, and an
immense white moustache hung curling down over
his sombre robe. One hand protruded from the folds
and held the richly-jewelled mouthpiece of the pipe
to his lips, and I noticed that the fingers were long


MR. ISAACS. 95
and crooked, winding themselves curiously round the
gold stem, as if revelling in the touch of the precious
metal and the gems. As we came within his range
of vision, his dark eyes shot a quick glance of
scrutiny at me and then dropped again. Not a
movement of the head or body betrayed a conscious-
ness of our presence. Isaacs made a long salutation
in Hindustani, and I followed his example, but he
did not take off his shoes or make anything more
than an ordinary bow. It was quite evident that he
was master of the situation. The old man took the
pipe from his mouth and replied in a deep hollow
voice that he was glad to see us, and that, in consid-
eration of our wealth, fame, and renowned wisdom,
he would waive all ceremony and beg us to be seated.
We sat down cross-legged on cushions before him,
and as near as we could get, so that it seemed as if
we three were performing some sacred rite of which
the object was the tall hookah that stood in the centre
of our triangle.
Being seated, Isaacs addressed the prince, still in
Hindustani, and said that the splendour of his sub-
lime majesty, which was like the sun dispelling the
clouds, so overcame him with fear and trembling,
that he humbly implored permission to make use of
the Persian tongue, which, he was aware, the lord
of boundless wisdom spoke with even greater ease
than himself.
Without waiting for an answer, and with no per-
ceptible manifestation of any such “fear and trem-


96 MR. ISAACS.
bling” as he professed, Isaacs at once began to speak
in his native tongue, and dropping all forms of cere-
mony or circumlocution plunged boldly into business.
He did not hesitate to explain to the maharajah the
strength of his position, dwelling on the fact that,
by a word to the English of the whereabouts of Shere
Ali, he could plunge Baithopoor into hopeless and
endless entanglements, to which there could be but
one issue — absorption into the British Rāj. He
dwelt on the large sums the maharajah owed him for
assistance lent during the late famine, and he skil-
fully produced the impression that he wanted the
money down, then and there.
“If your majesty should refuse to satisfy my just
claims, I have ample weapons by which to satisfy
them for myself, and no considerations of mercy or
pity for your majesty will tempt me to abate one
rupee in the account of your indebtedness, which, as
you well know, is not swelled by any usurious inter-
est. You could not have borrowed the money on such
easy terms from any bank in India or England, and if
I have been merciful hitherto, I will be so no longer.
What saith the Apostle of Allah? ‘Verily, life for
life, and eye for eye, and nose for nose, and ear for
ear, and tooth for tooth, and for wounding retalia-
tion.” And the time of your promise is expired and
you shall pay me. And is not the wise Frank, who
sitteth at my right hand, the ready writer, who giveth
to the public every day a new book to read, the paper
of news, Khabar-i-Khagaz wherein are written the


MR. ISAACS. 97
misdeeds of the wicked, and the dealings of the
fraudulent and the unwary receive their just reward?
And think you he will not make a great writing,
several columns in length, and deliver it to the
devils that perform his bidding, and shall they not
multiply what he hath written, and sow it broadcast
over the British Rāj for the minor consideration of
one anna a copy, that all shall see how the Maharajah
of Baithopoor doth scandalously repudiate his debts,
and harbour traitors to the Rāj in his palace?”
Isaacs said all this in a solemn and impressive man-
ner, calculated to inspire awe and terror in the soul
of the unhappy debtor. As for the maharajah, the
cold sweat stood on his face, and at the last words
his anxiety was so great that the long fingers uncurled
spasmodically and the jewelled mouthpiece fell back,
as the head of a snake, among the silken coils of the
tube at his feet. Instantly, on feeling the grasping
hand empty, his majesty, with more alacrity than I
would have expected, darted forward with out-
stretched claws, as a hawk on his prey, and seizing
the glittering thing returned it to his lips with a
look of evident relief. It was habit, of course, for
we were not exactly the men to plunder him of his
toy, but there was a fierceness about the whole action
that spoke of the real miser. Then there was silence
for a moment. The old man was evidently greatly
impressed by the perils of his situation. Isaacs
continued.
“Your majesty well perceives that you have sur-
5 - Vol. I


98 MR. ISAACS.
rounded yourself with dangers on all sides. No dan-
ger threatens me. I could buy you and Baithopoor
to-morrow if I chose. But I am a just man. When
the prophet, whose name be blessed, saith that we
shall have eye for eye, and nose for nose, and for
wounding retaliation, he saith also that “he that
remitteth the same as alms it shall be an atonement
unto him.” Now your majesty is a hard man, and I
well know that if I force you to pay me now you
will cruelly tax and oppress your subjects to refill
your coffers. And many of your subjects are true
believers, following the prophet, upon whom be peace;
and it is also written ‘Thou shalt rob a stranger,
but thou shalt not rob a brother,” — and if I cause
you to rob my brethren is not the sin mine, and the
atonement thereof? Now also has the lawful inter-
est on your bond mounted up to several lakhs of
rupees. But for the sake of my brethren who are in
bondage to you, who are an unbeliever and shall broil
everlastingly in raging flames, I will yet make a
covenant with you, and the agreement thereof shall
be this:
“You shall deliver into my hand, before the dark
half of the next moon, the man”—Isaacs lowered
his voice to a whisper, barely audible in the still
room, where the only sound heard as he paused was
the tread of the sowar on the verandah outside—
“the man Shere Ali, formerly Emir of Afghanistan,
now hidden in your palace of Baithopoor. Him you
shall give to me safe and untouched at the place


MR. ISAACS. 99
which I shall choose, northwards from here, in the
pass towards Keitung. And there shall not be an
hair of his head touched, and if it is good in my eyes
I will give him up to the British; and if it is good
in my eyes, I will slay him, and you shall ask no
questions. And if you refuse to do this I will go to
the great lord sahib and tell him of your doings, and
you will be arrested before this night and shall not
escape. But if you consent and put your hand to
this agreement, I will speak no word, and you shall
depart in peace; and moreover, for the sake of the
true believers in your kingdom I will remit to you
the whole of the interest on your debt; and the bond
you shall pay at your convenience. I have spoken,
do you answer me.” Isaacs calmly took from his
pocket two rolls covered with Persian writing, and
lighting a cigarette, proceeded to peruse them care-
fully, to detect any flaw or error in their composition.
The face of the old maharajah betrayed great emotion,
but he bravely pulled away at his hookah and tried
to think over the situation. In the hope of deliver-
ing himself from his whole debt he had rashly given
himself into the hands of a man who hated him,
though he had discovered that hatred too late. He
had flattered himself that the loan had been made
out of friendly feeling and a desire for his interest
and support; he found that Isaacs had lent the
money, for real or imaginary religious motives, in
the interest of his co-religionists. I sat silently
watching the varying passions as they swept over the


100 MR. ISAACS,
repulsive face of the old man. The silence must
have lasted a quarter of an hour.
“Give me the covenant,” he said at last, “for I
am in the tiger's clutches. I will sign it, since I
must. But it shall be requited to you, Abdul Hafiz;
and when your body has been eaten of jackals and
wild pigs in the forest, your soul shall enter into the
shape of a despised sweeper, and you and your off-
spring shall scavenge the streets of the cities of my
kingdom and of the kingdom of my son, and son's
son, to ten thousand generations.” A Hindoo can-
not express scorn more deadly or hate more lasting
than this. Isaacs smiled, but there was a concen-
trated look in his face, relentless and hard, as he
answered the insult.
“I am not going to bandy words with you. But
if you are not quick about signing that paper I may
change my mind, and send for the Angrezi sowars
from Peterhof. So you had better hurry yourself.”
Isaacs produced a small inkhorn and a reed pen from
his pocket. “Sign,” he said, rising to his feet
“before that soldier outside passes the window three
times, or I will deliver you to the British.”
Trembling in every joint, and the perspiration
standing on his face like beads, the old man seized
the pen and traced his name and titles at the foot,
first of one copy, and then of the other. Isaacs fol-
lowed, writing his full name in the Persian charac-
ter, and I signed my name last, “Paul Griggs,” in
large letters at the bottom of each roll, adding the


MR. ISAACS. 101
word “witness,” in case of the transaction becoming
known.
“And now,” said Isaacs to the maharajah, “de-
spatch at once a messenger, and let the man here
mentioned be brought under a strong guard and by
circuitous roads to the pass of Keitung, and let them
there encamp before the third week from to-day,
when the moon is at the full. And I will be there
and will receive the man. And woe to you if he
come not; and woe to you if you oppress the true
believers in your realm.” He turned on his heel,
and I followed him out of the room after making a
brief salutation to the old man, cowering among his
cushions, a ceremony which Isaacs omitted, whether
intentionally or from forgetfulness, I could not say.
We passed through the house out into the air, and
mounting our horses rode away, leaving the double
row of servants salaaming to the ground. The dura-
tion of our private interview with the maharajah had
given them an immense idea of our importance. We
had come at four and it was now nearly five. The
long pauses and the Persian circumlocutions had
occupied a good deal of time.
“You do not seem to have needed my counsel or
assistance much,” I said. “With such an armoury
of weapons you could manage half-a-dozen mahara-
ja .”
“Yes—perhaps so. But I have strong reasons
for wishing this affair quickly over, and the editor of
a daily paper is a thing of terror to a native prince;
you must have seen that.”


102 MR. ISAACS.
“What do you mean to do with your man when he
is safely in your hands, if it is not an indiscreet
question?”
“Do with him?” asked Isaacs with some astonish-
ment. “Is it possible you have not guessed? He
is a brave man, and a true believer. I will give him
money and letters, that he may make his way to
Baghdad, or wherever he will be safe. He shall
depart in peace, and be as free as air.”
I had half suspected my friend of some such gener-
ous intention, but he had played his part of unrelent-
ing hardness so well in our late interview with the
Hindoo prince that it seemed incomprehensible that
a man should be so pitiless and so kind on the same
day. There was not a trace of hardness on his beauti-
ful features now, and as we rounded the hill and
caught the last beams of the sun, now sinking behind
the mountains, his face seemed transfigured as with
a glory, and I could hardly bear to look at him. He
held his hat in his hand and faced the west for an
instant, as though thanking the declining day for its
freshness and beauty; and I thought to myself that
the sun was lucky to see such an exquisite picture
before he bid Simla good-night, and that he should
shine the brighter for it the next day, since he would
look on nothing fairer in his twelve hours’ wander-
ing over the other half of creation.
“And now,” said he, “it is late, but if we ride
towards Annandale we may meet them coming back


MR. ISAACS. - 103
from the polo match we have missed.” His eyes
glowed at the thought. Shere Ali, the maharajah,
bonds, principal, and interest, were all forgotten in
the anticipation of a brief meeting with the woman
he loved.


104 MR. ISAACS.
CHAPTER VI.
“WHY did you not eome and see the game? After
all your enthusiasm about polo this morning, I did
not think you would miss anything so good,” were
the first words of Miss Westonhaugh as we met her
and Kildare in the narrow path that leads down to
Annandale. Two men were riding behind them,
who proved to be Mr. Currie Ghyrkins and Mr. John
Westonhaugh. The latter was duly introduced to
us; a quiet, spare man, with his sister's features,
but without a trace of her superb colour and animal
spirits. He had the real Bombay paleness, and had
been steamed to the bone through the rains. As we
were introduced, Isaacs started and said quickly that
he believed he had met Mr. Westonhaugh before.
“It is possible, quite possible,” said that gentle-
man affably, “especially if you ever go to Bombay.”
“Yes — it was in Bombay—some twelve years ago.
You have probably forgotten me.”
“Ah, yes. I was young and green then. I won-
der you remember me.” He did not show any very
lively interest in the matter, though he smiled
pleasantly.
Miss Westonhaugh must have been teasing Lord


MR. ISAACS. 105
Steepleton, for he looked flushed and annoyed, and
she was in capital spirits. We turned to go back
with the party, and by a turn of the wrist Isaacs
wheeled his horse to the side of Miss Westonhaugh's,
a position he did not again abandon. They were
leading, and I resolved they should have a chance,
as the path was not broad enough for more than two
to ride abreast. So I furtively excited my horse by
a touch of the heel and a quick strain on the curb,
throwing him across the road, and thus producing a
momentary delay, of which the two riders in front
took advantage to increase their distance. Then we
fell in, Mr. Ghyrkins and I in front, while the
dejected Kildare rode behind with Mr. John Weston-
haugh. Ghyrkins and I, being heavy men, heavily
mounted, controlled the situation, and before long
Isaacs and Miss Westonhaugh were a couple of hun-
dred yards ahead, and we only caught occasional
glimpses of them through the trees as they wound in
and out along the path.
“What are those youngsters talking about, back
there? Tigers, I’ll be bound,” said Mr. Ghyrkins
to me. Sure enough, they were.
“What do you suppose I found when we got back
this afternoon, Mr. Griggs? Why, this hairbrained
young Kildare has been proposing to my niece — ”
his horse stumbled, but recovered himself in a
moment.
“You don’t mean it,” said I, rather startled.
“Oh no, no, no. I don’t mean that at all. Ha!


106 MR. ISAACS.
ha! haſ very good, very good. No, no. Lord
Steepleton wants us all to go on a tiger-hunt to
amuse John, and he proposes—ha! hal—really too
funny of me—that Miss Westonhaugh should go
with us.”
“I suppose you have no objection, Mr. Ghyrkins?
Ladies constantly go on such expeditions, and they
do not appear to be the least in the way.”
“Objections? Of course I have objections. Do
you suppose I want to drag my niece to a premature
grave? Think of the fever and the rough living and
all, and she only just out from England.”
“She looks as if she could stand anything,” I said,
as just then an open space in the trees gave us a
glimpse of Miss Westonhaugh and Isaacs ambling
along and apparently in earnest conversation. She
certainly looked strong enough to go tiger-hunting
that minute, as she sat erect but half turned to the
off side, listening to what Isaacs seemed to be saying.
“I hope you will not go and tell her so,” said
Ghyrkins. “If she gets an idea that the thing is
possible, there will be no holding her. You don’t
know her. I hardly know her myself. Never saw
her since she was a baby till the other day. Now
you are the sort of person to go after tigers. Why
do you not go off with my nephew and Mr. Isaacs
and Kildare, and kill as many of them as you like?”
“I have no objection, I am sure. I suppose the
Howler could spare me for a fortnight, now that I
have converted the Press Commissioner, your new


MR. ISAACS. 107
deus ea machiná for the obstruction of news. What
a motley party we should be. Let me see —a Bom-
bay Civil Servant, an Irish nobleman, a Persian
millionaire, and a Yankee newspaper man. By
Jovel add to that a famous Revenue Commissioner
and a reigning beauty, and the sextett is complete.”
Mr. Ghyrkins looked pleased at the gross flattery
of himself. I recollected suddenly that, though he
was far from famous as a revenue commissioner, I
had read of some good shooting he had done in his
younger days. Here was a chance.
“Besides, Mr. Ghyrkins, a tiger-hunting party
would not be the thing without some seasoned Nim-
rod to advise and direct us. Who so fitted for the
post as the man of many a chase, the companion of
Maori, the slayer of the twelve foot tiger in the
Nepaul hills in 1861?”
“You have a good memory, Mr. Griggs,” said the
old fellow, perfectly delighted, and now fairly
launched on his favourite topic. “By Gad, sir, if I
thought I should get such another chance I would
go with you to-morrow!”
“Why not? there are lots of big man-eaters
about,” and I incontinently reeled off half a page of
statistics, more or less accurate, about the number
of persons destroyed by snakes and wild beasts in the
last year. “Of course most of those deaths were
from tigers, and it is a really good action to kill a
few. Many people can see tigers but cannot shoot
them, whereas your deeds of death amongst them


108 MR. ISAACS.
are a matter of history. You really ought to be phil-
anthropic, Mr. Ghyrkins, and go with us. We
might stand a chance of seeing some real sport then.”
“Why, really, now that you make me think of it, I
believe I should like it amazingly, and I could leave
my niece with Lady – Lady — Stick-in-the-mud;
what the deuce is her name? The wife of the Chief
Justice, you know. You ought to know, really—I
never remember names much; ” he jerked out his
sentences irately.
“Certainly, Lady Smith-Tompkins, you mean.
Yes, you might do that—that is, if Miss Weston-
haugh has had the measles, and is not afraid of them.
I heard this morning that three of the little Smith-
Tompkinses had them quite badly.”
“You don’t say sol Well, well, we shall find
some one else, no doubt.”
I was certain that at that very moment Isaacs and
Miss Westonhaugh were planning the whole expedi-
tion, and so I returned to the question of sport and
inquired where we should go. This led to consider-
able discussion, and before we arrived at Mr. Ghyr-
kins’ bungalow—still in the same order—it was
very clear that the old sportsman had made up his
mind to kill one more tiger at all events; and that,
rather than forego the enjoyment of the chase, he
would be willing to take his niece with him. As
for the direction of the expedition, that could be
decided in a day or two. It was not the best season
for tigers—the early spring is better—but they are


MR. ISAACS. 109
always to be found in the forests of the Terai, the
country along the base of the hills, north of Oude.
When we reached the house it was quite dark, for
we had ridden slowly. The light from the open
door, falling across the verandah, showed us Miss
Westonhaugh seated in a huge chair, and Isaacs
standing by her side slightly bending, and holding
his hat in his hand. They were still talking, but
as we rode up to the lawn and shouted for the saices,
Isaacs stood up and looked across towards us, and
their voices ceased. It was evident that he had suc-
ceeded in thoroughly interesting her, for I thought—
though it was some distance, and the light on them
was not strong—that as he straightened himself
and stopped speaking, she looked up to his face as
if regretting that he did not go on. I dismounted
with the rest and walked up to bid Miss Weston-
haugh good-night.
“You must come and dine to-morrow night,” said
Mr. Ghyrkins, “and we will arrange all about it.
Sharp seven. To-morrow is Sunday, you know.
Kildare, you must come too, if you mean business.
Seven. We must look sharp and start, if we mean
to come back here before the Viceroy goes.”
“Oh in that case,” said Kildare, turning to me,
*we can settle all about the polo match for Monday,
can’t we?” -
“Of course, very good of you to take the trouble.”
“Not a bit of it. Good-night.” We bowed and
went back to find our horses in the gloom. After


110 MR. ISAACS.
some fumbling, for it was intensely dark after facing
the light in the doorway of the bungalow, we got
into the saddle and turned homeward through the
trees.
“Thank you, Griggs,” said Isaacs. “May your
feet never weary, and your shadow never be less.”
“Don’t mention it, and thanks about the shadow.
Only it is never likely to be less than at the present
moment. How dark it is, to be sure!” I knew well
enough what he was thanking me for. I lit a
cheroot.
“Isaacs,” I said, “you are a pretty cool hand, upon
my word.”
46 Why 7 39
“Why, indeed! Here you and Miss Westonhaugh
have been calmly planning an extensive tiger-hunt,
when you have promised to be in the neighbourhood
of Keitung in three weeks, wherever that may be.
I suppose it is in the opposite direction from here,
for you will not find any tigers nearer than the Terai
at this time of year.”
“I do not see the difficulty,” he answered. “We
can be in Oude in two days from here; shoot tigers
for ten days, and be here again in two days more.
That is just a fortnight. It will not take me a week
to reach Keitung. I am much mistaken if I do not
get there in three days. I shall lay a dék by mes-
sengers before I go to Oude, and between a double
set of coolies and lots of ponies wherever the roads
are good enough, I shall be at the place of meeting
soon enough, never fear.”


MR. I. AACS. 111
*Oh, very well; but I hardly think Ghyrkins will
want to return under three weeks; and—I did not
think you would want to leave the party.” He had
evidently planned the whole three weeks’ business
carefully. I did not continue the conversation. He
was naturally absorbed in the arrangement of his
numerous schemes—no easy matter, when affairs of
magnitude have to be ordered to suit the exigencies
of a grande passion. I shrank from intruding on his
reflections, and I had quite enough to do in keeping
my horse on his feet in the thick darkness. Sud-
denly he reared violently, and then stood still,
quivering in every limb. Isaacs’ horse plunged and
snorted by my side, and cannoned heavily against
me. Then all was quiet. I could see nothing.
Presently a voice, low and musical, broke on the
darkness, and I thought I could distinguish a tall
figure on foot at Isaacs' knee. Whoever the man
was he must be on the other side of my companion,
but I made out a head from which the voice proceeded.
“Peace, Abdul Hafiz!” it said.
“Aleikum Salaam, Ram Lal!” answered Isaacs.
He must have recognised the man by his voice.
“Abdul,” continued the stranger, speaking Per-
sian. “I have business with thee this night; thou
art going home. If it is thy pleasure I will be with
thee in two hours in thy dwelling.”
“Thy pleasure is my pleasure. Be it so.” I
thought the head disappeared.
“Be it so,” the voice echoed, growing faint, as if


112 MR. ISAACS.
moving rapidly away from us. The horses, momen-
tarily startled by the unexpected pedestrian, regained
their equanimity. I confess the incident gave me a
curiously unpleasant sensation. It was so very odd
that a man on foot—a Persian, I judged, by his
accent—should know of my companion's where-
abouts, and that they should recognise each other by
their voices. I recollected that our coming to Mr.
Ghyrkins’ bungalow was wholly unpremeditated,
and I was sure Isaacs had spoken to none but our
party—not even to his saice—since our meeting
with the Westonhaughs on the Annandale road an
hour and a half before.
“I wonder what he wants,” said my friend, appar-
ently soliloquising.
“He seems to know where to find you, at all
events,” I answered. “He must have second sight
to know you had been to Carisbrooke.”
“He has. He is a very singular personage alto-
gether. However, he has done me more than one
service before now, and though I do not comprehend
his method of arriving at conclusions, still less his
mode of locomotion, I am always glad of his advice.”
“But what is he? Is he a Persian?—you called
him by an Indian name, but that may be a disguise—
is he a wise man from Irān’”
“He is a very wise man, but not from Iran. No.
He is a Brahmin by birth, a Buddhist by adopted
religion, and he calls himself an ‘adept' by profes-
sion, I suppose, if he can be said to have any. He


MR. ISAACS. 113
comes and goes unexpectedly, with amazing rapidity.
His visits are brief, but he always seems to be perfectly
conversant with the matter in hand, whatever it be.
He will come to-night and give me about twenty
words of advice, which I may follow or may not, as my
judgment dictates; and before I have answered or
recovered from my surprise, he will have vanished,
apparently into space; for if I ask my servants where
he is gone they will stare at me as if I were crazy,
until I show them that the room is empty, and accuse
them of going to sleep instead of seeing who goes
in and out of my apartment. He speaks more
languages than I do, and better. He once told me
he was educated in Edinburgh, and his perfect
knowledge of European affairs and of European
topics leads me to think he must have been there a
long time. Have you ever looked into the higher
phases of Buddhism? It is a very interesting
study.”
“Yes, I have read something about it. Indeed I
have read a good deal, and have thought more. The
subject is full of interest, as you say. If I had been
an Asiatic by birth, I am sure I should have sought
to attain moksha, even if it required a lifetime to
pass through all the degrees of initiation. There is
something so rational about their theories, disclaim-
ing, as they do, all supernatural power; and, at the
same time, there is something so pure and high in
their conception of life, in their ideas about the
ideal, if you will allow me the expression, that I do
J


114 MR. ISAACS.
not wonder Edwin Arnold has set our American
transcendentalists and Unitarians and freethinkers
speculating about it all, and wondering whether the
East may not have had men as great as Emerson
and Channing among its teachers.” I paused. My
greatest fault is that if any one starts me upon a sub-
ject I know anything about, I immediately become
didactic. So I paused and reflected that Isaacs,
being, as he himself declared, frequently in the
society of an “adept” of a high class, was sure to
know a great deal more than I.
“I too,” he said, “have been greatly struck, and
sometimes almost converted, by the beauty of the
higher Buddhist thoughts. As for their apparently
supernatural powers and what they do with them, I
care nothing about phenomena of that description.
We live in a land where marvels are common enough.
Who has ever explained the mango trick, or the
basket trick, or the man who throws a rope up into
the air and then climbs up it and takes the rope after
him, disappearing into blue space? And yet you
have seen those things—I have seen them, every one
has seen them, - and the performers claim no super-
natural agency or assistance. It is merely a differ-
ence of degree, whether you make a mango grow from
the seed to the tree in half an hour, or whether you
transport yourself ten thousand miles in as many
seconds, passing through walls of brick and stone on
your way, and astonishing some ordinary mortal by
showing that you know all about his affairs. I see


MR. ISAACS. 115
no essential difference between the two “phenomena,”
as the newspapers call them, since Madame Blavatsky
has set them all by the ears in this country. It is
just the difference in the amount of power brought
to bear on the action. That is all. I have seen, in
a workshop in Calcutta, a hammer that would crack
an eggshell without crushing it, or bruise a lump of
iron as big as your head into a flat cake. “Phenom-
ena' may amuse women and children, but the real
beauty of the system lies in the promised attainment
of happiness. Whether that state of supreme freedom
from earthly care gives the fortunate initiate the
power of projecting himself to the antipodes by a
mere act of volition, or of condensing the astral fluid
into articles of daily use, or of stimulating the vital
forces of nature to an abnormal activity, is to me a
matter of supreme indifference. I am tolerably happy
in my own way as things are. I should not be a
whit happier if I were able to go off after dinner and
take a part in American politics for a few hours,
returning to business here to-morrow morning.”
“That is an extreme case,” I said. “No man in
his senses ever connects the idea of happiness with
American politics.”
“Of one thing I am sure, though.” He paused as
if choosing his words. “I am sure of this. If any
unforeseen event, whether an act of folly of my own,
or the hand of Allah, who is wise, should destroy
the peace of mind I have enjoyed for ten years, with
very trifling interruption,--if anything should occur


116 MR. ISAACS.
to make me permanently unhappy, beyond the possi-
bility of ordinary consolation,--I should seek com-
fort in the study of the pure doctrines of the higher
Buddhists. The pursuit of a happiness, so immeasur-
ably beyond all earthly considerations of bodily com-
fort or of physical enjoyment, can surely not be
inconsistent with my religion—or with yours.”
“No indeed,” said I. “But, considering that you
are the strictest of Mohammedans, it seems to me you
are wonderfully liberal. So you have seriously con-
templated the possibility of your becoming one of the
“brethren’—as they style themselves?”
“It never struck me until to-day that anything
might occur by which my life could be permanently
disturbed. Something to-day has whispered to me
that such an existence could not be permanent. I
am sure that it cannot be. The issue must be either
to an infinite happiness or to a still more infinite
misery. I cannot tell which.” His clear, evenly
modulated voice trembled a little. We were in sight
of the lights from the hotel.
“I shall not dine with you to-night, Griggs. I
will have something in my own rooms. Come in as
soon as you have done—that is if you are free.
There is no reason why you should not see Ram Lal
the adept, since we think alike about his religion, or
school, or philosophy—find a name for it while you
are dining.” And we separated for a time.
It had been a long and exciting day to me. I felt
no more inclined than he did for the din and racket


MR. ISAACS. 117
and lights of the public dining-room. So I followed
his example and had something in my own apart-
ment. Then I settled myself to a hookah, resolved
not to take advantage of Isaacs’ invitation until near
the time when he expected Ram Lal. I felt the need
of an hour's solitude to collect my thoughts and to
think over the events of the last twenty-four hours.
I recognised that I was fast becoming very intimate
with Isaacs, and I wanted to think about him and
excogitate the problem of his life; but when I tried
to revolve the situation logically, and deliver to my-
self a verdict, I found myself carried off at a tangent
by the wonderful pictures that passed before my eyes.
I could not detach the events from the individual.
His face was ever before me, whether I thought of
Miss Westonhaugh, or of the wretched old maharajah,
or of Ram Lal the Buddhist. Isaacs was the central
figure in every picture, always in the front, always
calm and beautiful, always controlling the events
around him. Then I entered on a series of trite
reflections to soothe my baffled reason, as a man will
who is used to understanding what goes on before
him and suddenly finds himself at a loss. Of course,
I said to myself, it is no wonder he controls things,
or appears to. The circumstances in which I find
this three days’ acquaintance are emphatically those
of his own making. He has always been a success-
ful man, and he would not raise spirits that he could
not keep well in hand. He knows perfectly well
what he is about in making love to that beautiful


118 MR. ISAACS.
creature, and is no doubt at this moment laughing
in his sleeve at my simplicity in believing that he
was really asking my advice. Pshaw! as if any
advice could influence a man like that! Absurd.
Isipped my coffee in disgust with myself. All
the time, while trying to persuade myself that Isaacs
was only a very successful schemer, neither better
nor worse than other men, I was conscious of the
face that would not be banished from my sight. I
saw the beautiful boyish look in his deep dark eyes,
the gentle curve of the mouth, the grand smooth
architrave of the brows. No —I was a fool! I had
never met a man like him, nor should again. How
could Miss Westonhaugh save herself from loving
such a perfect creature? I thought, too, of his gen-
erosity. He would surely keep his promise and
deliver poor Shere Ali, hunted to death by English
and Afghan foes, from all his troubles. Had he not
the Maharajah of Baithopoor in his power? He
might have exacted the full payment of the debt,
principal and interest, and saved the Afghan chief
into the bargain. But he feared lest the poor
Mohammedans should suffer from the prince's extor-
tion, and he forgave freely the interest, amounting
now to a large sum, and put off the payment of the
bond itself to the maharajah’s convenience. Did
ever an Oriental forgive a debt before even to his own
brother? Not in my experience.
I rose and went down to Isaacs. I found him as
on the previous evening, among his cushions with a


MR. ISAACS. 119
manuscript book. He looked up smiling and motioned
me to be seated, keeping his place on the page with
one finger. He finished the verse before he spoke,
and then laid the book down and leaned back.
“So you have made up your mind that you would
like to see Ram Lal. He will be here in a minute,
unless he changes his mind and does not come after
all.”
There was a sound of voices outside. Some one
asked if Isaacs were in, and the servant answered.
A tall figure in a gray caftain and a plain white tur-
ban stood in the door.
“I never change my mind,” said the stranger, in
excellent English, though with an accent peculiar
to the Hindoo tongue when struggling with European
languages. His voice was musical and high in pitch,
though soft and sweet in tone. The quality of voice
that can be heard at a great distance, with no appar-
ent effort to the speaker. “I never change my mind.
I am here. Is it well with you?”
“It is well, Ram Lal. I thank you. Be seated,
if you will stay with us a while. This is my friend
Mr. Griggs, of whom you probably know. He thinks
as I do on many points, and I was anxious that you
should meet.”
While Isaacs was speaking, Ram Lal advanced
into the room and stood a moment under the soft
light, a gray figure, very tall, but not otherwise
remarkable. He was all gray. The long caftain
wrapped round him, the turban which I had first


120 MR. ISAACS.
thought white, the skin of his face, the pointed beard
and long moustache, the heavy eyebrows—a study
of grays against the barbaric splendour of the richly
hung wall—a soft outline on which the yellow
light dwelt lovingly, as if weary of being cast back
and reflected from the glory of gold and the thousand
facets of the priceless gems. Ram Lal looked toward
me, and as I gazed into his eyes I saw that they too
were gray—a very singular thing in the East—and
that they were very far apart, giving his face a look
of great dignity and fearless frankness. To judge
by his features he seemed to be verythin, and his
high shoulders were angular, though the long loose
garment concealed the rest of his frame from view.
I had plenty of time to note these details, for he
stood a full minute in the middle of the room, as if
deciding whether to remain or to go. Then he moved
quietly to a divan and sat down cross-legged.
“Abdul, you have done a good deed to-day, and
I trust you will not change your mind before you
have carried out your present intentions.”
“I never change my mind, Ram Lal,” said Isaacs,
smiling as he quoted his visitor's own words. I was
startled at first. What good deed was the Buddhist
referring to if not to the intended liberation of Shere
Ali’ How could he know of it? Then I reflected
that this man was, according to Isaacs’ declaration,
an adept of the higher grades, a seer and a knower of
men's hearts. I resolved not to be astonished at any-
thing that occurred, only marvelling that it should


MR. ISAACS. 121
have pleased this extraordinary man to make his
entrance like an ordinary mortal, instead of through
the floor or the ceiling.
“Pardon me,” answered Ram Lal, “if I venture to
contradict you. You do change your mind some-
times. Who was it who lately scoffed at women,
their immortality, their virtue, and their intellect?
Will you tell me now, friend Abdul, that you have
not changed your mind? Do you think of anything,
sleeping or waking, but the one woman for whom
you have changed your mind? Is not her picture
ever before you, and the breath of her beauty upon
your soul? Have you not met her in the spirit as
well as in the flesh? Surely we shall hear no more
of your doubts about women for some time to come.
I congratulate you, as far as that goes, on your con-
version. You have made a step towards a higher
understanding of the world you live in.”
Isaacs did not seem in the least surprised at his
visitor's intimate acquaintance with his affairs. He
bowed his head in silence, acquiescing to what Ram
Lal had said, and waited for him to proceed.
“I have come,” continued the Buddhist, “to give
you some good advice—the best I have for you. You
will probably not take it, for you are the most self-
reliant man I know, though you have changed a little
since you have been in love, witness your sudden
intimacy with Mr. Griggs.” He looked at me, and
there was a faint approach to a smile in his gray
eyes. “My advice to you is, do not let this pro-
6 - Vol. I


122 MR. ISAACS.
jected tiger-hunt take place if you can prevent it.
No good can come of it, and harm may. Now I have
spoken because my mind would not be at rest if I
did not warn you. Of course you will do as you
please, only never forget that I pointed out to you
the right course in time.”
“Thank you, Ram Lal, for your friendly concern
in my behalf. I do not think I shall act as you sug-
gest, but I am nevertheless grateful to you. There
is one thing I want to ask you, and consult you
about, however.”
“My friend, what is the use of my giving you
advice that you will not follow? If I lived with
you, and were your constant companion, you would
ask me to advise you twenty times a day, and then
you would go and do the diametric opposite of what
I suggested. If I did not see in you something that
I see in few other men, I would not be here. There
are plenty of fools who have wit enough to take
counsel of a wise man. There are few men of wit
wise enough to be guided by their betters, as if they
were only fools for the time. Yet because you are
so wayward I will help you once or twice more, and
then I will leave you to your own course—which
you, in your blindness, will call your kismet, not
seeing that your fate is continually in your own
hands—more so at this moment than ever before.
Ask, and I will answer.”
“Thanks, Ram Lal. It is this I would know.
You are aware that I have undertaken a novel kind of
a-


124 MR. ISAACS.
go together and do the business. But if I am to
help you I will not promise not to perform some
miracles, as you call them, though you know very
well they are no such thing. Meanwhile, do as you
please about the tiger-hunt; I shall say no more
about it.” He paused, and then, withdrawing one
delicate hand from the folds of his caftain, he pointed
to the wall behind Isaacs and me, and said, “What
a very singular piece of workmanship is that yata-
ghan l’”
We both naturally turned half round to look at
the weapon he spoke of, which was the central piece
in a trophy of jewelled sabres and Afghan knives.
“Yes,” said Isaacs, turning back to answer his
guest, “it is a ” He stopped, and I, who had
not seen the weapon before, lost among so many, and
was admiring its singular beauty, turned too; to
my astonishment I saw that Isaacs was gazing into
empty space. The divan where Ram Lal had been
sitting an instant before, was vacant. He was gone.
“That is rather sudden,” I said.
“More so than usual,” was the reply. “Did you
see him go? Did he go out by the door?”
“Not I,” I answered, “when I looked round at the
wall he was placidly sitting on that divan pointing
with one hand at the yataghan. Does he generally
go so quickly?”
“Yes, more or less. Now I will show you some
pretty sport.” He rose to his feet and went to the
door. “Narain!” he cried. Narain, the bearer,


126 MR. ISAACS.
“Han, sahib, han!” cried Narain, seizing at the
idea that the pundit had disappeared mysteriously
through the walls. “Yes, sahib, the pundit is a
great yogi, and has made the winds carry him off.”
The fellow thought this was a bright idea, not by
any means beneath consideration. Isaacs appeared
somewhat pacified.
“What makes you think he is a yogi, dog?” he
inquired in a milder tone. Narain had no answer
ready, but stood looking rather stupidly through the
door at the room whence the unearthly visitor had so
suddenly disappeared. “Well,” continued Isaacs,
“you are more nearly right than you imagine. The
pundit is a bigger yogi than any your idiotic religion
can produce. Never mind, there is an eight anna
bit for you, because I said you were asleep when you
were not.” Narain bent to the ground in thanks, as
his master turned on his heel. “Not that he minds
being told that he is a pig, in the least,” said
Isaacs. “I would not call a Mussulman so, but you
can insult these Hindoos so much worse in other
ways that I think the porcine simile is quite merci-
ful by comparison.” He sat down again among the
cushions, and putting off his slippers, curled him-
self comfortably together for a chat.
“What do you think of Ram Lal?” he asked,
when Narain had brought hookahs and sherbet.
“My dear fellow, I have hardly made up my mind
what to think. I have not altogether recovered from
my astonishment. I confess that there was nothing


MR. ISAACS. 127
startling about his manner or his person. He be-
haved and talked like a well educated native, in utter
contrast to the amazing things he said, and to his
unprecedented mode of leave-taking. It would have
seemed more natural — I would say, more fitting—
if he had appeared in the classic dress of an astrolo-
ger, surrounded with zodiacs, and blue lights, and
black cats. Why do you suppose he wants you to
abandon the tiger-hunt?”
“I cannot tell. Perhaps he thinks something may
happen to me to prevent my keeping the other
engagement. Perhaps he does not approve ” he
stopped, as if not wanting to approach the subject of
Ram Lal's disapprobation. “I intend, nevertheless,
that the expedition come off, and I mean, moreover,
to have a very good time, and to kill a tiger if I see
one.”
“I thought he seemed immensely pleased at your
conversion, as he calls it. He said that your newly
acquired belief in woman was a step towards a better
understanding of life.”
“Of the world, he said,” answered Isaacs, correct-
ing me. “There is a great difference between the
“world’ and ‘life.” The one is a finite, the other an
infinite expression. I believe, from what I have
learned of Ram Lal, that the ultimate object of the
adepts is happiness, only to be attained by wisdom,
and I apprehend that by wisdom they mean a knowl-
edge of the world in the broadest sense of the word.
The world to them is a great repository of facts,


128 MR. ISAACS.
physical and social, of which they propose to acquire
a specific knowledge by transcendental methods. If
that seems to you a contradiction of terms, I will try
and express myself better. If you understand me, I
am satisfied. Of course I use transcendental in the
sense in which it is applied by Western mathemati-
cians to a mode of reasoning which I very imper-
fectly comprehend, save that it consists in reaching
finite results by an adroit use of the infinite.”
“Not a bad definition of transcendental analysis
for a man who professes to know nothing about it,”
said I. “I would not accuse you of a contradiction
of terms, either. I have often thought that what
some people call the ‘philosophy of the nineteenth
century,’ is nothing after all but the unconscious
application of transcendental analysis to the everyday
affairs of life. Consider the theories of Darwin, for
instance. What are they but an elaborate applica-
tion of the higher calculus? He differentiates men
into protoplasms, and integrates protoplasms into
monkeys, and shows the caudal appendage to be the
independent variable, a small factor in man, a large
factor in monkey. And has not the idea of successive
development supplanted the early conception of spon-
taneous perfection? Take an illustration from India
—the new system of competition, which the natives
can never understand. Formerly the members of
the Civil Service received their warrants by divine
authority, so to speak. They were born perfect, as
Aphrodite from the foam of the sea; they sprang


MR. ISAACS. 129
armed and ready from the head of old John Com-
pany as Pallas Athene from the head of Zeus. Now
all that is changed; they are selected from a great
herd of candidates by methods of extreme exactness,
and when they are chosen they represent the final
result of infinite probabilities for and against their
election. They are all exactly alike; they are a
formula for taxation and the administration of jus-
tice, and so long as you do not attempt to use the
formula for any other purpose, such, for instance,
as political negotiation or the censorship of the
public press, the equation will probably be amenable
to solution.”
“As I told you,” said Isaacs, “I know nothing,
or next to nothing, of Western mathematics, but I
have a general idea of the comparison you make. In
Asia and in Asiatic minds, there prevails an idea
that knowledge can be assimilated once and for all.
That if you can obtain it, you immediately possess
the knowledge of everything—the pass-key that
shall unlock every door. That is the reason of the
prolonged fasting and solitary meditation of the
ascetics. They believe that by attenuating the bond
between soul and body, the soul can be liberated and
can temporarily identify itself with other objects,
animate and inanimate, besides the especial body to
which it belongs, acquiring thus a direct knowledge
of those objects, and they believe that this direct
knowledge remains. Western philosophers argue
that the only acquaintance a man can have with
K


180 MR. ISAACS.
bodies external to his mind is that which he acquires
by the medium of his bodily senses — though these
are themselves external to his mind, in the truest
sense. The senses not being absolutely reliable,
knowledge acquired by means of them is not abso-
lutely reliable either. So the ultimate difference
between the Asiatic saint and the European man of
science is, that while the former believes all knowl-
edge to be directly within the grasp of the soul,
under certain conditions, the latter, on the other
hand, denies that any knowledge can be absolute,
being all obtained indirectly through a medium not
absolutely reliable. The reasoning, by which the
Western mind allows itself to act fearlessly on infor-
mation which is not (according to its own verdict)
necessarily accurate, depends on a clever use of the
infinite in unconsciously calculating the probabilities
of that accuracy — and this entirely falls in with
what you said about the application of transcendental
analysis to the affairs of everyday life.” -
“I see you have entirely comprehended me,” I said.
“But as for the Asiatic mind—you seem to deny to
it the use of the calculus of thought, and yet you
defined adepts as attempting to acquire specific
knowledge by general and transcendental methods.
Here is a real contradiction.”
“No; I see no confusion, for I do not include the
higher adepts in either class, since they have the
wisdom to make use of the learning and of the
methods of both. They seem to me to be endeavour-


182 MR. ISAACS.
lacks any intellectual basis: he regards knowledge
as something instantaneously attainable when it
comes at last; he believes he will have a vision, and
that everything will be revealed to him. His devo-
tion to his object is admirable, when he is a genuine
ascetic and not, as is generally the case, a good-for-
nothing who makes his piety pay for his subsistence;
but it is devotion of a very low intellectual order.
The true adept thinks the training of the mind in
intellectual pursuits no less necessary than the mod-
erate and reasonable mortification of the flesh, and
higher Buddhism pays as much attention to the one
as to the other.”
“Excuse me,” said I, “if I make a digression. I
think there are two classes of minds commonly to be
found among thinkers all over the world. The one
seek to attain to knowledge, the others strive to
acquire it. There is a class of commonplace intellects
who regard knowledge of all kinds in the light of a
ladder, one ladder for each science, and the rungs of
the ladders are the successive facts mastered by an
effort and remembered in the order they have been
passed. These persons think it is possible to attain to
high eminence on one particular ladder, that is, in
one particular science, without having been up any
of the other ladders, that is, without a knowledge of
other branches of science. This is the mind of the
plodder, the patient man who climbs, step by step,
in his own unvarying round of thought; not seeing
that it is but the wheel of a treadmill over which he


MR. ISAACS. 133
is labouring, and that though every step may pass,
and repass, beneath his toiling feet, he can never
obtain a birdseye view of what he is doing, because
his eyes are continually fixed on the step in front.”
“But,” I continued, as Isaacs assented to my
simile by a nod, “there is another class of minds also.
There are persons who regard the whole imaginable
and unimaginable knowledge of mankind, past, pres-
sent, and future, as a boundless plain over which
they hang suspended and can look down. Immedi-
ately beneath them there is a map spread out which
represents, in the midst of the immense desert, the
things they themselves know. It is a puzzle map,
like those they make for children, where each piece
fits into its appointed place, and will fit nowhere
else; every piece of knowledge acquired fits into the
space allotted to it, and when there is a piece, that
is, a fact, wanting, it is still possible to define its
extent and shape by the surrounding portions, though
all the details of colour and design are lacking.
These are the people who regard knowledge as a
whole, harmonious, when every science and fragment
of a science has its appointed station and is necessary
to completeness of perfect knowledge. I hope I have
made clear to you what I mean, though I am conscious
of only sketching the outlines of a distinction which
I believe to be fundamental.”
“Of course it is fundamental. Broadly, it is the
difference between analytic and synthetic thought;
between the subjective and the objective views;


134 MR. ISAACS.
between the finite conception of a limited world and
the infinite ideal of perfect wisdom. I understand
you perfectly.”
“You puzzle me continually, Isaacs. Where did
you learn to talk about “analytic' and ‘synthetic,”
and ‘subjective’ and “objective,” and transcendental
analysis, and so forth?” It seemed so consistent
with his mind that he should understand the use of
philosophical terms, that I had not realised how odd
it was that a man of his purely Oriental education
should know anything about the subject. His very
broad application of the words “analytic' and ‘syn-
thetic’ to my pair of illustrations attracted my atten-
tion and prompted the question I had asked.
“I read a good deal,” he said simply. Then he
added in a reflective tone, “I rather think I have a
philosophical mind. The old man who taught me
theology in Istamboul when I was a boy used to talk
philosophy to me by the hour, though I do not believe
he knew much about it. He was a plodder, and
went up ladders in search of information, like the
man you describe. But he was very patient and good
to me; the peace of Allah be with him.”
It was late, and soon afterwards we parted for the
night. The next day was Sunday, and I had a heap
of unanswered letters to attend to, so we agreed to
meet after tiffin and ride together before dining with
Mr. Ghyrkins and the Westonhaughs.
I went to my room and sat a while over a volume
of Kant, which I always travel with—a sort of phi-


136 MR. ISAACS.
CHAPTER VII.
THE Sabbatarian tendency of the English mind at
home and abroad is proverbial, and if they are well-
behaved on Sunday in London they are models of
virtue in Simla on the same day. Whether they
labour and are well-fed and gouty in their island
home, or suffer themselves to be boiled for gain in the
tropical kettles of Ceylon and Singapore; whether
they risk their lives in hunting for the north pole or
the northwest passage, or endanger their safety in the
pursuit of tigers in the Terai, they will have their
Sunday, come rain, come shine. On the deck of the
steamer in the Red Sea, in the cabin of the inbound
Arctic explorer, in the crowded Swiss hotel, or the
straggling Indian hill station, there is always a par-
son of some description, in a surplice of no descrip-
tion at all, who produces a Bible and a couple of
well-thumbed sermons from the recesses of his trunk
or his lunch basket, or his gun-case, and goes at the
work of weekly redemption with a will. And, what
is more, he is listened to, and for the time being —
though on week days he is styled a bore by the old
and a prig by the young — he becomes temporarily
invested with a dignity not his own, with an authority


MR. ISAACS. 137
he could not claim on any other day. It is the dig-
nity of a people who with all their faults have the
courage of their opinions, and it is the authority that
they have been taught from their childhood to rever-
ence, whenever their traditions give it the right to
assert itself. Not otherwise. It is a fine trait of
national character, though it is one which has brought
upon the English much unmerited ridicule. One
may differ from them in faith and in one's estimate
of the real value of these services, which are often
only saved from being irreverent in their perform-
ance by the perfect sincerity of parson and congrega-
tion. But no one who dispassionately judges them
can deny that the custom inspires respect for English
consistency and admiration for their supreme con-
tempt of surroundings.
I presume that the periodical manifestations of
religious belief to which I refer are intimately and
indissolubly connected with the staid and funereal
solemnity which marks an Englishman’s dress, con-
versation, and conduct on Sunday. He is a differ-
ent being for the nonce, and must sustain the entire
character of his dual existence, or it will fall to the
ground and forsake him altogether. He cannot take
his religion in the morning and enjoy himself the
rest of the day. He must abstain from everything
that could remind him that he has a mind at all,
besides a soul. No amusement will he tolerate, no
reading of even the most harmless fiction can he
suffer, while he is in the weekly devotional trance.


138 MR. ISAACS.
I cannot explain these things; they are race ques-
tions, problems for the ethnologist. Certain it is,
however, that the partial decay of strict Sabbatari-
anism which seems to have set in during the last
quarter of a century has not been attended by any
notable development of power in English thought of
that class. The first Republic tried the experiment
of the decimal week, and it was a failure. The
English who attempt to put off even a little of the
quaint armour of righteousness, which they have
been accustomed to buckle on every seventh day for
so many generations, are not so successful in the
attempt as to attract many to follow them. They
are not graceful in their holiday gambols.
Meditating somewhat on this wise I lay in my long
chair by the open door that Sunday morning in Sep-
tember. It was a little warmer again and the sun
shone pleasantly across the lawn on the great branches
and bright leaves of the rhododendron. The house
was very quiet. All the inmates were gone to the
church on the mall, and the servants were basking in
the last few days of warmth they would enjoy before
their masters returned to the plains. The Hindoo
servant hates the cold. He fears it as he fears co-
bras, fever, and freemasons. His ideal life is noth-
ing to do, nothing to wear, and plenty to eat, with the
thermometer at 135 degrees in the verandah and 110
inside. Then he is happy. His body swells with
much good rice and dal, and his heart with pride;
he will wear as little as you will let him, and


MR. ISAACS. 139
whether you will let him or not, he will do less work
in a given time than any living description of ser-
vant. So they basked in rows in the sunshine, and
did not even quarrel or tell yarns among themselves;
it was quiet and warm and sleepy. I dozed lazily,
dropped my book in my lap, struggled once, and then
fairly fell asleep.
I was roused by Kiramat Ali pulling at my foot,
as natives will when they are afraid of the conse-
quences of waking their master. When I opened my
eyes he presented a card on a salver, and explained
that the gentleman wanted to see me. I looked, and
was rather surprised to see it was Kildare's card.
“Lord Steepleton Kildare, 33d Lancers ”—there was
no word in pencil, or any message. I told Kiramat
to show the sahib in, wondering why he should call
on me. By Indian etiquette, if there was to be any
calling, it was my duty to make the first visit.
Before I had time to think more I heard the clank-
ing of spurs and sabre on the verandah, and the
young man walked in, clad in the full uniform of
his regiment. I rose to greet him, and was struck by
his soldierly bearing and straight figure, as I had
been at our first meeting. He took off his bearskin
—for he was in the fullest of full dress — and sat
down.
“I am so glad to find you at home,” he said: “I
feared you might have gone to church, like every-
body else in this place.”
“No. I went early this morning. I belong to e


142 MR. ISAACS.
“Perfectly,” I answered. “We will drag him
forth into the arena before three days are past.” We
shook hands, and he went out.
I was glad he had come, though I had been waked
from a pleasant nap to receive him. He was so per-
fectly gay, and natural, and healthy, that one could
not help liking him. You felt at once that he was
honest and would do the right thing in spite of any
one, according to his light; that he would stand by
a friend in danger, and face any odds in fight, with
as much honest determination to play fair and win,
as he would bring to a cricket match or a steeple-
chase. His Irish blood gave him a somewhat less
formal manner than belongs to the Englishman;
more enthusiasm and less regard for “form,” while
his good heart and natural courtesy would lead him
right in the long-run. He seemed all sunshine,
with his bright blue eyes and great fair moustache
and brown face; the closely fitting uniform showed
off his erect figure and elastic gait, and the whole
impression was fresh and exhilarating in the extreme.
I was sorry he had gone. I would have liked to talk
with him about boating and fishing and shooting;
about athletics and horses and tandem-driving, and
many things I used to like years ago at college,
before I began my wandering life. I watched him as
he swung himself into the military saddle, and he
threw up his hand in a parting salute as he rode
away. Poor fellow! was he, too, going to be food
for powder and Afghan knives in the avenging army


MR. ISAACS. 143
on its way to Kabul? I went back to my books and
remained reading until the afternoon sun slanted in
through the open door, and falling across my book
warned me it was time to keep my appointment with
Isaacs.
As we passed the church the people were coming
out from the evening service, and I saw Kildare,
once more in the garb of a civilian, standing near
the door, apparently watching for some one to
appear. I knew that, with his strict observance of
Catholic rules—often depending more on pride of
family than on religious conviction, in the house of
Kildare — he would not have entered the English
Church at such a time, and I was sure he was lying
in wait for Miss Westonhaugh, probably intending
to surprise her and join her on hor homeward ride.
The road winds down below the Church, so that for
some minutes after passing the building you may get
a glimpse of the mall above and of the people upon
it—or at least of their heads — if they are moving
near the edge of the path. I was unaccountably
curious this evening, and I dropped a little behind
Isaacs, craning my neck and turning back in the
saddle as I watched the stream of heads and shoulders,
strongly foreshortened against the blue sky above,
moving ceaselessly along the parapet over my head.
Before long I was rewarded; Miss Westonhaugh's
fair hair and broad hat entered the field of my vision,
and a moment later Lord Steepleton, who must have
pushed through the crowd from the other side,


144 MR. ISAACS.
appeared struggling after her. She turned quickly,
and I saw no more, but I did not think she had
changed colour.
I began to be deeply interested in ascertaining
whether she had any preference for one or the other
of the two young men. Kildare's visit in the morn-
ing—though he had said very little—had given me
a new impression of the man, and I felt that he was
no contemptible rival. I saw from the little inci-
dent I had just witnessed that he neglected no oppor-
tunity of being with Miss Westonhaugh, and that he
had the patience to wait and the boldness to find her
in a crowd. I had seen very little of her myself;
but I had been amply satisfied that Isaacs was capa-
ble of interesting her in a tête-d-tête conversation.
“The talker has the best chance, if he is bold enough,”
I said to myself; but I was not satisfied, and I
resolved that if I could manage it Isaacs should have
another chance that very evening after the dinner.
Meanwhile I would involve Isaacs in a conversation
on some one of those subjects that seemed to interest
him most. He had not seen the couple on the mall,
and was carelessly ambling along with his head in
the air and one hand in the pocket of his short coat,
the picture of unconcern.
I was trying to make up my mind whether I would
open fire upon the immortality of the soul, matri-
mony, or the differential calculus, when, as we
passed from the narrow street into the road leading
round Jako, Isaacs spoke.


MR. ISAACS. 145
“Look here, Griggs,” said he, “there is something
I want to impress upon your mind.”
“Well, what is it?”
“It is all very well for Ram Lal to give advice
about things he understands. I have a very sincere
regard for him, but I do not believe he was ever in
my position. I have set my heart on this tiger-hunt.
Miss Westonhaugh said the other day that she had
never seen a tiger, and I then and there made up my
mind that she should.”
I laughed. There seemed to be no essential differ-
ence of opinion between the Irishman and the Per-
sian in regard to the pleasures of the chase. Miss
Westonhaugh was evidently anxious to see tigers,
and meant to do it, since she had expressed her wish
to the two men most likely to procure her that inno-
cent recreation. Lord Steepleton Kildare by his
position, and Isaacs by his wealth, could, if they
chose, get up such a tiger-hunt for her benefit as had
never been seen. I thought she might have waited
till the spring—but I had learned that she in-
tended to return to England in April, and was to
spend the early months of the year with her brother
in Bombay.
“You want to see Miss Westonhaugh, and Miss
Westonhaugh wants to see tigers! My dear fellow,
go in and win; I will back you.”
“Why do you laugh, Griggs?” asked Isaacs, who
saw nothing particularly amusing in what he had said.
“Oh, I laughed because another young gentleman
2 Vol. I


146 MR. ISAACS.
expressed the same opinions to me, in identically the
same words, this morning.”
“Mr. Westonhaugh?”
“No. You know very well that Mr. Westonhaugh
cares nothing about it, one way or the other. The
little plan for ‘amusing brother John' is a hoax.
The thing cannot be done. You might as well try
to amuse an undertaker as to make a man from Bom-
bay laugh. The hollowness of life is ever upon
them. No. It was Kildare; he called and said that
Miss Westonhaugh had never seen a tiger, and he
seemed anxious to impress upon me his determina-
tion that she should. Pshaw! what does Kildare
care about brother John?”
“Brother John, as you call him, is a better fellow
than he looks. I owe a great deal to brother John.”
Isaacs’ olive skin flushed a little, and he emphasised
the epithet by which I had designated Mr. John
Westonhaugh as if he were offended by it.
“I mean nothing against Mr. Westonhaugh,” said
I half apologetically. “I remember when you met
yesterday afternoon you said you had seen him in
Bombay a long time ago.”
“Do you remember the story I told you of myself
the other night?”
“Perfectly.”
“Westonhaugh was the young civil servant who
paid my fine and gave me a rupee, when I was a
ragged sailor from a Mocha craft, and could not
speak a word of English. To that rupee I ultimately


MB. ISAACS. 147
owe my entire fortune. I never forget a face, and
I am sure it is he – do you understand me now? I
owe to his kindness everything I possess in the
world.”
“The unpardonable sin is ingratitude,” I answered,
“of which you will certainly not be accused. That
is a very curious coincidence.”
“I think it is something more. A man has always
at least one opportunity of repaying a debt, and,
besm Illah! I will repay what I can of it. By the
beard of the apostle, whose name is blessed, I am
not ungrateful!” Isaacs was excited as he said this.
He was no longer the calm Mr. Isaacs; he was Abdul
Hafiz the Persian, fiery and enthusiastic.
“You say well, my friend,” he continued earnestly,
“that the unpardonable sin is ingratitude. Doubt-
less, had the blessed prophet of Allah lived in our
day, he would have spoken of the doom that hangs
over the ungrateful. It is the curse of this age; for
he who forgets or refuses to remember the kindness
done to him by others sets himself apart, and wor-
ships his miserable self; and he makes an idol of
himself, saying, “I am of more importance than my
fellows in the world, and it is meet and right that
they should give and that I should receive.” Ingrat-
itude is selfishness, and selfishness is the worship of
oneself, the setting of oneself higher than man and
goodness and God. And when man perishes and the
angel Al Sijil, the recorder, rolls up his scroll, what
is written therein is written; and Israfil shall call


148 MR. ISAACS.
men to judgment, and the scrolls shall be unfolded,
and he that has taken of others and not given in
return, but has ungratefully forgotten and put away
the remembrance of the kindness received, shall be
counted among the unbelievers and the extortioners
and the unjust, and shall broil in raging flames.
By the hairs of the prophet’s beard, whose name is
blessed.”
I had not seen Isaacs so thoroughly roused before
upon any subject. The flush had left his face and
given place to a perfect paleness, and his eyes shone
like coals of fire as he looked upward in pronouncing
the last words. I said to myself that there was a
strong element of religious exaltation in all Asiatics,
and put his excitement down to this cause. His
religion was a very beautiful and real thing to him,
ever present in his life, and I mused on the future of
the man, with his great endowments, his exquisite
sensitiveness, and his high view of his obligations to
his fellows. I am not a worshipper of heroes, but
I felt that, for the first time in my life, I was inti-
mate with a man who was ready to stand in the
breach and to die for what he thought and believed
to be right. After a pause of some minutes, during
which we had ridden beyond the last straggling
bungalows of the town, he spoke again, quietly, his
temporary excitement having subsided.
“I feel very strongly about these things,” he said,
and then stopped short.
“I can see you do, and I honour you for it. I


MR. ISAACS. 149
think you are the first grateful person I have ever
met; a rare and unique bird in the earth.”
“Do not say that.”
“I do say it. There is very little of the philosophy
of the nineteenth century about you, Isaacs. Your
belief in the obligations of gratitude and in the gen-
eral capacity of the human race for redemption,
savours little of “transcendental analysis.’”
“You have too much of it,” he answered seriously.
“I do not think you see how much your cynicism
involves. You would very likely, if you are the
man I take you for, be very much offended if I
accused you of not believing any particular dogma
of your religion. And yet, with all your faith, you
do not believe in God.”
“I cannot see how you get at that conclusion,” I
replied. “I must deny your hypothesis, at the risk
of engaging you in an argument.” I could not see
what he was driving at. -
“How can you believe in God, and yet condemn
the noblest of His works as altogether bad? You are
not consistent.”
“What makes you think I am so cynical?” I
inquired, harking back to gain time.
“A little cloud, a little sultriness in the air, is all
that betrays the coming khemsin, that by and by shall
overwhelm and destroy man and beast in its sandy
darkness. You have made one or two remarks lately
that show little faith in human nature, and if you do
not believe in human nature what is there left for


150 MR. ISAACS.
you to believe in? You said a moment ago that I
was the first grateful person you had ever met. Then
the rest of humanity are all selfish, and worshippers
of themselves, and altogether vile, since you your-
self say, as I do, that ingratitude is the unpardon-
able sin; and God has made a world full of unpar-
donable sinners, and unless you include yourself in
the exception you graciously make in my favour, no
one but I shall be saved. And yet you say also with
me that God is good. Do you deny that you are
utterly inconsistent?”
“I may make you some concession in a few minutes,
but I am not going to yield to such logic. You have
committed the fallacy of the undistributed middle
term, if you care to know the proper name for it. I
did not say that all men, saving you, were ungrateful.
I said that, saving you, the persons I have met in
my life have been ungrateful. You ought to distin-
guish.”
“All I can say is, then, that you have had a very
unfortunate experience of life,” retorted Isaacs
warmly.
“I have,” said I, “but since you yield the techni-
cal point of logic, I will confess that I made the
assertion hastily and overshot the mark. I do not
remember, however, to have met any one who felt
so strongly on the point as you do.”
“Now you speak like a rational being,” said Isaacs,
quite pacified. “Extraordinary feelings are the re-
sult of unusual circumstances. I was in such dis-


MR. ISAACS. 151
tress as rarely falls to the lot of an innocent man of
fine temperament and good abilities. I am now in
a position of such wealth and prosperity as still more
seldom are given to a man of my age and antecedents.
I remember that I obtained the first step on my road
to fortune through the kindness of John Weston-
haugh, though I could never learn his name, and I
met him at last, as you saw, by an accident. I call
that accident a favour, and an opportunity bestowed
on me by Allah, and the meeting has roused in me
those feelings of thankfulness which, for want of an
object upon which to show them, have been put away
out of sight as a thing sacred for many years. I am
willing you should say that, were my present fortune
less, my gratitude would be proportionately less felt
—it is very likely — though the original gift remain
the same, one rupee and no more. You are entitled
to think of any man as grateful in proportion to the
gift, so long as you allow the gratitude at all.” He
made this speech in a perfectly natural and uncon-
cerned way, as if he were contemplating the case of
another person.
“Seriously, Isaacs, I would not do so for the world.
I believe you were as grateful twelve years ago, when
you were poor, as you are now that you are rich.”
Isaacs was silent, but a look of great gentleness
crossed his face. There was at times something
almost angelic in the perfect kindness of his eyes.
“To return,” I said at last, “to the subject from
which we started, the tigers. If we are really going,


152 MR. ISAACS.
we must leave here the day after to-morrow morning
—indeed, why not to-morrow?”
“No; to-morrow we are to play that game of polo,
which I am looking forward to with pleasure. Be-
sides, it will take the men three days to get the
elephants together, and I only telegraphed this morn-
ing to the collector of the district to make the
arrangements.” -
“So you have already taken steps? Does Kildare
know you have sent orders?”
“Certainly. He came to me this morning at day-
break, and we determined to arrange everything and
take uncle Ghyrkins for granted. You need not
look astonished; Kildare and I are allies, and very
good friends.” What a true Oriental! How wise
and far-sighted was the Persian, how bold and reck-
less the Irishman' It was odd, I thought, that Kil-
dare had not mentioned the interview with Isaacs.
Yet there was a certain rough delicacy — contra-
dictory and impulsive — in his silence about this
coalition with his rival. We rode along and dis-
cussed the plans for the expedition. All the men
in the party, except Lord Steepleton, who had not
been long in India, had killed tigers before. There
would be enough of us, without asking any one
else to join. The collector to whom Isaacs had tele-
graphed was an old acquaintance of his, and would
probably go out for a few days with us. It all
seemed easy enough and plain sailing. In the
course of time we returned to our hotel, dressed,


MR. ISAACS. 153
and made our way through the winding roads to
Mr. Currie Ghyrkins’ bungalow.
We were met on the verandah by the old commis-
sioner, who welcomed us warmly and praised our
punctuality, for the clock was striking seven in the
drawing-room, as we divested ourselves of our light
top-coats. In the vestibule, Miss Westonhaugh and
her brother came forward to greet us.
“John,” said the young lady, “you know I told
you there was some one here whom you got out of
trouble ever so many years ago in Bombay. Here he
is. This is a new introduction. Mr. John Weston-
haugh, Mr. Abdul Hafiz-ben-Isák, commonly known
to his friends as Mr. Isaacs.” Her face beamed with
pleasure, and I thought with pride, as she led her
brother to Isaacs, and her eyes rested long on the
Persian with a look that, to me, argued something
more than a mere interest. The two men clasped
hands and stood for some seconds looking at each
other in silence, but with very different expressions.
Westonhaugh wore a look of utter amazement, though
he certainly seemed pleased. The good heart that
had prompted the good action twelve years before was
still in the right place, above any petty considera-
tions about nationality. His astonishment gradually
changed to a smile of real greeting and pleasure,
as he began to shake the hand he still held. I
thought that even the faintest tinge of blood coloured
his pale cheek.
“God bless my soul,” said he, “I remember you


154 MR. ISAACS.
perfectly well now. But it is so unexpected; my
sister reminded me of the story, which I had not for-
gotten, and now I look at you I remember you per-
fectly. I am so glad.”
As Isaacs answered, his voice trembled, and his
face was very pale. There was a moisture in the
brilliant eyes that told of genuine emotion.
“Mr. Westonhaugh, I consider that I owe to you
everything I have in the world. This is a greater
pleasure than I thought was in store for me. Indeed
I thank you again.”
His voice would not serve him. He stopped short
and turned away to look for something in his coat.
“Indeed,” said Westonhaugh, “it was a very little
thing I did for you.” And presently the two men
went together into the drawing-room, Westonhaugh
asking all manner of questions, which Isaacs, who
was himself again, began to answer. The rest of us
remained in the vestibule to meet Lord Steepleton,
who at that moment came up the steps. There were
more greetings, and then the head khitmatgar appeared
and informed the “Sahib log, protectors of the poor,
that their meat was ready.” So we filed into the
dining-room.
Isaacs was placed at Miss Westonhaugh's right,
and her brother sat on his other side. Ghyrkins was
opposite his niece at the other end, and Kildare and
I were together, facing Westonhaugh and Isaacs, a
party of six. Of course Kildare sat beside the lady.
The dinner opened very pleasantly. I could see


MR. ISAACS. 155
that Isaacs’ undisguised gratitude and delight in
having at last met the man who had helped him had
strongly predisposed John Westonhaugh in his fa-
vour. Who is it that is not pleased at finding that
some deed of kindness, done long ago with hardly a
thought, has borne fruit and been remembered and
treasured up by the receiver as the turning-point in
his life? Is there any pleasure greater than that we
enjoy through the happiness of others—in those
rare cases where kindness is not misplaced? I had
had time to reflect that Isaacs had most likely told a
part of his story to Miss Westonhaugh on the pre-
vious afternoon as soon as he had recognised her
brother. He might have told her before; I did not
know how long he had known her, but it must have
been some time. Presently she turned to him.
“Mr. Isaacs,” said she, “some of us know some-
thing of your history. Why will you not tell us the
rest now? My uncle has heard nothing of it, and I
know Lord Steepleton is fond of novels.”
Isaacs hesitated long, but as every one pressed
him in turn, he yielded at last. And he told it well.
It was exactly the narrative he had given me, in
every detail of fact, but the whole effect was differ-
ent. I saw how true a mastery he had of the English
language, for he knew his audience thoroughly, and
by a little colour here and an altered expression there
he made it graphic and striking, not without humour,
and altogether free of a certain mystical tinge he had
imparted to it when we were alone. He talked


156 MR. ISAACS.
easily, with no more constraint than on other occa-
sions, and his narrative was a small social success.
I had not seen him in evening dress before, and I
could not help thinking how much more thoroughly
he looked the polished man of the world than the
other men. Kildare never appeared to greater advan-
tage than in the uniform and trappings of his profes-
sion. In a black coat and a white tie he looked like
any other handsome young Englishman, utterly with-
out individuality. But Isaacs, with his pale com-
plexion and delicate high-bred features, bore himself
like a noble of the old school. Westonhaugh beside
him looked washed-out and deathly, Kildare was too
coarsely healthy, and Ghyrkins and I, representing
different types of extreme plainness, served as foils
to all three.
I watched Miss Westonhaugh while Isaacs was
speaking. She had evidently heard the whole story,
for her expression showed beforehand the emotion
she expected to feel at each point. Her colour came
and went softly, and her eyes brightened with a warm
light beneath the dark brows that contrasted so
strangely yet delightfully with the mass of flaxen-
white hair. She wore something dark and soft, cut
square at the neck, and a plain circlet of gold was
her only ornament. She was a beautiful creature,
certainly; one of those striking-looking women of
whom something is always expected, until they drop
quietly out of youth into middle age, and the world
finds out that they are, after all, not heroines of


MR. ISAACS. 157
romance, but merely plain, honest, good women;
good wives and good mothers who love their homes
and husbands well, though it has pleased nature in
some strange freak to give them the form and feature
of a Semiramis, a Cleopatra, or a Jeanne d'Arc.
“Dear me, how very interesting!” exclaimed Mr.
Ghyrkins, looking up from his hill mutton as Isaacs
finished, and a little murmur of sympathetic applause
went round the table.
“I would give a great deal to have been through
all that,” said Lord Steepleton, slowly proceeding
to sip a glass of claret.
“Just think!” ejaculated John Westonhaugh.
“And I was entertaining such a Sinbad unawares!”
and he took another green pepper from the dish his
servant handed him.
“Upon my word, Isaacs,” I said, “some one ought
to make a novel of that story; it would sell like wild-
fire.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself, Griggs?” he
asked. “You are a pressman, and I am sure you are
welcome to the whole thing.”
“I will,” I answered.
“Oh do, Mr. Griggs,” said the young lady, “and
make it wind up with a tiger-hunt. You could lay
the scene in Australia or the Barbadoes, or some of
those places, and put us all in —and kill us all off,
if you like, you know. It would be such fun.”
Poor Miss Westonhaugh!
“It is easy to see what you are thinking about


MR. ISAACS. 159
cheeks as suddenly as it had come, leaving her face
dead white. She drank a little water, and presently
seemed at ease again. I was beginning to think she
cared for him seriously.
“And pray, John,” she asked, “what may a griffin
be? It is not a very pretty name to call a young
lady, is it?”
“Why, a griffin,” put in Mr. Ghyrkins, “is the
“Mr. Verdant Green’ of the Civil Service. A young
civilian — or anybody else — who is just out from
home is called a griffin. John calls you a griffin
because you don’t understand eating pepper. You
don’t find it as chilly as he does! Ha! haſ hal” and
the old fellow laughed heartily, till he was red in
the face, at his bleared old pun. Of course every one
was amused or professed to be, for it was a diversion
welcomed by the three men of us who had seen the
young girl's embarrassment.
“A griffin,” said I, “is a thing of joy. Mr.
Westonhaugh was a griffin when he gave Mr. Isaacs
that historical rupee.” I cast my little bombshell
into the conversation, and placidly went on manipu-
lating my rice.
Isaacs was in too gay a humour to be offended, and
he only said, turning to Miss Westonhaugh—
“Mr. Griggs is a cynic, you know. You must not
believe anything he says.”
“If doing kind things makes one a griffin, I hope I
may be one always,” said Miss Westonhaugh quickly,
“and I trust my brother is as much a griffin as ever.”


160 MR. ISAACS.
“I am, I assure you,” said he. “But Mr. Griggs
is quite right, and shows a profound knowledge of
Indian life. No one but a griffin of the greenest
ever gave anybody a rupee in Bombay—or ever will
now, I should think.”
“Oh, John, are you going to be cynical too?”
“No, Katharine, I am not cynical at all. I do not
think you are quite sure what a “cynic' is.”
“Oh yes, I know quite well. Diogenes was a
cynic, and Saint Jerome, and other people of that
class.”
“A man who lives in a tub, and abuses Alexander
the Great, and that sort of thing,” remarked Kildare,
who had not spoken for some time.
“Mr. Griggs,” said John Westonhaugh, “since
you are the accused, pray define what you mean by a
cynic, and then Mr. Isaacs, as the accuser, can have
a chance too.”
“Very well, I will. A man is a cynic if he will
do no good to any one because he believes every one
past improvement. Most men who do good actions
are also cynics, because they well know that they are
doing more harm than good by their charity. Mr.
Westonhaugh has the discrimination to appreciate
this, and therefore he is not a cynic.”
“It is well you introduced the saving clause,
Griggs,” said Isaacs to me from across the table. “I
am going to define you now; for I strongly suspect
that you are the very ideal of a philosopher of that
class. You are a man who believes in all that is good


MR. ISAACS. 161
and beautiful in theory, but by too much indifference
to good in small measures—for you want a thing per-
fect, or you want it not at all—you have abstracted
yourself from perceiving it anywhere, except in the
most brilliant examples of heroism that history affords.
You set up in your imagination an ideal which you
call the good man, and you are utterly dissatisfied
with anything less perfect than perfection. The
result is that, though you might do a good action from
your philosophical longing to approach the ideal in
your own person, you will not suffer yourself to
believe that others are consciously or unconsciously
striving to make themselves better also. And you
do not believe that any one can be made a better
man by any one else, by any exterior agency, by any
good that you or others may do to him. What makes
you what you are is the fact that you really cherish
this beautiful ideal image of your worship and rever-
ence, and love it; but for this, you would be the
most insufferable man of my acquaintance, instead
of being the most agreeable.”
Isaacs was gifted with a marvellous frankness of
speech. He always said what he meant, with a
supreme indifference to consequences; but he said it
with such perfect honesty and evident appreciation
of what was good, even when he most vehemently
condemned what he did not like, that it was impossi-
ble to be annoyed. Every one laughed at his attack
on me, and having satisfied my desire to observe
Miss Westonhaugh, which had prompted my first
M


162 MR. ISAACS.
remark about griffins, I thought it was time to turn
the conversation to the projected hunt.
“My dear fellow,” I said, “I think that in spite of
your Parthian shaft, your definition of a cynic is as
complimentary to the school at large as to me in par-
ticular. Meanwhile, however,” I added, turning to
Mr. Ghyrkins, “I am inclined to believe with Lord
Steepleton that the subject uppermost in the thoughts
of most of us is the crusade against the tigers. What
do you say? Shall we not all go as we are, a neat
party of six?”
“Well, well, Mr. Griggs, we shall see, you know.
Now, if we are going at all, when do you mean to
start?”
“The sooner the better of course,” broke in
Kildare, and he launched into a host of reasons for
going immediately, including the wildest statistics
about the habits of tigers in winter. This was quite
natural, however, as he was a thorough Irishman and
had never seen a tiger in his life. Mr. Currie Ghyr-
kins vainly attempted to stem the torrent of his elo-
quence, but at last pinned him on some erratic
statement about tigers moulting later in the year and
their skins not being worth taking. Kildare would
have asserted with equal equanimity that all tigers
shed their teeth and their tails in December; he was
evidently trying to rouse Mr. Ghyrkins into a dis-
cussion on the subject of tiger shooting in general,
a purpose very easily accomplished. The old gentle-
man was soon goaded to madness by Kildare's won-


164 MR. ISAACS.
must come to an end, we returned to the drawing-
room.
Isaacs and Miss Westonhaugh were looking over
some English photographs, and she was enthusiasti-
cally praising the beauties of Gothic architecture,
while Isaacs was making the most of his opportunity,
and taking a good look at her as she bent over the
album. After we came in, she made a little music
at the tuneless piano — there never was a piano in
India yet that had any tune in it—playing and sing-
ing a little, very prettily. She sang something about
a body in the rye, and then something else about
drinking only with the eyes, to which her brother
sang a sort of second very nicely. I do not under-
stand much about music, but I thought the allusion
to Isaacs’ temperance in only drinking with his eyes
was rather pointed. He said, however, that he liked
it even better with a second than when she sang it
alone, so I argued that it was not the first time he
had heard it.
“Mr. Isaacs,” said she, “you have often promised
to sing something Persian for us. Will you not
keep your word now?”
“When we are among the tigers, Miss Weston-
haugh, next week. Then I will try and borrow a
lute and sing you something.”
It was late for an Indian dinner-party, so we took
our departure soon afterwards, having agreed to meet
the following afternoon at Annandale for the game
of polo, in which Westonhaugh said he would also


MR. ISAACS. 165
play. He and Isaacs made some appointment for the
morning; they seemed to be very sympathetic to each
other. Kildare mounted and rode homeward with
us, though he had much farther to go than we. If
he felt any annoyance at the small successes Isaacs
had achieved during the evening, he was far too
courteous a gentleman to show it; and so, as we
groped our way through the trees by the starlight,
chiefly occupied in keeping our horses on their legs,
the snatches of conversation that were possible were
pleasant, if not animated, and there was a cordial
“Good-night” on both sides, as we left Kildare to
pursue his way alone.


166 MB. ISAACS.
CHAPTER VIII.
IT was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon when
Isaacs and I emerged from the narrow road upon the
polo ground. We were clad in the tight-fitting gar-
ments which are necessary for the game, and wrapped
in light top-coats; as we came out on the green we
saw a number of other men in similar costume stand-
ing about, and a great many native grooms leading
ponies up and down. Miss Westonhaugh was there
in her gray habit and broad hat, and by her side, on
foot, Lord Steepleton Kildare was making the most
of his time, as he waited for the rest of the players.
Mr. Currie Ghyrkins was ambling about on his broad
little horse, and John Westonhaugh stood with his
hands in his pockets and a large Trichinopoli cheroot
between his lips, apparently gazing into space.
Several other men, more or less known to us and to
each other, moved about or chatted disconnectedly,
and one or two arrived after us. Some of them wore
coloured jerseys that showed brightly over the open
collars of their coats, others were in ordinary dress
and had come to see the game. Farther off, at one
side of the ground, one or two groups of ladies and
their escorting cavaliers haunted at a short distance


MR. ISAACS. 167
By their saices in many-coloured turbans and belts,
or cummer-bunds, as the sash is called in India, moved
slowly about, glancing from time to time towards the
place where the players and their ponies were pre-
paring for the contest.
Few games require so little preparation and so few
preliminaries as polo, descended as it is from an age
when more was thought of good horsemanship and
quick eye than of any little refinements depending
on an accurate knowledge of fixed rules. Any one
who is a firstrate rider and is quick with his hands
can learn to play polo. The stiffest of arms can be
limbered and the most recalcitrant wrist taught to
turn nimbly in its socket; but the essential condition
is, that the player should know how to ride. This
being established, there is no reason why anybody
who likes should not play the game, if he will only
use a cetrain amount of caution, and avoid braining
the other players and injuring the ponies by too wild
a use of his mallet. Presently it was found that all
who were to play had arrived—eight of us all told.
Kildare had arranged the sides and had brought the
other men necessary to make the number complete,
so we mounted and took up our positions on the
ground. Kildare and Isaacs were together, and
Westonhaugh and I on the other side, with two men
I knew slightly. We won the charge, and Weston-
haugh, who was a celebrated player, struck the ball
off cleverly, and I followed him up with a rush as
he raced after it. Isaacs, on the other side, swept


168 MR. ISAACS.
along easily, and as the ball swerved on striking the
ground bent far over till he looked as though he
were out of the saddle and stopped it cleverly, while
Kildare, who was close behind, got a good stroke in
just in time, as Westonhaugh and I galloped down on
him, and landed the ball far to the rear near our goal.
As we wheeled quickly, I saw that one of the other
two men on our side had stopped it and was begin-
ning to “dribble” it along. This was very bad play,
both Westonhaugh and I being so far forward, and it
met its reward. Isaacs and Kildare raced down on
him, but the latter soon pulled up on finding himself
passed, and waited. Isaacs rushed upon the tem-
porising player and got the ball away from him in no
time; eluded the other man, and with a neat stroke
sent the ball right between the poles. The game
had hardly lasted three minutes, and a little sound
of clapping was heard from where the spectators were
standing, far off on one side. I could see Miss
Westonhaugh plainly, as she cantered with her uncle
to where the victors were standing together on the
other side, patting their ponies and adjusting stirrup
and saddle. Isaacs had his back turned, but wheeled
round as he heard the sound of hoofs behind him and
bowed low in his saddle to the fair girl, whose face,
I could see even at that distance, was flushed with
pleasure. They remained a few minutes in conver-
sation, and then the two spectators rode away, and
we took up our positions once more.
The next game was a much longer one. It was


170 MR. ISAACS.
The sun leaves Annandale early, and I put on a
coat and lit a cigarette, while the saice saddled our
second mounts. There are few prettier sights than
an English game, of any kind, on a beautiful stretch
of turf. The English live, and move and have their
being out of doors. A cricket-match, tennis, a race-
course, or a game of polo, show them at their greatest
advantage, whether as players or spectators. Their
fresh complexions suit the green of the grass and of
the trees as naturally as a bed of roses, or cyclamens,
or any fresh and healthy flower will combine with
the grass and the ferns in garden or glen. The glori-
ous vitality that belongs to their race seems to blos-
som freshly in the contact with their mother earth,
and the physical capacity for motion with which
nature endows them makes them graceful and fas-
cinating to watch, when in some free and untram-
melled dress of white they are at their games, batting
and bowling and galloping and running; they have
the same natural grace then as a herd of deer or
antelopes; they are beautiful animals in the full en-
joyment of life and vigour, of health and strength;
they are intensely alive. Something of this kind
passed through my mind, in all probability, and,
combined with the delightful sensation any strong
man feels in the pause after great exertion, dis-
posed me well towards my fellows and towards man-
kind at large. Besides we had won the last game.
“You look pleased, Mr. Griggs,” said Miss Wes-
tonhaugh, who had probably been watching me for a


MR. ISAACS. 171
moment or two. “I did not know cynics were ever
pleased.”
“I remember who it was that promised to crown
the victors of this match, Miss Westonhaugh, and
I cherish some hopes of being one of them. Would
you mind very much?”
“Mind? Oh dear no; you had better try. But if
you stand there with your coat on, you will not have
much chance. They are all mounted, and waiting
for you.”
“Well, here goes,” I said to myself, as I got into
the saddle again. “I hope he may win, but he
would find me out in a minute if I tried to play into
his hands.” We were only to play the best out of
three goals, and the score was “one all.” All eight
of us had fresh mounts, and the experience of each
other's play we had got in the preceding games
made it likely that the game would be a long one.
And so it turned out.
From the first things went badly. John Weston-
haugh's fresh pony was very wild, and he had to take
him a breather half over the ground before he could
take his place for the charge. When at last the first
stroke was made, the ball went low along the
ground, spinning and twisting to right and left.
Both Kildare and Isaacs missed it and wheeled across
to return, when a prolonged scrimmage ensued less
than thirty yards from their goal. Every one played
his best, and we wheeled and spun round in a way
that reminded one of a cavalry skirmish. Strokes


MR. ISAACS. 173
sary, excited by the chase, beyond all judgment or
reckoning of his chances, hit out wildly, as beginners
will. The long elastic handle of his weapon struck
Isaacs’ horse on the flank and glanced upward, the
head of the club striking Isaacs just above the back
of the neck. We saw him throw up his arms, the
club in his right hand hanging to his wrist by the
strap. The infuriated little arab pony tore on, and
in a moment more the iron grip of the rider's knees
relaxed, Isaacs swayed heavily in the saddle and fell
over on the near side, his left foot hanging in the
stirrup and dragging him along some paces before
the horse finally shook himself clear and scampered
away across the turf. The whole catastrophe oc-
curred in a moment; the man who had done the mis-
chief threw away his club to reach the injured player
the sooner, and as we thundered after him, my pony
stumbled over the long handle, and falling, threw
me heavily over his head. I escaped with a very
slight kick from one of the other horses, and leaving
my beast to take care of himself, ran as fast as I
could to where Isaacs lay, now surrounded by the
six players as they dismounted to help him. But
there was some one there before them.
The accident had occurred near the middle of the
ground, and opposite the place where Miss Weston-
haugh and her uncle had taken up their stand to
watch the contest. With a shake of the reins and a
blow of the hand that made the thoroughbred bound
his length as he plunged into a gallop, the girl rode


174 MR. ISAACS.
wildly to where Isaacs lay, and reining the animal
back on his haunches, sprang to the ground and knelt
quickly down, so that before the others had reached
them she had propped up his head and was rubbing
his hands in hers. There was no mistaking the
impulse that prompted her. She had seen many an
accident in the hunting-field, and knew well that
when a man fell like that it was ten to one he was
badly hurt.
Isaacs was ghastly pale, and there was a little
blood on Miss Westonhaugh's white gauntlet. Her
face was whiter even than his, though not a quiver
of mouth or eyelash betrayed emotion. The man
who had done it knelt on the other side, rubbing one
of the hands. Kildare and Westonhaugh galloped
off at full speed, and presently returned bearing a
brandy-flask and a smelling-bottle, and followed by
a groom with some water in a native lota. I wanted
to make him swallow some of the liquor, but Miss
Westonhaugh took the flask from my hands.
“He would not like it. He never drinks it, you
know,” she said in a quiet low voice, and pouring
some of the contents on her handkerchief, moistened
all his brows and face and hair with the powerful
alcohol.
“Loosen his belt! pull off his boots, some of you!”
cried Mr. Currie Ghyrkins, as he came up breathless.
“Take off his belt—damn it, you knowl Dear,
dear!” and he got off his tat with all the alacrity he
could muster.


MR. ISAACS. 175
Miss Westonhaugh never took her eyes from the
face of the prostrate man—pressing the wet hand-
kerchief to his brow, and moistening the palm of the
hand she held with brandy. In a few minutes Isaacs
breathed a long heavy breath, and opened his eyes.
“What is the matter?” he said; then, recollecting
himself and trying to move his head—“Oh! I have
had a tumble. Give me some water to drink.”
There was a sigh of relief from every one present as
he spoke, quite naturally, and I held the lota to his
lips. “What became of the ball?” he asked quickly,
as he sat up. Then turning round, he saw the
beautiful girl kneeling at his side. The blood rushed
violently to his face, and his eyes, a moment ago dim
with unconsciousness, flashed brightly. “What!
Miss Westonhaugh — you?” he bounded to his feet,
but would have fallen back if I had not caught him
in my arms, for he was still dizzy from the heavy
blow that had stunned him. The blood came and
went in his cheeks, and he hung on my arm confused
and embarrassed, looking on the ground.
“I really owe you all manner of apologies —
he began.
“Not a bit of it, my dear boy,” broke in Ghyrkins,
“my niece was nearest to you when you fell, and so
she came up and did the right thing, like the brave
girl she is.” The old fellow helped her to rise as he
said this, and he looked so pleased and proud of her
that I was delighted with him. “And now,” he
went on, “we must see how much you are hurt—
92


MR. ISAACS. 177
man. Miss Westonhaugh, who was really a sensi.
ble and self-possessed young woman, and had begun
to be sure that the accident would have no serious
results, expressed the most unbounded delight.
“Thank you, Miss Westonhaugh,” said Isaacs;
“you have kept your promise; you have crowned
the victor.”
“With brandy,” I remarked, folding up a scarf
which somebody had given me wherewith to tie a
wet compress to the back of his head.
“There is nothing the matter,” said Ghyrkins;
“no end of a bad bruise, that's all. He will be all
right in the morning, and the skin is only a little
broken.”
“Griggs,” said Isaacs, who could now stand quite
firm again, “hold the wet handkerchief in place, and
give me that scarf.” I did as he directed, and he
took the white woollen shawl, and in half a dozen
turns wound it round his head in a turban, deftly and
gracefully. It was wonderfully becoming to his
Oriental features and dark eyes, and I could see that
Miss Westonhaugh thought so. There was a mur-
mur of approbation from the native grooms who
were looking on, and who understood the thing.
“You see I have done it before,” he said, smiling.
“And now give me my coat, and we will be getting
home. Oh yes! I can ride quite well.”
“That man has no end of pluck in him,” said John
Westonhaugh to Kildare.
“By Jovel yes,” was the answer. “I have seen
N


MR. ISAACS. 179
“I suppose so,” muttered Kildare, disconsolately.
“Why?” said Isaacs. “Not a bit of it. Head or
no head, we will start to-morrow morning. I am
well enough, never fear.”
“Nonsense, you know it's nonsense,” said Ghyr-
kins, “you will be in bed all day with a raging head-
ache. Horrid things, knocks on the back of the
head.”
“Not I. My traps are all packed, and my ser-
vants have gone down to Kalka, and I am going to-
morrow morning.”
“Well, of course, if you really think you can,”
etc. etc. So he was prevailed upon to promise that
if he should be suffering in the morning he would
send word in time to put off the party. “Besides,”
he added, “even if I could not go, that is no reason
why you should not.”
“Stuff,” said Ghyrkins.
“Oh!” said Miss Westonhaugh, looking rather
blank.
“That would never do,” said John.
“Preposterous! we could not think of going with-
out you,” said Lord Steepleton Kildare loudly; he
was beginning to like Isaacs in spite of himself.
And so we parted.
“I shall not dine to-night, Griggs,” said Isaacs,
as we paused before his door. “Come in for a
moment: you can help me.” We entered the richly
carpeted room, and he went to a curious old Japanese
cabinet, and after opening various doors and divi-


180 MR. ISAACS.
sions, showed a small iron safe. This he opened by
some means known to himself, for he used no key,
and he took out a small vessel of jade and brought it
to the light. “Now,” he said, “be good enough to
warm this little jar in your hands while I go into the
next room and get my boots and spurs and things off.
But do not open it on any account—not on any
account, until I come back,” he added very emphati-
cally.
“All right, go ahead,” said I, and began to warm
the cold thing that felt like a piece of ice between
my hands. He returned in a few minutes robed in
loose garments from Kashmir, with the low Eastern
slippers he generally wore indoors. He sat down
among his cushions and leaned back, looking pale
and tired; after ordering the lamps to be lit and the
doors closed, he motioned me to sit down beside him.
“I have had a bad shaking,” he said, “and my
head is a good deal bruised. But I mean to go to-
morrow in spite of everything. In that little vial
there is a powerful remedy unknown in your West-
ern medicine. Now I want you to apply it, and to
follow with the utmost exactness my instructions.
If you fear you should forget what I tell you, write
it down, for a mistake might be fatal to you, and
would certainly be fatal to me.”
I took out an old letter and a pencil, not daring to
trust my memory.
“Put the vial in your bosom while you write: it
must be near the temperature of the body. Now


MR. ISAACS. 181
listen to me. In that silver box is wax. Tie first
this piece of silk over your mouth, and then stop.
your nostrils carefully with the wax. Then open
the vial quickly and pour a little of the contents into
your hand. You must be quick, for it is very vola-
tile. Rub that on the back of my head, keeping the
vial closed. When your hand is dry, hold the vial
open to my nostrils for two minutes by your watch.
By that time, I shall be asleep. Put the vial in
this pocket of my caftan ; open all the doors and
windows, and tell my servant to leave them so, but
not to admit any one. Then you can leave me; I
shall sleep very comfortably. Come back and wake
me a little before midnight. You will wake me
easily by lifting my head and pressing one of my
hands. Remember, if you should forget to wake
me, and I should still be asleep at one o'clock, I
should never open my eyes again, and should be
dead before morning. Do as I tell you, for friend-
ship's sake, and when I wake I shall bathe and
sleep naturally the rest of the night.”
I carefully fulfilled his instructions. Before I
had finished rubbing his head he was drowsy, and
when I took the vial from his nostrils he was sound
asleep. I placed the precious thing where he had
told me, and arranged his limbs on the cushions.
Then I opened everything, and leaving the servant
in charge went my way to my rooms. On removing
the silk and the wax which had protected me from
the powerful drug, an indescribable odour which


182 MR. ISAACS.
permeated my clothes ascended to my nostrils; aro-
matic, yet pungent and penetrating. I never smelt
anything that it reminded me of, but I presume the
compound contained something of the nature of an
opiate. I took some books down to Isaacs' rooms
and passed the evening there, unwilling to leave him
to the care of an inquisitive servant, and five minutes
before midnight I awoke him in the manner he had
directed. He seemed to be sleeping lightly, for he
was awake in a moment, and his first action was to
replace the vial in the curious safe. He professed
himself perfectly restored; and, indeed, on examin-
ing his bruise I found there was no swelling or inflam-
mation. The odour of the medicament, which, as
he had said, seemed to be very volatile, had almost
entirely disappeared. He begged me to go to bed,
saying that he would bathe and then do likewise,
and I left him for the night; speculating on the nature
of this secret and precious remedy.


184 MR. ISAACS. "
draw up to the edge of the road, while the other
passes on its way. In view of the frequent encoun-
ters, every tonga-driver is provided with a post horn
of tremendous power and most discordant harmony;
for the road is covered with bullock carts bearing
provisions and stores to the hill station. Smaller
loads, such as trunks and other luggage, are gener-
ally carried by coolies, who follow a shorter path,
the carriage road being ninety-two miles from Um-
balla, the railroad station, to Simla, but a certain
amount may be stowed away in the tonga, of which
the capacity is considerable.
In three of these vehicles our party of six began
the descent on Tuesday morning, wrapped in linen
“dusters” of various shades and shapes, and armed
with countless varieties of smoking gear. The
roughness of the road precludes all possibility of
reading, and, after all, the rapid motion and the con-
stant appearance of danger—which in reality does
not exist—prevent any overpowering ennui from
assailing the dusty traveller. So we spun along all
day, stopping once or twice for a little refreshment,
and changing horses every five or six miles. Every-
body was in capital spirits, and we changed seats
often, thus obtaining some little variety. Isaacs,
who to every one’s astonishment, seemed not to feel
any inconvenience from his accident, clung to his
seat in Miss Westonhaugh's tonga, sitting in front
with the driver, while she and her uncle or brother
occupied the seat behind, which is far more comfort-


MR. ISAACS. 185
able. At last, however, he was obliged to give his
place to Kildare, who had been very patient, but at
last said it “really wasn’t fair, you know,” and so
Isaacs courteously yielded. At last we reached
Kalka, where the tongas are exchanged for dák
gharry or mail carriage, a thing in which you can
sit up in the daytime and lie down at night, there
being an extension under the driver's box calculated
for the accommodation of the longest legs. When
lying down in one of these vehicles the sensation is
that of being in a hearse and playing a game of
funeral. On this occasion, however, it was still
early when we made the change, and we paired off,
two and two, for the last part of the drive. By the
well planned arrangements of Isaacs and Kildare,
two carriages were in readiness for us on the express
train, and though the difference in temperature was
enormous between Simla and the plains, still steam-
ing from the late rainy season, the travelling was
made easy for us, and we settled ourselves for the
journey, after dining at the little hotel; Miss Wes-
tonhaugh bidding us all a cheery “good-night” as
she retired with her ayah into the carriage prepared
for her. I will not go into tedious details of the
journey—we slept and woke and slept again, and
smoked, and occasionally concocted iced drinks from
our supplies, for in India the carriages are so large
that the traveller generally provides himself with a
generous basket of provisions and a travelling ice-
chest full of bottles, and takes a trunk or two with


MR. ISAACS. 187
ingenuity of man and the foresight of Isaacs and
Ghyrkins could provide. There were numbers of
tents, sleeping tents, cooking tents, and servants’
tents; guns and ammunition of every calibre likely
to be useful; kookries, broad strong weapons not
unlike the famous American bowie knives (which
are all made in Sheffield, to the honour, glory, and
gain, of British trade); there were huge packs of
provisions edible and potable; baskets of utensils
for the kitchen and the table, and piles of blankets
and tenting gear for the camp. There was also the
little collector of Pegnugger, whose small body
housed a stout heart, for he had shot tigers on foot
before now in company with a certain German doctor
of undying sporting fame, whose big round spectacles
seemed to direct his bullets with unerring precision.
But the doctor was not here now, and so the sturdy
Englishman condescended to accept a seat in the
howdah, and to kill his game with somewhat less
risk than usual.
This first day was occupied in transferring our
party, now swelled by countless beaters and numer-
ous huntsmen, not to mention all the retinue of
servants necessary for an Indian camp, to the neigh-
bourhood of the battlefield. There is not much con-
versation on these occasions, for the party is apt to
become scattered, and there is a general tone of
expectancy in the air, the old hands conversing more
with the natives who know the district than with
each other, and the young ones either wondering how


188 MR. ISAACS.
many tigers they will kill, or listening open mouthed
to the tales of adventure reeled off by the yard by the
old bearded shikarry, who has slain the king of the
jungle with a kookrie in hand to hand struggle when
he was young, and bears the scars of the deadly
encounter on his brown chest to this day. Old
Ghyrkins, who was evidently in his element, rode
about on a little tat, questioning beaters and shikar-
ries, and coming back every now and then to bawl up
some piece of information to the little collector, who
had established himself on one of the elephants and
looked down over the edge of the howdah, the great
pith hat on his head making him look like an
immense mushroom with a very thin stem sprouting
suddenly from the back of the huge beast. He
smiled pleasantly at the old sportsman from his ele-
vation, and seemed to know all about it. It so
chanced that when he received Isaacs’ telegrams he
had been planning a little excursion on his own
account, and had been sending out scouts and beaters
for some days to ascertain where the game lay. This,
of course, was so much clear gain to us, and the
little man was delighted at the opportune coinci-
dence which enabled him, by the unlimited money
supplied, to join in such a hunt as he had not seen
since the time when the Prince of Wales disported
himself among the royal game, three years before.
As for Miss Westonhaugh, she was in the gayest of
spirits, as she sat with her brother on an elephant's
back, while Isaacs, who loved the saddle, circled


MR. ISAACS. 189
round her and kept up a fire of little compliments
and pretty speeches, to which she was fast becoming
inured. Kildare and I followed them closely on
another elephant, discoursing seriously about the
hunt, and occasionally shouting some question to
John Westonhaugh, ahead, about sport in the south.
Before evening we had arrived at our first camping
ground, near a small village on the outskirts of the
jungle, and the tents were pitched on a little eleva-
tion covered with grass, now green and waving.
The men had mowed a patch clear, and were busy
with the pegs and all the paraphernalia of a canvas
house, and we strolled about, some of us directing
the operations, others offering a sacrifice of cooling
liquids and tobacco to the setting sun. Miss Wes-
tonhaugh had heard about living in tents ever since
she came to India, and had often longed to sleep in
one of those temporary chambers that are set up any-
where in the “compound” of an English bungalow
for the accommodation of the bachelor guests whom
the house itself is too small to hold; now she was
enchanted at the prospect of a whole fortnight under
canvas, and watched with rapt interest the driving
of the pegs, the raising of the poles, and the careful
furnishing of her dwelling. There was a carpet,
and armchairs, and tables, and even a small book-
case with a few favourite volumes. To us in civi-
lised life it seems a great deal of trouble to transport
a lunch basket and a novel to some shady glen to
enjoy a day's rest in the open air, and we would


MR. ISAACS. 191
Irish blood never comes out so strongly as when a
story is to be told, and no amount of English educa-
tion and Oxford accent will suppress the tendency.
The brogue is gone, but the love of the marvellous
is there still. Isaacs related the experience of “a
man he knew,” who had been pulled off his elephant,
howdah and all, and had killed the tiger with a
revolver at half arm’s length.
“Ah yes,” said the little collector, who had not
caught the names of all the party when introduced,
“I read about it at the time; I remember it very well.
It happened in Purneah two years ago. The gentle-
man was a Mr. Isaacs of Delhi. Queer name too —
remember perfectly.” There was a roar of laughter
at this, in which the collector joined vociferously on
being informed that the man with the “queer name."
was his neighbour at table.
“You see what you get for your modesty,” cried
old Ghyrkins, laughing to convulsions.
“And is it really true, Mr. Isaacs?” asked Miss
Westonhaugh, looking admiringly across at the young
man, who seemed rather annoyed.
And so the conversation went round and all were
merry, and some were sleepy after dinner, and we
sat in long chairs under the awning or connát.
There was no moon yet, but the stars shone out as
they shine nowhere save in India, and the evening
breeze played pleasantly through the ropes after the
long hot day. Miss Westonhaugh assured every-
body for the hundredth time that day that she rather


192 MR. ISAACS.
liked the smell of cigars, and so we smoked and
chatted a little, and presently there was a jerk and
a sputtering sneeze from Mr. Ghyrkins, who, being
weary with the march and the heat and the good
dinner, and on the borders of sleep, had put the
wrong end of his cigar ... his mouth with destructive
results. Then he threw it away with a small volley
of harmless expletives, and swore he would go to
bed, as he could not stand our dulness any longer;
but he merely shifted his position a little, and was
soon snoring merrily.
“What a pity it is we have no piano, Katharine,”
said John Westonhaugh, who was fond of music.
“Could you not sing something without any accom-
paniment?”
“Oh no. Mr. Isaacs,” she said, turning her voice
to where she could see the light of his cigarette and
the faint outline of his chair in the starlight, “here
we are in the camp. Now where is the ‘lute” you
promised to produce for us? I think the time has
come at last for you to keep your promise.”
“Well,” said he, “I believe there really is an old
guitar or something of the kind among my traps
somewhere. But it might wake Mr. Ghyrkins, who,
I understand from his tones, is asleep.”
Various opinions were expressed to the effect that
Mr. Ghyrkins was not so easily disturbed, and a
voice like Kildare's was heard to mumble that “it
would not hurt him if he was,” a sentence no one
attempted to construe. So the faithful Narain was


MR. ISAACS. 193
summoned, and instructed to bring the instrument if
he could find it. I was rather surprised at Isaacs’
readiness to sing; but in the first place I had never
heard him, and besides I did not make allowance for
the Oriental courtesy of his character, which would
not refuse anything, or make any show of refusal in
order to be pressed. Narain returned with a very
modern-looking guitar-case, and, opening the box,
presented his master with the instrument, which, as
Isaacs took it to the light in the door of the tent to
see if it had travelled safely, appeared to be a per-
fectly new German guitar. I suspected him of hav-
ing purchased it at the little music shop at Simla,
for the especial amusement of our party.
“I thought it was a lute you played on,” said Miss
Westonhaugh, “a real, lovely, ancient Assyrian lute,
or something of that kind.”
“Oh, a plain guitar is infinitely better and less
troublesome,” said Isaacs as he returned to his seat
in the dark and began to tune the strings softly.
“It takes so long to tune one of those old things,
and then nothing will make them stand. Now this
one, you see, – or rather you cannot see, – has an
ingenious contrivance of screws by which you may
tune it in a moment.” While he was speaking he
was altering the pitch of the strings, and presently
he added, “There, it is done now,” and two or three
sounding chords fell on the still air. “Now what
shall I sing? I await your commands.”
“Something soft, and sweet, and gentle.”
9 Vol. I


194 MR. ISAACS.
“A love-song?” asked he quietly.
“Well yes—a love-song if you like. Why not?”
said she.
“No reason in the world that I can think of,” I
remarked. Whereat Lord Steepleton Kildare threw
his cigar away, and began lighting another a moment
after, as if he had discarded his weed by mistake.
Isaacs struck a few chords softly, and then began
a sort of running accompaniment. His voice, which
seemed to me to be very high, was wonderfully smooth
and round, and produced the impression of being
much more powerful than he cared to show. He
sang without the least effort, and yet there was none
of that effeminate character that I have noticed in
European male singers when producing high notes
very softly. I do not understand music, but I am
sure I never heard an opera tenor with a voice of
such quality. The words of his song were Persian,
and the pure accents of his native tongue seemed
well suited to the half passionate, half plaintive air
he had chosen. I afterwards found a translation of
the sonnet by an English officer, which I here give,
though it conveys little idea of the music of the
original verse.
Last night, my eyes being closed in sleep, but my good fortune awake,
The whole night, the livelong night, the image of my beloved one was
the companion of my soul.
The sweetness of her melodious voice still remains vibrating on my
neº how did the sugared words fall from her sweeter lips;
Alas! all that she said to me in that dream has escaped from my
memory,


MR. ISAACS. 195
Although it was my care till break of day to repeat over and over
her sweet words.
The day, unless illuminated by her beauty, is, to my eyes, of noc-
turnal darkness.
Happy day that first I gazed upon that lovely face
May the eyes of Jami long be blessed with pleasing visions, since
they presented to his view last night
The object, on whose account he passed his waking life in expec-
tation."
His beautiful voice ceased, and with infinite skill
he wove a few strains of the melody into the final
chords he played when he had finished singing. It
was all so entirely novel, so unlike any music most
of us had ever heard, and it was so undeniably good,
that every one applauded and said something to the
singer in turn, expressing the greatest admiration
and appreciation. Miss Westonhaugh was the last
to speak.
“It is perfectly lovely,” she said. “I wish I could
understand the words—are they as sweet as the
music?”
“Sweeter,” he answered, and he gave an offhand
translation of two or three verses.
“Beautiful indeed,” she said; “and now sing me
another, please.” There was no resisting such an
appeal, with the personal pronoun in the singular
number. He moved a little nearer, and emphatically
sang to her, and to no one else. A song of the same
character as the first, but, I thought, more passionate
and less dreamy, as his great sweet voice swelled
and softened and rose again in burning vibrations
1 Sir Gore Ousely, Notices of the Persian Poets.


196 MR. ISAACS.
and waves of sound. She did not ask a translation
this time, but some one else did, after the applause
had subsided.
“I cannot translate these things,” said Isaacs, “so
as to do them justice, or give you any idea of the
strength and vitality of the Persian verses. Perhaps
Griggs, who understands Persian very well and is a
literary man, may do it for you. I would rather not
try.” I professed my entire inability to comply with
the request, and to turn the conversation asked him
where he had learned to play the guitar so well.
“Oh,” he answered, “in Istamboul, years ago.
Everybody plays in Istamboul—and most people
sing love-songs. Besides it is so easy,” and he ran
scales up and down the strings with marvellous
rapidity to illustrate what he said.
“And do you never sing English songs, Mr.
Isaacs?” asked the collector of Pegnugger, who was
enchanted, not having heard a note of music for
months.
“Oh, sometimes,” he answered. “I think I could
sing ‘Drink to me only with thine eyes' — do you
know it?” He began to play the melody on the
guitar while he spoke.
“Rather — I should think so!” Kildare was heard
to say. He was beginning to think the concert had
lasted long enough.
“Oh, do sing it, Mr. Isaacs,” said the young girl,
“and my brother and I will join in. It will be so
pretty!”


MR. ISAACS. 197
It certainly sounded very sweetly as he gave the
melody in his clear, high tones, and Miss Weston-
haugh and John sang with him. Having heard it
several thousand times myself, I was beginning to
recognise the tune well enough to enjoy it a good
deal.
“That is very nice,” said Kildare, who was sorry
he had made an impatient remark before, and wanted
to atone.
“Eh! what? how’s that?” said Mr. Ghyrkins just
waking up. “Oh! of course. My niece sings charm-
ingly. Quite an artist, you know.” And he strug-
gled out of his chair and said it was high time we all
went to bed if we meant to shoot straight in the
morning. The magistrate of Pegnugger concurred
in the opinion, and we reluctantly separated for the
night to our respective quarters, Isaacs and I occupy-
ing a tent together, which he had caused to be sent
on from Delhi, as being especially adapted to his
comfort.
On the following day at dawn we were roused by
the sound of preparations, and before we were dressed
the voices of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins and the collector
were heard in the camp, stirring up the sleepy ser-
vants and ordering us to be waked. The two old
sportsmen felt it their duty to be first on such an
occasion as this, and in the calm security that they
would do everything that was right, Isaacs and I dis-
cussed our tea and fruit—the chota haziri or “little
breakfast” usually taken in India on waking — sit-


198 MR. ISAACS.
ting in the door of our tent, while Kiramat Ali and
Narain and Mahmoud and the rest of the servants
were giving a final rub to the weapons of the chase,
and making all the little preparations for a long day.
And we sat looking out and sipping our tea.
In the cool of the dawn Miss Westonhaugh came
tripping across the wet grass to where her uncle was
giving his final directions about the furnishing of
his howdah for the day; a lovely apparition of fresh-
ness in the gray morning, all dressed in dark blue, a
light pith helmet-shaped hat pressing the rebellious
white-gold hair almost out of sight. She walked so
easily it seemed as if her dainty little feet had wings,
as Hermes' of old, to ease the ground of their feather
weight. A broad belt hung across her shoulder with
little rows of cartridges set all along, and at the end
hung a very business-like revolver case of brown
leather and of goodly length. No toy miniature
pistol would she carry, but a full-sized, heavy “six-
shooter,” that might really be of use at close quar-
ters. She stood some minutes talking with Mr.
Ghyrkins, not noticing us in the shadow of the tent
some thirty yards away; Isaacs and I watched her
intently — with very different feelings, possibly, but
yet intensely admiring the fair creature, so strong
and pliant, and yet so erect and straight. She turned
half round towards us, and I saw there were flowers
in the front of her dress. I wondered where they
had come from; they were roses — of all flowers in
the world to be blooming in the desert. Perhaps she


MR. ISAACS. 199
had brought them carefully from Fyzabad, but that
was improbable; or from Pegnugger—yes, there
would be roses in the collector's garden there.
Isaacs rose to his feet.
“Oh, come along, Griggs. You have had quite
enough tea!”
“Go ahead; I will be with you in a moment.”
But a sudden thought struck me, and I went with
him, bareheaded, to greet Miss Westonhaugh. She
smiled brightly as she held out her hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Isaacs. Thank you so much
for the roses. How did you do it? They are too
lovely!” So it was just as I thought. Isaacs had
probably despatched a man back to Pegnugger in the
night.
“Very easy I assure you. I am so glad you like
them. They are not very fresh after all though, I
see,” he added depreciatingly, as men do when they
give flowers to people they care about. I never heard
a man find fault with flowers he gave out of a sense
of duty. It is perhaps that the woman best loved of
all things in the world has for him a sweetness and a
beauty that kills the coarser hues of the rose, and
outvies the fragrance of the double violets.
“Oh no!” she said, emphasising the negative
vigorously. “I think they are perfectly beautiful,
but I want you to tell me where you got them.” I
began talking to Ghyrkins, who was intent on the
arrangement of his guns which was going on under
his eyes, but I heard the answer, though Isaacs spoke
in a low voice.


200 MR. ISAACS.
“You must not say that, Miss Westonhaugh. You
yourself are the most perfect and beautiful thing God
ever made.” By a superhuman effort I succeeded in
keeping my eyes fixed on Ghyrkins, probably with a
stony, unconscious stare, for he presently asked
what I was looking at. I do not think Isaacs cared
whether I heard him or not, knowing that I sympa-
thised, but Mr. Ghyrkins was another matter. The
Persian had made progress, for there was no trace of
annoyance in Miss Westonhaugh's answer, though
she entirely overlooked her companion's pretty speech.
“Seriously, Mr. Isaacs, if you mean to have one
of them for your badge to-day, you must tell me how
you got them.” I turned slowly round. She was
holding a single rose in her fingers, and looking from
it to him, as if to see if it would match his olive skin
and his Karkee shooting-coat. He could not resist
the bribe.
“If you really want to know I will tell you, but
it is a profound secret,” he said, smiling. “Griggs,
swear!”
I raised my hand and murmured something about
the graves of my ancestors.
“Well,” he continued, “yesterday morning at the
collector's house I saw a garden; in the garden there
were roses, carefully tended, for it is late. I took
the gardener apart and said, “My friend, behold, here
is silver for thee, both rupees and pais. And if thou
wilt pick the best of thy roses and deliver them to
the swift runner whom I will send to thee at supper


MR. ISAACS. 201
time when the stars are coming out, I will give thee
as much as thou shalt earn in a month with thy
English master. But if thou wilt not do it, or if
thou failest to do it, having promised, I will cause
the grave of thy father to be defiled with the slaugh-
ter of swine, and, moreover, I will return and beat
thee with a thick stick!’ The fellow was a Mussul-
man, and there was a merry twinkle in his eye as he
took the money and swore a great oath. I left a
running man at Pegnugger with a basket, and that is
how you got the roses. Don’t tell the collector, that
is all.”
We all laughed, and Miss Westonhaugh gave the
rose to Isaacs, who touched it to his lips, under pre-
tence of smelling it, and put it in his buttonhole.
Kildare came up at this moment and created a diver-
sion; then the collector joined us and scattered us
right and left, saying it was high time we were in the
howdahs and on the way. So we buckled on our
belts, and those who wore hats put them on, and
those who preferred turbans bent while their bearers
wound them on, and then we moved off to where the
elephants were waiting and got into our places, and
the mahouts urged the huge beasts from their knees to
their feet, and we went swinging off to the forest.
The pad elephants, who serve as beaters and move
between the howdah animals, joined us, and presently
we went splashing through the reedy patches of fern,
and crashing through the branches, towards the heart
of the jungle.


202 MR. ISAACS.
Mr. Currie Ghyrkins, whose long experience had
made him as cool when after tigers as when reading
the Pioneer in his shady bungalow at Simla, had
taken Miss Westonhaugh with him in his howdah,
and as an additional precaution for her safety, the
little collector of Pegnugger, who was a dead shot,
only allowed two pad elephants to move between
himself and Ghyrkins. As there were thirty-seven
animals in all, the rest of the party were much scat-
tered. I thought there were too many elephants for
our six howdahs, but it turned out that I was mis-
taken, for we had capital sport. The magistrate of
Pegnugger, who knew the country thoroughly, was
made the despot of the day. His orders were obeyed
unquestioningly and unconditionally, and we halted
in long line or marched onwards, forcing a passage
through every obstacle, at his word. We might have
been out a couple of hours, watching every patch of
jungle and blade of long rank grass for a sight of the
striped skin, writhing through the reeds, that we so
longed to see, when the quick, short crack of a rifle
away to the right brought us to a halt, and every one
drew a long breath and turned, gun in hand, in the
direction whence the sound had come. It was Kil-
dare; he had met his first tiger, and the first also of
the hunt. He had put up the animal not five paces
in front of him, stealing along in the cool grass and
hoping to escape between the elephants, in the cun-
ning way they often do. He had fired a snap shot
too quickly, inflicting a wound in the flank which


MR. ISAACS. 203
only served to rouse the tiger to madness. With a
leap that seemed to raise its body perpendicularly
from the ground, the gorgeous creature flew into the
air and settled right on the head of Kildare's ele-
phant, while the terrified mahout wound himself
round the howdah. It would have been a trying
position for the oldest sportsman, but to be brought
into such terrific encounter at arm’s length, almost,
at one's very first experience of the chase, was a terri-
ble test of nerve. Those who were near said that in
that awful moment Kildare never changed colour.
The elephant plunged wildly in his efforts to shake
off the beast from his head, but Kildare had seized
his second gun the moment he had discharged the
first, and aiming for one second only, as the tossing
head and neck of the tusker brought the gigantic cat
opposite him, fired again. The fearful claws, driven
deep and sure into the thick hide of the poor ele-
phant, relaxed their hold, the beautiful lithe limbs
straightened by their own perpendicular weight,
and the first prize of the day dropped to the ground
like lead, dead, shot through the head.
A great yell of triumph arose all along the line,
and the little mahout crept cautiously back from his
lurking-place behind the howdah to see if the coast
were clear. Kildare had behaved splendidly, and
shouts of congratulation reached his ears from all
sides. Miss Westonhaugh waved her handkerchief
in token of approbation, every one applauded, and
far away to the left Isaacs, who was in the last how-


MR. ISAACS. 205
a certain quarter had had so good an opportunity for
displaying skill and courage; and I confessed to my-
self that I preferred a small party, say, a dozen ele-
phants and three howdahs, to this tremendous and
expensive battue. I had a shot-gun with me, and
consoled myself by shooting a peacock or two as we
rolled and swayed homewards. We had determined
to keep to the same camp for a day or two, as we
could enter the forest from another point on the mor-
row, and might even beat some of the same ground
again with success.
It was past five when we got down to the tents
and descended from our howdahs, glad to stretch our
stiffened limbs in a brisk walk. The dead tigers
were hauled into the middle of the camp, and the
servants ran together to see the result of the sahib log's
day out. We retired to dress and refresh ourselves
for dinner.


MR. ISAACS. 207
mother! but I know where there lieth a great tiger, an
eater of men, hard-hearted, that delighteth in blood.”
“Dog,” answered Isaacs, calmly removing his coat,
“the tiger you speak of was seen by you many moons
since; what do you come to me with idle tales for?”
Isaacs was familiar with the native trick of palming
off old tigers on the unwary stranger, in the hope of
a reward.
“Sahib, I am no liar. I saw the tiger, who is
the king of the forest, this morning.” Isaacs’ man-
ner relaxed a little, and he sat down and lighted the
eternal cigarette. “Slave,” he said meditatively, “if
it is as you say, I will kill the tiger, but if it is not
as you say, I will kill you, and cause your body to be
buried with the carcass of an ox, and your soul shall
not live.” The man did not seem much moved by
the threat. He moved nearer, and salaamed again.
“It is near to the dwelling of the sahib, who is my
father,” said the man, speaking low. “The day
before yesterday he destroyed a man from the village.
He has eaten five men in the last moon. I have seen
him enter his lair, and he will surely return before the
dawn; and the sahib shall strike him by his light-
ning; and the sahib will not refuse me the ears of
the man-eater, that I may make a jãdu, a charm
against sudden death?”
“Hound! if thou speakest the truth, and I kill the
tiger, the monarch of game, I will make thee a rich
man; but thou shalt not have his ears. I desire the
jādu for myself. I have spoken; wait thou here my


208 MR. ISAACS.
pleasure.” The ryot bent low to the earth, and then
squatted by the tent-door to wait, in the patient way
that a Hindoo can, for Isaacs to go and eat his
dinner. As the latter came out ten minutes later,
he paused and addressed the man once more. “Speak
not to any man of thy tiger while I am gone, or I
will cut off thine ears with a pork knife.” And we
passed on.
The sun was now set and hovering in the after-
glow, the new moon was following lazily down. I
stopped a moment to look at her, and was surprised
by Miss Westonhaugh's voice close behind me.
“Are you wishing by the new moon, Mr. Griggs?”
she asked.
“Yes,” said I, “I was. And what were you wish-
ing, Miss Westonhaugh, if I may ask?” Isaacs came
up, and paused beside us. The beautiful girl stood
quite still, looking to westward, a red glow on the
white-gold masses of her hair.
“Did you say you were wishing for something,
Miss Westonhaugh?” he asked. “Perhaps I can get
it for you. More flowers, perhaps? They are very
easily got.”
“No — that is, not especially. I was wishing —
well, that a tiger-hunt might last for ever; and I
want a pair of tiger's ears. My old ayah says they
keep off evil spirits and sickness; and all sorts of
things.”
“I know; it is a curious idea. I suppose both
those beasts there have lost theirs already. These
fellows cut them off in no time.”


MR. ISAACS. 209
“Yes. I have looked. So I suppose I must wait
till to-morrow. But promise me, Mr. Isaacs, if you
shoot one to-morrow, let me have the ears!”
“I will promise that readily enough. I would
promise anything you —” The last part of the
sentence was lost to me, as I moved away and left
them.
At dinner, of course, every one talked of the day's
sport, and compliments of all kinds were showered
on Lord Steepleton, who looked very much pleased,
and drank a good deal of wine. Ghyrkins and the
little magistrate expressed their opinion that he
would make a famous tiger-killer one of these days,
when he had learned to wait. Every one was hungry
and rather tired, and after a somewhat silent cigar,
we parted for the night, Miss Westonhaugh rising
first. Isaacs went to his quarters, and I remained
alone in a long chair, by the deserted dining-tent.
Kiramat Ali brought me a fresh hookah, and I lay
quietly smoking and thinking of all kinds of things
—things of all kinds, tigers, golden hair, more
tigers, Isaacs, Shere Ali, Baithop , what was
his name — Baithop—p—. I fell asleep.
Some one touched my hand, waking me suddenly.
I sprang to my feet and seized the man by the throat,
before I recognised in the starlight that it was Isaacs.
“You are not a nice person to rouse,” remarked he
in a low voice, as Irelaxed my grasp. “You will have
fever if you sleep out-of-doors at this time of year.
Now look here; it is past midnight, and I am going
P


210 MR. ISAACS.
out a little way.” I noticed that he had a kookrie
knife at his waist, and that his cartridge-belt was on
his chest.
“I will go with you,” said I, guessing his inten-
tion. “I will be ready in a moment,” and I began
to move towards the tent.
“No. I must go alone, and do this thing single-
handed. I have a particular reason. I only wanted
to warn you I was gone, in case you missed me. I
shall take that ryot fellow with me to show me the
way.”
“Give him a gun,” I suggested.
“He could not use one if I did. He has your
kookrie in case of accidents.”
“Oh, very well! do not let me interfere with any
innocent and childlike pastime you may propose for
your evening hours. I will attend to your funeral
in the morning. Good-night.”
“Good-night; I shall be back before you are up.”
And he walked quickly off to where the ryot was
waiting and holding his guns. He had the sense to
take two. I was angry at the perverse temerity of
the man. Why could he not have an elephant out
and go like a sensible thinking being, instead of
sneaking out with one miserable peasant to lie all
night among the reeds, in as great danger from cobras
as from the beast he meant to kill? And all for a girl
— an English girl—a creature all fair hair and eyes,
with no more intelligence than a sheep! Was it not
she who sent him out to his death in the jungle, that


MR. ISAACS. 213
thought. However, it might be a long way off. I
lay still for a while, but it seemed very hot and close
under the canvas. I got up and threw a caftain
round me, drew a chair into the connát and sat, or
rather lay, down in the cool morning breeze. Then
I dozed again until Kiramat Ali woke me by pulling
at my foot. He said it would be dawn in half an
hour. I had passed a bad night, and went out, as I
was, to walk on the grass. There was Miss Weston-
haugh's tent away off at the other end. She was
sleeping calmly enough, never doubting that at that
very moment the man who loved her was risking his
life for her pleasure — her slightest whim. She
would be wide awake if she knew it, staring out into
the darkness and listening for the crack of his rifle.
A faint light appeared behind the dining-tent, over
the distant trees, like the light of London seen from
twenty or thirty miles' distance in the country, a
faint, suggestive, murky grayness in the sky, making
the stars look dimmer.
The sound of a shot rang true and clear through
the chill air; not far off I thought. I held my breath,
listening for a second report, but none came. So it
was over. Either he had killed the tiger with his
first bullet, or the tiger had killed him before he
could fire a second. I was intensely excited. If he
were safe I wished him to have the glory of coming
home quite alone. There was nothing for it but to
wait, so I went into my tent and took a bath—a
very simple operation where the bathing consists in


214 MR. ISAACS.
pouring a huge jar of water over one's head. Tents
in India have always a small side tent with a ditch
dug to drain off the water from the copious ablutions
of the inmate. I emerged into the room feeling
better. It was now quite light, and I proceeded to
dress leisurely to spin out the time. As I was draw-
ing on my boots, Isaacs sauntered in quietly and laid
his gun on the table. He was pale, and his Karkee
clothes were covered with mud and leaves and bits of
creeper, but his movements showed he was not hurt
in any way; he hardly seemed tired.
“Well?” I said anxiously.
“Very well, thank you. Here they are,” and he
produced from the pocket of his coat the spolia opima
in the shape of a pair of ears, that looked very large
to me. There was a little blood on them and on his
hands as he handed the precious trophies to me for
inspection. We stood by the open door, and while I
was turning over the ears curiously in my hands, he
looked down at his clothes.
“I think I will take a bath,” he said; “I must
have been in a dirty place.”
“My dear fellow,” I said, taking his hand, “this is
absurd. I mean all this affected calmness. I was
angry at your going in that way, to risk your head
in a tiger's mouth; but I am sincerely glad to see
you back alive. I congratulate you most heartily.”
“Thank you, old man,” he said, his pale face
brightening a little. “I am very glad myself. Do
you know I have a superstition that I must fulfil


216 MR. ISAACS.
ally over his shoulder. Astride of the dead king sat
the ryot, who had directed Isaacs, crooning a strange
psalm of victory in his outlandish northern dialect,
and occasionally clapping his hands over his head
with an expression of the most intense satisfaction I
have ever seen on a human face. The little band
came to the middle of the camp where the other
tigers, now cut up and skinned elsewhere, had been
deposited the night before, and as the elephant knelt
down, the shikarries pulled the whole load over, pad,
tiger, ryot and all, the latter skipping nimbly aside.
There he lay, the great beast that had taken so many
lives. We stretched him out and measured him —
eleven feet from the tip of his nose to the end of his
tail, all but an inch — as a little more straightening
fills the measure, eleven feet exactly.
Meanwhile, the servant and shikarries collected,
and the noise of the exploit went abroad. The sun
was just rising when Mr. Ghyrkins put his head out
of his tent and wanted to know “what the deuce all
this tamäsha was about.”
“Oh, nothing especial,” I called out. “Isaacs has
killed an eleven foot man-eater in the night. That
is all.”
“Well I’m damned,” said Mr. Ghyrkins briefly,
and to the point, as he stared from his tent at the
great carcass, which lay stretched out for all to see,
the elephant having departed.
“Clear off those fellows and let me have a look at
him, can’t you?” he called out, gathering the tent


MR. ISAACS. 219
“Mr. Isaacs. Did not he kill the tiger? He sent
me the ears in a little silver box. Here it is — the
box, I mean. I am going to give it back to him, of
course.”
“How did Mr. Isaacs know you wanted them?”
asked her uncle, getting red in the face.
“Why, we were talking about them last night
before dinner, and he promised that if he shot a tiger
to-day he would give me the ears.” Mr. Ghyrkins
was redder and redder in the morning sun. There
was a storm of some kind brewing. We were col-
lected together on the other side of the dead tiger
and exchanged all kinds of spontaneous civilities
and remarks, not wishing to witness Mr. Ghyrkins’
wrath, nor to go away too suddenly. I heard the
conversation, however, for the old gentleman made
no pretence of lowering his voice.
“And do you mean to say you let him go off like
that? He must have been out all night. That beast
of a nigger says so. On foot, too. I say on foot!
Do you know what you are talking about? Eh?
Shooting tigers on foot? What? Eh? Might have
been killed as easily as not! And then what would
you have said? Eh? What? Upon my soul! You
girls from home have no more hearts than a parcel of
old Juggernauts!” Ghyrkins was now furious. We
edged away towards the dining-tent, making a great
talk about the terrible heat of the sun in the morn-
ing. I caught the beginning of Miss Westonhaugh’s
answer. She had hardly appreciated the situation


220 MR. ISAACS.
yet, and probably thought her uncle was joking, but
she spoke very coldly, being properly annoyed at his
talking in such a way.
“You cannot suppose for a moment that I meant
him to go,” I heard her say, and something else
followed in a lower tone. We then went into the
dining-tent.
“Now look here, Katharine,” Mr. Ghyrkins’ irate
voice rang across the open space, “if any young
woman asked me ” John Westonhaugh had risen
from his chair and apparently interrupted his uncle.
Miss Westonhaugh walked slowly to her tent, while
her male relations remained talking. I thought
Isaacs had shown some foresight in not taking part
in the morning discussion. The two men went into
their tents together and the dead tiger lay alone in
the grass, the sun rising higher and higher, pouring
down his burning rays on man and beast and green
thing. And soon the shikarries came with a small
elephant and dragged the carcass away to be skinned
and cut up. Kildare and the collector said they
would go and shoot some small game for dinner.
Isaacs, I supposed, was sleeping, and I was alone in
the dining-tent. I shouted for Kiramat Ali and sent
for books, paper, and pens, and a hookah, resolved
to have a quiet morning to myself, since it was clear
we were not going out to-day. I saw Ghyrkins’
servant enter his tent with bottles and ice, and I sus-
pected the old fellow was going to cool his wrath
with a “peg,” and would be asleep most of the morn-


MR. ISAACS. 221
ing. John would take a peg too, but he would not
sleep in consequence, being of Bombay, iron-headed
and spirit-proof. So I read on and wrote, and was
happy, for I like the heat of the noon-day and the
buzzing of the flies, and the smell of the parched
grass, being southern born.
About twelve o’clock, when I was beginning to
think I had done enough work for one day, I saw
Miss Westonhaugh’s native maid come out of her
mistress’s tent and survey the landscape, shading her
eyes with her hand. She was dressed, of course, in
spotless white drapery, and there were heavy anklets
on her feet and bangles of silver on her wrist. She
seemed satisfied by her inspection and went in again,
returning presently with Miss Westonhaugh and a
large package of work and novels and letter-writing
materials. They came straight to where I was sit-
ting under the airy tent where we dined, and Miss
Westonhaugh established herself at one side of the
table at the end of which I was writing.
“It is so hot in my tent,” she said almost apologet-
ically, and began to unroll some worsted work.
“Yes, it is quite unbearable,” I answered politely,
though I had not thought much about the tempera-
ture. There was a long silence, and I collected my
papers in a bundle and leaned back in my chair. I
did not know what to say, nor was anything expected
of me. I looked occasionally at the young girl, who
had laid her hat on the table, allowing the rich coils
of dazzling hair to assert their independence. Her


222 MR. ISAACS.
dark eyes were bent over her work as her fingers
deftly pushed the needle in and out of the brown
linen she worked on.
“Mr. Griggs,” she began at last without looking
up, “did you know Mr. Isaacs was going out last
night to kill that horrid thing?” I had expected
the question for some time.
“Yes; he told me about midnight, when he
started.”
“Then why did you let him go?” she asked, look-
ing suddenly at me, and knitting her dark eyebrows
rather fiercely.
“I do not think I could have prevented him. I do
not think anybody could prevent him from doing
anything he had made up his mind to. I nearly
quarrelled with him, as it was.”
“I am sure I could have stopped him, if I had been
you,” she said innocently.
“I have not the least doubt that you could. Unfor-
tunately, however, you were not available at the time,
or I would have suggested it to you.”
“I wish I had known,” she went on, plunging
deeper and deeper. “I would not have had him go
for-for anything.”
“Oh! Well, I suppose not. But, seriously, Miss
Westonhaugh, are you not flattered that a man
should be willing and ready to risk life and limb
in satisfying your lightest fancy?”
“Flattered?” she looked at me with much aston-
ishment and some anger. I was sure the look was
genuine and not assumed.


MR. ISAACS. 223
“At all events the tiger's ears will always be a
charming reminiscence, a token of esteem that any
one might be proud of.”
“I am not proud of them in the least, though I
shall always keep them as a warning not to wish for
such things. I hope that the next time Mr. Isaacs is
going to do a foolish thing you will have the common
sense to prevent him.” She returned to her starting-
point; but I saw no use in prolonging the skirmish,
and turned the talk upon other things. And soon
John Westonhaugh joined us, and found in me a
sympathetic talker and listener, as we both cared a
great deal more for books than for tigers, though not
averse to a stray shot now and then.
In this kind of life the week passed, shooting to-
day and staying in camp to-morrow. We shifted our
ground several times, working along the borders of
the forest and crashing through the jungle after tiger
with varying success. In the evenings, when not
tired with the day's work, we sat together, and Isaacs
sang, and at last even prevailed upon Miss Weston-
haugh to let him accompany her with his guitar, in
which he proved very successful. They were con-
stantly together, and Ghyrkins was heard to say that
Isaacs was “a very fine fellow, and it was a pity he
wasn’t English,” to which Kildare assented some-
what mournfully, allowing that it was quite true.
His chance was gone, and he knew it, and bore it
like a gentleman, though he still made use of every
opportunity he had to make himself acceptable to


MR. ISAACS. 225
the mind of every one who witnessed it. It was a
very hot morning, the hottest day we had had, and
we had just crossed a nullah in the forest, full from
the recent rains, wherein the elephants lingered low-
ingly to splash the water over their heated sides,
drowning the swarms of mosquitoes from which they
suffer such torments, in spite of their thick skins.
The collector called a halt on the opposite side; our
line of march had become somewhat disordered by
the passage, and numerous tracks in the pasty black
mud showed that the nullah was a favourite resort of
tigers—though at this time of day they might be a
long distance off. I had come next to the collector
after we emerged from the stream, the pad elephants
having lingered longer in the water, and Mr. Ghyr-
kins with Miss Westonhaugh was three or four places
beyond me. It was shady and cool under the thick
trees, and the light was not good. The collector bent
over his howdah, looking at some tracks.
“Those tracks look suspiciously fresh, Mr. Griggs,”
said the collector, scrutinising the holes, not yet filled
by the oozing back water of the nullah. “Don’t you
think so?”
“Indeed, yes. I do not understand it at all,” I
replied. At the collector's call a couple of beaters
came forward and stooped down to examine the trail.
One of them, a good-looking young gowala, or cow-
herd, followed along the footprints, examining each
to be sure he was not going on a false spoor; he moved
slowly, scrutinising each hole, as the traces grew
Q


226 MR. ISAACS.
shallower on the rising ground, approaching a bit of
small jungle. My sight followed the probable course
of the track ahead of him and something caught my
eyes, which are remarkably good, even at a great
distance. The object was brown and hairy; a dark
brown, not the kind of colour one expects to see in
the jungle in September. I looked closely, and was
satisfied that it must be part of an animal; still more
clearly I saw it, and no doubt remained in my mind;
it was the head of a bullock or a heifer. I shouted
to the man to be careful, to stop and let the elephants
plough through the undergrowth, as only elephants
can. But he did not understand my Hindustani,
which was of the civilised Urdu kind learnt in the
North-West Provinces. The man went quickly
along, and I tried to make the collector comprehend
what I saw. But the pad elephants were coming
out of the water and forcing themselves between our
beasts, and he hardly caught what I said in the con-
fusion. The track led away to my left, nearly oppo-
site to the elephant bearing Mr. Ghyrkins and his
niece. The little Pegnugger man was on my right.
The native held on, moving more and more rapidly
as he found himself following a single track. I
shouted to him—to Ghyrkins—to everybody, but
they could not make the doomed man understand
what I saw –the freshly slain head of the tiger's
last victim. There was little doubt that the king
himself was near by—probably in that suspicious-
looking bit of green jungle, slimy green too, as green


MR. ISAACS. 227
is, that grows in sticky chocolate-coloured mud. The
young fellow was courageous, and ignorant of the
immediate danger, and, above all, he was on the
look out for bucksheesh. He reached the reeds and
unclean vegetables that grew thick and foul together
in the little patch. He put one foot into the bush.
A great fiery yellow and black head rose cautiously
above the level of the green and paused a moment,
glaring. The wretched man, transfixed with terror,
stood stock still, expecting death. Then he moved,
as if to throw himself on one side, and at the same
instant the tiger made a dash at his naked body, such
a dash as a great relentless cat makes at a gold-fish
trying to slide away from its grip. The tiger struck
the man a heavy blow on the right shoulder, felling
him like a log, and coming down to a standing posi-
tion over his prey, with one paw on the native's
right arm. Probably the parade of elephants and
bright coloured howdahs, and the shouts of the
beaters and shikarries, distracted his attention for a
moment. He stood whirling his tail to right and
left, with half dropped jaw and flaming eyes, half
pressing, half grabbing the fleshy arm of the sense-
less man beneath him — impatient, alarmed, and
horrible.
“Pack! ! ! Pi-i-i-i-ing . . . .” went the crack
and the sing of the merry rifle, and the scene changed.
With a yell like a soul in everlasting torment the
great beast whirled himself into the air ten feet at
least, and fell dead beside his victim, shot through
99


MR. ISAACS. 229
slats of bamboo from his howdah, and with a little
pulling and wrenching, and the help of my long,
tough turban-cloth, a real native pugree, we set and
bound the arm as best we could, giving the poor
fellow brandy all the while. The collar-bone we left
to its own devices; an injury there takes care of
itself.
An elephant came up and received the dead tiger,
and the man was carried off and placed in my howdah.
The other animals with their riders had gathered
near the scene, and every one had something to say
to Ghyrkins, who by his brilliant shot and the life he
had saved, had maintained his reputation, and come
off the hero of the whole campaign. Miss Weston-
haugh was speechless with horror at the whole thing,
and seemed to cling to her uncle, as if fearing some-
thing of the same kind might happen to her at any
moment. Isaacs, as usual the last on the line of
beating, came up and called out his congratulations.
“After saving a life so well, Mr. Ghyrkins, you
will not grudge me the poor honour of risking one,
will you?”
“Not I, my boy!” answered the delighted old
sportsman, “only if that mangy old man-eater had
got you down the other day, I should not have been
there to pot him!”
“Great shot, sir! I envy you,” said Kildare.
“Splendid shot. A hundred yards at least,” said
John Westonhaugh meditatively, but in a loud
voice.


230 MR. ISAACS.
So we swung away toward the camp, though it was
early. Ghyrkins chuckled, and the man with the
broken bones groaned. But between the different
members of the party he would be a rich man before
he was well. I amused myself with my favourite
sport of potting peacocks with bullets; it is very
good practice. Isaacs had told me that morning
when we started that he would leave us the next day
to meet Shere Ali near Keitung. We reached camp
about three o'clock, in the heat of the afternoon.
The injured beater was put in a servant's tent to be
sent off to Pegnugger in a litter in the cool of the
night. There was a doctor there who would take
care of him under the collector's written orders.
The camp was in a shady place, quite unlike the
spot where we had first pitched our tents. There
was a little grove of mango-trees, rather stunted, as
they are in the north, and away at one corner of the
plantation was a well with a small temple where a
Brahmin, related to all the best families in the neigh-
bouring village, dwelt and collected the gifts bestowed
on him and his simple shrine by the superstitious,
devout, or worldly pilgrims who yearly and monthly
visited him in search of counsel, spiritual or social.
The men had mowed the grass smooth under the
trees, and the shade was not so close as to make it
damp. Some ryots had been called in to dig a ditch
and raised a rough chapudra or terrace, some fifteen
feet in diameter, opposite the dining-tent, on which
elevation we could sit, even late at night, in reason-


MR. ISAACS. 231
able security from cobras and other evil beasts. It
was a pleasant place in the afternoon, and pleasanter
still at night. As I turned into our tent after we got
back, I thought I would go and sit there when I had
bathed, and send for a hookah and a novel, and go to
sleep.


232 MR. ISAACS.
CHAPTER XI.
I OBSERVED that Isaacs was very quick about his
toilet, and when I came out and ascended the terrace,
followed by Kiramat Ali with books and tobacco, I
glanced lazily over the quiet scene, settling myself
in my chair, and fully expecting to see my friend
somewhere among the trees, not unaccompanied by
some one else. I was not mistaken. Turning my
eyes towards the corner of the grove where the old
Brahmin had his shrine, I saw the two well-known
figures of Isaacs and Miss Westonhaugh sauntering
towards the well. Having satisfied the expectations
of my curiosity, I turned over the volume of philoso-
phy, well thumbed and hard used as a priest's brevi-
ary, and I inhaled long draughts of tobacco, debating
whether I should read, or meditate, or dream. Decid-
ing in favour of the more mechanical form of intel-
lectuality, I fixed on a page that looked inviting, and
followed the lines, from left to right, lazily at first,
then with increased interest, and finally in that
absorbed effort of continued comprehension which con-
stitutes real study. Page after page, syllogism after
syllogism, conclusion after conclusion, I followed for
the hundredth time in the book I love well—the


MR. ISAACS. 233
book of him that would destroy the religion I believe,
but whose brilliant failure is one of the grandest
efforts of the purely human mind. I finished a chap-
ter and, in thought still, but conscious again of life,
I looked up. They were still down there by the
well, those two, but while I looked the old priest,
bent and white, came out of the little temple where
he had been sprinkling his image of Vishnu, and
dropped his aged limbs from one step to the other
painfully, steadying his uncertain descent with a
stick. He went to the beautiful couple seated on
the edge of the well, built of mud and sun-dried
bricks, and he seemed to speak to Isaacs. I watched,
and became interested in the question whether
Isaacs would give him a two-anna bit or a copper,
and whether I could distinguish with the naked eye
at that distance between the silver and the baser
metal. Curious, thought I, how odd little trifles
will absorb the attention. The interview which was
to lead to the expected act of charity seemed to be
lasting a long time.
Suddenly Isaacs turned and called to me; his high,
distinct tones seeming to gather volume from the
hollow of the well. He was calling me to join them.
I rose, rather reluctantly, from my books and moved
through the trees to where they were.
“Griggs,” Isaacs called out before I had reached
him, “here is an old fellow who knows something.
I really believe he is something of a yogi.”
“What ridiculous nonsense,” I said impatiently,


MR. ISAACS. 235
lightly to his side and whispered something in his
ear. The ancient Brahmin turned.
“Then I will do a wonder for you, but I want no
bucksheesh. I will do it for the lady with white
hair, whose face resembles Chunder.” He looked
long and fixedly at Miss Westonhaugh. “Let the
sáhib log come with me a stone's throw from the
well, and let one sáhib call his servant and bid him
draw water that he may wash his hands. And I
will do this wonder; the man shall not draw any
water, though he had the strength of Siva, until I
say the word.” So we moved away under the trees,
and I shouted for Kiramat Ali, who came running
down, and I told him to send a bhisti, a water-carrier,
with his leathern bucket. Then we waited. Pres-
ently the man came, with bucket and rope.
“Draw water, that I may wash my hands,” said I.
“Achhá, sáhib,” and he strode to the well and
lowered his pail by the rope. The priest looked
intently at him as he shook the rope to turn the
bucket over and let it fill; then he began to pull.
The bucket seemed to be caught. He jerked, and
then bent his whole weight back, drawing the rope
across the edge of the brickwork. The thing was
immovable. He seemed astonished and looked down
into the well, thinking the pail was caught in a stone.
I could not resist the temptation to go down and in-
spect the thing. No. The bucket was full and lying
in the middle of the round sheet of water at the
bottom of the well. The man tugged, while the


MR. ISAACS. 237
Miss Westonhaugh did not understand the lan-
guage, and Isaacs would have been the last person to
translate such a speech as the Brahmin had made.
We turned and strolled up the hill, and presently I
bethought me of some errand, and left them together
under the trees. They were so happy and so beauti-
ful together, the fair lily from the English dale and
the deep red rose of Persian Gulistán. The sun
slanted low through the trees and sank in rose-
coloured haze, and the moon, now just at the half,
began to shine out softly through the mangoes, and
still the lovers walked, pacing slowly to and fro near
the well. No wonder they dallied long; it was
their last evening together, and I doubted not that
Isaacs was telling her of his sudden departure, neces-
sary for reasons which I knew he would not explain
to her or to any one else.
At last we all assembled in the dining-tent. Mr.
Currie Ghyrkins was among the first, and his niece
was the last to enter the room. He was glorious that
evening, his kindly red face beamed on every one,
and he carried himself like a victorious general at
a ladies' tea-party. He had reason to be happy, and
his jerky good spirits were needed to counterbalance
the deep melancholy that seemed to have settled upon
his niece. The colour was gone from her cheeks, and
her dark eyes, heavily fringed by the black brows
and lashes, shone out strangely; the contrast between
the white flaxen hair, drawn back in simple massive
waves like a Greek statue, and the broad level eyes


238 MR. ISAACS.
as dark as night, was almost startling this evening in
the singularity of its beauty. She sat like a queenly
marble at the end of the table, not silent, by any
means, but so evidently out of spirits that John
Westonhaugh, who did not know that Isaacs was
going in the morning, and would not have supposed
that his sister could care so much, if he had known,
remarked upon her depression.
“What is the matter, Katharine ** he asked kindly,
“Have you a headache this evening?” She was just
then staring rather blankly into space.
“Oh no,” she said, trying to smile. “I was
thinking.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Ghyrkins merrily, “that is why
you look so unlike yourself, my dear!” And he
laughed at his rough little joke.
“Do I?” asked the girl absently.
But Ghyrkins was not to be repressed, and as Kil-
dare and the Pegnugger man were gay and wide
awake, the dinner was not as dull as might have been
expected. When it was over, Isaacs announced his
intention of leaving early the next morning. Very
urgent business recalled him suddenly, he explained.
A messenger had arrived just before dinner. He must
leave without fail in the morning. Miss Weston-
haugh of course was forewarned; but the others were
not. Lord Steepleton Kildare, in the act of light-
ing a cheroot, dropped the vesuvian incontinently,
and stood staring at Isaacs with an indescribable
expression of empty wonder in his face, while the


MR. ISAACS. 239
match sputtered and smouldered and died away in
the grass by the door. John Westonhaugh, who
liked Isaacs sincerely, and had probably contem-
plated the possibility of the latter marrying Katha-
rine, looked sorry at first, and then a half angry
expression crossed his face, which softened instantly
again. Currie Ghyrkins swore loudly that it was .
out of the question—that it would break up the
party — that he would not hear of it, and so on.
“I must go,” said Isaacs quietly. “It is a very
serious matter. I am sorry—more sorry than I can
tell you; but I must.”
“But you cannot, you know. Damn it, sir, you
are the life of the party, you knowl Come, come,
this will never dol’”
“My dear sir,” said Isaacs, addressing Ghyrkins,
“if, when you were about to fire this morning to save
that poor devil's life, I had begged you not to shoot,
would you have complied ?”
“Why, of course not,” ejaculated Ghyrkins angrily.
“Well, neither can I comply, though I would give
anything to stay with you all.”
“But nobody's life depends on your going away
to-morrow morning. What do you mean? The
deuce and all, you know, I don't understand you a
bit.”
“I cannot tell you, Mr. Ghyrkins; but something
depends on my going, which is of as great impor-
tance to the person concerned as life itself. Believe
me,” he said, going near to the old gentleman and


240 MR. ISAACS.
laying a hand on his arm, “I do not go wil-
lingly.”
“Well, I hope not, I am sure,” said Ghyrkins
gruffly, though yielding. “If you will, you will,
and there's no holding you; but we are all very
sorry. That's all. Mahmoud! bring fire, you lazy
pigling, that I may smoke.” And he threw himself
into a chair, the very creaking of the cane wicker
expressing annoyance and dissatisfaction.
So there was an end of it, and Isaacs strode off
through the moonlight to his quarters, to make some
arrangement, I supposed. But he did not come back.
Miss Westonhaugh retired also to her tent, and no
one was surprised to see her go. Kildare rose pres-
ently and asked if I would not stroll to the well, or
anywhere, it was such a jolly night. I went with
him, and arm in arm we walked slowly down. The
young moon was bright among the mango-trees, strik-
ing the shining leaves, that reflected a strange green-
ish light. We moved leisurely, and spoke little.
I understood Kildare's silence well enough, and I
had nothing to say. The ground was smooth and
even, for the men had cut the grass close, and the
little humped cow that belonged to the old Brahmin
cropped all she could get at.
We skirted round the edge of the grove, intending
to go back to the tents another way. Suddenly I
saw something in front that arrested my attention.
Two figures, some thirty yards away. They stood
quite still, turned from us. A man and a woman


MB. ISAACS. 241
between the trees, an opening in the leaves just let-
ting a ray of moonlight slip through on them. His
arm around her, the tall lissome figure of her bent,
and her head resting on his shoulder. I have good
eyes and was not mistaken, but I trusted Kildare
had not seen. A quick twitch of his arm, hanging
carelessly through mine, told me the mischief was
done before I could turn his attention. By a com-
mon instinct we wheeled to the left, and passing
into the open strolled back in the direction whence
we had come. I did not look at Kildare, but after
a minute he began to talk about the moonlight and
tigers, and whether tigers were ever shot by moon-
light, and altogether was rather incoherent; but I
took up the question, and we talked bravely till we
got back to the dining-tent, where we sat down
again, secretly wishing we had not gone for a stroll
after all. In a few minutes Isaacs came from his
tent, which he must have entered from the other
side. He was perfectly at his ease, and at once
began talking about the disagreeable journey he had
before him. Then, after a time, we broke up, and
he said good-bye to every one in turn, and Ghyrkins
told John to call his sister, if she were still visible,
for “Mr. Isaacs wanted to say good-bye.” So she
came and took his hand, and made a simple speech
about “meeting again before long,” as she stood with
her uncle; and my friend and I went away to our
tent.
We sat long in the connát. Isaacs did not seem to
II Vol. I


MR. ISAACS. 243
haired lady into the tiger's jaws. I saw that the first
warning had been on her account, and I suppose the
impression of possible danger for her frightened me.”
“It would not have frightened you three weeks ago
about any woman,” I said. “It appears to me that
your ideas in certain quarters have undergone some
little change. You are as different from the Isaacs
I knew at first as Philip drunk was different from
Philip sober. Such is human nature — scoffing at
women the one day, and risking life and soul for
their whims the next.”
“I hate your reflections about the human kind,
Griggs, and I do not like your way of looking at
women. You hate women sol”
“No. You like my descriptions of the ‘ideal
creatures I rave about much better, it seems. Upon
my soul, friend, if you want a criterion of yourself,
take this conversation. A fortnight ago to-day — or
to-morrow, will it be 2–I was lecturing you about
the way to regard women; begging you to consider
that they had souls and were capable of loving, as
well as of being loved. And here you are accusing
me of hating the whole sex, and without the slightest
provocation on my part, either. Here is Birnam
wood coming to Dunsinane with a vengeance!”
“Oh, I don't deny it. I don't pretend to argue
about it. I have changed a good deal in the last
month.” He pensively crossed one leg over the other
as he lay back on the long chair and pulled at his
slipper. “I suppose I have — changed a good deal.”


MR. ISAACS. 245
ing outer space? Not through years, or for times,
or for ages — but for ever? The light of life is
woman, the love of life is the love of woman; the
light that pales not, the life that cannot die, the love
that can know not any ending; my light, my life,
and my lovel ” His whole soul was in his voice,
and his whole heart; the twining white fingers, the
half-closed eyes, and the passionate quivering tone,
told all he had left unsaid. It was surely a high and
a noble thing that he felt, worthy of the man in his
beauty of mind and body. He loved an ideal, revealed
to him, as he thought, in the shape of the fair English
girl; he worshipped his ideal through her, without a
thought that he could be mistaken. Happy man!
Perhaps he had a better chance of going through life
without any cruel revelation of his mistake than falls
to the lot of most lovers, for she was surpassingly
beautiful, and most good and true hearted. But are
not people always mistaken who think to find the
perfect comprehended in the imperfect, the infinite
enchained and made tangible in the finite? Bah!
The same old story, the same old vicious circle, the
everlastingly recurring mathematical view of things
that cannot be treated mathematically; the fruitless
attempt to measure the harmonious circle of the soul
by the angular square of the book. What poor
things our minds are, after all. We have but one
way of thinking derived from what we know, and
we incontinently apply it to things of which we can
know nothing, and then we quarrel with the result,


MR. ISAACS. 247
things fair, and the tree of life is beside me, blos-
soming straight and broad with the flowers that
wither not, and the fruit that is good to the parched
lips and the thirsty spirit. And the garden is for
us to dwell in now, and the eternity of the heavenly
spheres is ours hereafter.” He was all on fire again.
I kept silence for some time; and his hands unfolded,
and he raised them and clasped them under his head,
and drew a deep long breath, as if to taste the new
life that was in him.
“Forgive my bringing you down to earth again,”
I said after a while, “but have you made all necessary
arrangements? Is there anything I can do, after you
are gone? Anything to be said to these good people,
if they question me about your sudden departure?”
“Yes. I was forgetting. If you will be so kind,
I wish you would see the expedition out, and take
charge of the expenses. There are some bags of
rupees somewhere among my traps. Narain knows.
I shall not take him with me — or, no; on second
thoughts I will hand you over the money, and take
him to Simla. Then, about the other thing. Do
not tell any one where I have gone, unless it be Miss
Westonhaugh, and use your own discretion about
her. We shall all be in Simla in ten days, and I do
not want this thing known, as you may imagine. I
do not think there is anything else, thanks.” He
paused, as if thinking. “Yes, there is one more
consideration. If anything out of the way should
occur in this transaction with Baithopoor, I should


MR. ISAACS. 249
to be found at the end of the day's march, smiling as
ever. The young moon had set some time before,
but the stars were bright, though it was dark under
the trees.
Twenty yards beyond the last tent, a dark figure
swept suddenly out from the blackness and laid a
hand on Isaacs' rein. He halted and bent over, and
I heard some whispering. It only lasted a moment,
and the figure shot away again. I was sure I heard
something like a kiss, in the gloom, and there was
a most undeniable smell of roses in the air. I held
my peace, though I was astonished. I could not
have believed her capable of it. Lying in wait in
the dusk of the morning to give her lover a kiss and
a rose and a parting word. She must have taken me
for his servant in the dark.
“Griggs,” said Isaacs as we parted some six or
seven miles farther on, — “an odd thing happened
this morning. I have left something more in your
keeping than money.”
“I know. Trust me. Good-bye,” and he can-
tered off.
I confess I was very dejected and low-spirited
when I came back into camp. My acquaintance with
Isaacs, so suddenly grown into intimacy, had be-
come a part of my life. I felt a sort of devotion to
him that I had never felt for any man in my life
before. I would rather have gone with him to Kei-
tung, for a presentiment told me there was trouble
in the wind. He had not talked to me about the


MR. ISAACS. 251
characterised their campaign in Afghanistan in the
autumn of 1879; and when I had assured myself,
furthermore, by the perusal of a request for the
remittance of twenty pounds, that my nephew,
the only relation, male or female, that I have in the
world, had not come to the untimely death he so
richly deserved, I fell to considering what book I
should read. And from one thing to another, I
found myself established about ten o'clock at the
table in the dining-tent, with Miss Westonhaugh
at one side, worsted work, writing materials and
all, just as she had been at the same table a week
or so before. At her request I had continued my
writing when she came in. I was finishing off a
column of a bloodthirsty article for the Howler;
it probably would come near enough to the mark,
for in India you may print a leader anywhere within
a month of its being written, and if it was hot
enough to begin with, it will still answer the purpose.
Journalism is not so rapid in its requirements as in
New York, but, on the other hand, it is more lucrative.
“Mr. Griggs, are you very busy”
“Oh dear, no – nothing to speak of,” I went on
writing — the unprecedented—folly — the – blatant
—charlatanism
“Mr. Griggs, do you understand these things?”
Lord Beaconsfield's – “I think so, Miss Wes-
tonhaugh”—Afghan policy There, I thought,
I think that would rouse Mr. Currie Ghyrkins, if he
ever saw it, which I trust he never will. I had


252 MB. ISAACS.
done, and I folded the numbered sheets in an oblong
bundle. -
“I beg your pardon, Miss Westonhaugh; I was
just finishing a sentence. I am quite at yourservice.”
“Oh no! I see you are too busy.”
“Not in the least, I assure you. Is it that tangled
skein 7 Let me help you.”
“Oh thank you. It is so tiresome, and I am not
in the least inclined to be industrious.”
I took the wool and get to work. It was very easy,
after all; I pulled the loops through, and back again
and through from the other side, and I found the
ends, and began to wind it up on a piece of paper.
It is singular, though, how the unaided wool can tie
itself into every kind of a knot—reef, carrick bend,
bowline, bowline in a bight, not to mention a variety
of hitches and indescribable perversions of entangle-
ment. I was getting on very well, though. I looked
up at her face, pale and weary with a sleepless night,
but beautiful—ah yes – beautiful beyond compare.
She smiled faintly.
“You are very clever with your fingers. Where
did you learn it? Have you a sister who makes you
wind her wool for her at home?”
“No. I have no sister. I went to sea once upon
a time.”
“Were you ever in the navy, Mr. Griggs?” .
“Oh no. I went before the mast.”
“But you would not learn to unravel wool before
the mast. I suppose your mother taught you when
you were small—if you ever were small.”


MB. ISAACS. 253
“I never had a mother that I can remember—I
learned to do all those things at sea.”
“Forgive me,” she said, guessing she had struck
some tender chord in my existence. “What an odd
life you must have had.”
“Perhaps. I never had any relations that I can
remember, except a brother, much older than I. He
died years ago, and his son is my only living relation.
I was born in Italy.”
“But when did you learn so many things? You
seem to know every language under the sun.”
“I had a good education when I got ashore.
Some one was very kind to me, and I had learned
Latin and Greek in the common school in Rome
before I ran away to sea.”
I answered her questions reluctantly. I did not
want to talk about my history, especially to a girl
like her. I suppose she saw my disinclination, for
as I handed her the card with the wool neatly wound
on it, she thanked me and presently changed the sub-
ject, or at least shifted the ground.
“There is something so free about the life of an
adventurer—I mean a man who wanders about doing
brave things. If I were a man I would be an adven-
turer like you.”
“Not half so much of an adventurer, as you call
it, as our friend who went off this morning.”
It was the first mention of Isaacs since his depart-
ure. I had said the thing inadvertently, for I would
not have done anything to increase her trouble for


256 MR. ISAACS.
us below Keitung, towards Sultanpoor, on the after.
noon of the day when the moon is full. Travel by
Julinder and Sultanpoor; you will easily overtake
me, since I go by Simla. For friendship's sake, for
love's sake, come. It is life and death. Give the
money to the Irishman. Peace be with you.”
I sighed a sigh of the most undetermined descrip-
tion. Was I glad to rejoin my friend? or was I
pained to leave the woman he loved in her present
condition? I hardly knew.
“I think we had all better go back to Simla,” said
John, when I explained that the most urgent busi-
ness called me away at dawn.
“There will be none of us left soon,” said Ghyr-
kins quite quietly and mournfully.
I found means to let Miss Westonhaugh under-
stand where I was going. I gave Kildare the money
in charge.
In the dark of the morning, as I cleared the tents,
the same shadow I had seen before shot out and laid
a hand on my rein. I halted on the same spot where
Isaacs had drawn rein twenty-four hours before.
“Give him this from me. God be with you!” She
was gone in a moment, leaving a small package in
my right hand. I thrust it in my bosom and rode
away.
“How she loves him,” I thought, wondering
greatly.


258 MR. ISAACS.
himself. I had but six days at the outside to reach
my destination.
I had resolved to take one servant, Kiramat Ali,
with me as far as Julinder, whence I would send him
back to Simla with what slender luggage we carried,
for I meant to ride as light as possible, with no
encumbrance to delay me when once I left the line
of the railway. I might have ridden five miles with
Kiramat Ali behind me on a sturdy tat, when I was
surprised by the appearance of an unknown saice in
plain white clothes, holding a pair of strong young
ponies by the halter and salaaming low.
“Pundit Ram Lal sends your highness his peace,
and bids you ride without sparing. The dék is laid
to the fire-carriages.” -
The saddles were changed in a moment, Kiramat
Ali and I assisting in the operation. It was clear
that Ram Lal's messengers were swift, for even if he
had met Isaacs when the latter reached the railroad,
no ordinary horse could have returned with the mes-
sage at the time I had received it. Still less would
any ordinary Hindus be capable of laying a dék, or
post route of relays, over a hundred miles long in
twelve hours. Once prepared, it was a mere matter
of physical endurance in the rider to cover the
ground, for the relays were stationed every five or
six miles. It was well known that Lord Steepleton
Kildare had lately ridden from Simla to Umballa
one night and back the next day, ninety-two miles
each way, with constant change of cattle. What


260 MR. ISAACS.
four bamboos in a square and wickering the top,
whereon the ryots sit when the crops are ripening,
to watch against thieves and cattle, and to drive
away the birds of the air. On we spun, past Meerut
and Mozuffernugger, past Umballa and Loodhiana,
till we reached our station of Julinder at dawn.
Descending from the train, I was about to begin
making inquiries about my next move, when I was
accosted by a tall and well-dressed Mussulman, in a
plain cloth caftain and a white turban, but exquisitely
clean and fresh looking, as it seemed to me, for my
eyes were smarting with dust and wearied with the
perpetual shaking of the train.
The courteous native soon explained that he was
Isaacs’ agent in Julinder, and that a tär ki khaber, a
telegram in short, had warned him to be on the look-
out for me. I was greatly relieved, for it was evi-
dent that every arrangement had been made for my
comfort, so far as comfort was possible. Isaacs had
asked my assistance, but he had taken every precau-
tion against all superfluous bodily inconvenience to
me, and I felt sure that from this point I should
move quickly and easily through every difficulty.
And so it proved. The Mussulman took me to his
house, where there was a spacious apartment, occu-
pied by Isaacs when he passed that way. Every
luxury was prepared for the enjoyment of the bath,
and a breakfast of no mean taste was served me in
my own room. Then my host entered and explained
that he had been directed to make certain arrange-


262 MR. ISAACS.
of stones, blackened with the fire from his last meal,
beside him; sometimes in the act of cooking his chow-
patties, sometimes eating them, according to the time
of day. Several times I stopped to drink some water
where it seemed to be good, and I ate a little choco-
late from my supply, well knowing the miraculous sus-
taining powers of the simple little block of “Menier,”
which, with its six small tablets, will not only sus-
tain life, but will supply vigour and energy, for as
much as two days, with no other food. On and on,
through the day and the night, past sleeping villages
where the jackals howled around the open doors of
the huts; and across vast fields of late crops, over
hills thickly grown with trees, past the broad bend
of the Sutlej river, and over the plateau toward Sul-
tanpoor, the cultivation growing scantier and the
villages rarer all the while, as the vast masses of the
Himalayas defined themselves more and more dis-
tinctly in the moonlight. Horses of all kinds under
me, lean and fat, short and high, roman-nosed and
goose-necked, broken and unbroken; away and away,
shifting saddle and bridle and saddle-bag as I left
each tired mount behind me. Once I passed a stream,
and pulling off my boots to cool my feet, the tempta-
tion was too strong, so I hastily threw off my clothes
and plunged in and had a short refreshing bath.
Then on, with the galloping even triplet of the
horse's hoofs beneath me, as they came down in quick
succession, as if the earth were a muffled drum and
we were beating an untiring rataplan on her breast.


264 MR. ISAACS.
sunrise in a very impracticable-looking country.
The road had been steeper and less defined during the
last two hours of the ride, and as I crossed one leg
high over the other lying on my back in the grass, the
morning light caught my spur, and there was blood
on it, bright and red. I had certainly come as fast
as I could; if I should be too late, it would not be
my fault. The agent, whoever he might be, was a
striking-looking fellow in a dirty brown cloth caſtán
and an enormous sash wound round his middle. A
pointed cap with some tawdry gold lace on it covered
his head, and greasy black love-locks writhed filthily
over his high cheekbones and into his scanty tangled
beard; a suspicious hilt bound with brass wire reared
its snake-like head from the folds of his belt, and his
legs, terminating in thick-soled native shoes, re-
minded one of a tarantula in boots. He salaamed
awkwardly with a tortuous grin, and addressed me
with the northern salutation, “May your feet never
be weary with the march.” Having been twenty-
four hours in the saddle, my feet were not that por-
tion of my body most wearied, but I replied to the
effect that I trusted the shadow of the greasy gentle-
man might not diminish a hairsbreadth in the next
ten thousand years. We then proceeded to business,
and I observed that the man spoke a very broken and
hardly intelligible Hindustani. I tried him in Per-
sian, but it was of no avail. He spoke Persian, he
said, but it was not of the kind that any human being
could understand; so we returned to the first lan-


MR. ISAACS. 265
guage, and I concluded that he was a wandering
kábuli.
As an introduction of himself he mentioned Isaacs,
calling him Abdul Hafiz Sáhib, and he seemed to
know him personally. Abdul, he said, was not far
off as distances go in the Himalayas. He thought I
should find him the day after to-morrow, mungkul.
He said I should not be able to ride much farther, as
the pass beyond Sultanpoor was utterly impracticable
for horses; coolies, however, awaited me with a
dooly, one of those low litters slung on a bamboo, in
which you may travel swiftly and without effort, but
to the destruction of the digestive organs. He said
also that he would accompany me the next stage
as far as the doolies, and I thought he showed some
curiosity to know whither I was going ; but he was
a wise man in his generation, and knowing his
orders, did not press me overmuch with questions.
I remarked in a mild way that the saddle was the
throne of the warrior, and that the air of the black
mountains was the breath of freedom; but I added
that the voice of the empty stomach was as the roar
of the king of the forest. Whereupon the man
replied that the forest was mine and the game therein,
whereof I was lord, as I probably was of the rest of
the world, since I was his father and mother and
most of his relations; but that, perceiving that I
was occupied with the cares of a mighty empire, he
had ventured to slay with his own hand a kid and
some birds, which, if I would condescend to partake
I2 Vol. 1


268 MR. ISAACS.
gladly to the sun and catch his broadside rays like
majestic white standards. Between you, as you
stand leaning cautiously against the hill behind you,
and the wonderful background far away in front,
floats a strange vision, scarcely moving, but yet not
still. A great golden shield sails steadily in vast
circles, sending back the sunlight in every tint of
burnished glow. The golden eagle of the Himalayas
hangs in mid-air, a sheet of polished metal to the eye,
pausing sometimes in the full blaze of reflection, as
ages ago the sun and the moon stood still in the
valley of Ajalon; too magnificent for description, as
he is too dazzling to look at. The whole scene, if no
greater name can be given to it, is on a scale so
Titanic in its massive length and breadth and depth,
that you stand utterly trembling and weak and fool-
ish as you look for the first time. You have never
seen such masses of the world before.
It was in such a spot as this that, nearly at noon on
the appointed day, my dooly-bearers set me down and
warned me I was at my journey's end. I stepped
out and stood on the narrow way, pausing to look
and to enjoy all that I saw. I had been in other
parts of the lower Himalayas before, and the first
sensations I had experienced had given way to those
of a contemplative admiration. No longer awed or
overpowered or oppressed by the sense of physical
insignificance in my own person, I could endure to
look on the stupendous panorama before me, and
could even analyse what I felt. But before long my


270 MR. ISAACS.
and even the white streamer that hung down from
Isaacs' turban. It seemed to shed a bright light,
even in the broad noonday, as it lay there in the
curiously wrought box—just as the body of some
martyred saint found jealously concealed in the dark
corner of an ancient crypt, and broken in upon by
unsuspecting masons delving a king's grave, might
throw up in their dusky faces a dazzling halo of soft
radiance—the glory of the saint hovering lovingly by
the body wherein the soul's sufferings were perfected.
The moment Isaacs realised what it was, he turned
away, his face all gladness, and moved on a few steps
with bent head, evidently contemplating his new
treasure. Then he snapped the spring, and putting
the casket in his vest turned round to me.
“Thank you, Griggs; how are they all?”
“It was worth a two-hundred mile ride to see your
face when you opened that box. They are pretty
well. I left them swearing that the party was broken
up, and that they would all go back to Simla.”
“The sooner the better. We shall be there in
three days from here, by the help of Ram Lal's won-
derful post.”
“Between you I managed to get here quite well.
How did you do it? I never missed a relay all the
way from Julinder.”
“Oh, it is very easy,” answered Isaacs. “You
could have a dāk to the moon from India if you would
pay for it; or any other thing in heaven or earth or
hell that you might fancy. Money, that is all. But,


MR. ISAACS. 271
my dear fellow, you have lost flesh sensibly since we
parted. You take your travelling hard.”
“Where is Ram Lal?” I asked, curious to learn
something of our movements for the night.
“Oh, I don't know. He is probably somewhere
about the place charming cobras or arresting ava-
lanches, or indulging in some of those playful freaks
he says he learned in Edinburgh. We have had
a great good time the last two days. He has not
disappeared, or swallowed himself even once, or
delivered himself of any fearful and mysterious
prophecies. We have been talking transcendental-
ism. He knows as much about “functional gamma'
and “All X is Y’ and the rainbow, and so on, as you
do yourself. I recommend him. I think he would be
a charming companion for you. There he is now,
with his pockets full of snakes and evil beasts. I
wanted him to catch a golden eagle this morning,
and tame it for Miss Westonhaugh, but he said it
would eat the jackal and probably the servants, so I
have given it up for the present.” Isaacs was evi-
dently in a capital humour. Ram Lal approached us.
I saw at a glance that Ram Lal the Buddhist, when
on his beats in the civilisation of Simla, was one
person. Ram Lal, the cultured votary of science,
among the hills and the beasts and the specimens
that he loved, was a very different man. He was as
gray as ever, it is true, but better defined, the out-
lines sharper, the features more Dantesque and easier
to discern in the broad light of the sun. He did not


274 MR. ISAACS.
probably expect that our friend will arrive guarded
by a troop of horse. The maharajah's men will try
and sneak up close to where we stand, and at a sig-
nal, which the leader, in conversation with Isaacs,
will give by laying his hand on his shoulder, the
men will rush in and cut Shere Ali to pieces, and
Isaacs too if the captain cannot do it alone. Now
look here, Mr. Griggs. What we want you to do is
this. Your friend—my friend—wants no miracles,
so that you have got to do by strength what might
be done by stratagem, though not so quickly. When
you see the leader lay his hand on Isaacs' shoulder,
seize him by the throat and mind his other arm,
which will be armed. Prevent him from injuring
Isaacs, and I will attend to the rest, who will doubt-
less require my whole attention.”
“But,” I objected, “supposing that this captain
turned out to be stronger or more active than I.
What then 2 ”
“Never fear,” said Isaacs, smiling. “There aren't
any.”
“No,” continued Ram Lal, “never disturb your-
self about that, but just knock your man down and
be done with it. I will guarantee you can do it well
enough, and if he gives you trouble I may be able to
help you.”
“All right; give me some cigarettes;
I had smoked one I was asleep.
When I awoke the sun was down, but there was a
great light over everything. The full moon had just
25
and before


282 MR. ISAACS.
A moment more and we were in the pass; the mist
was lighter, and we could see our way. We rushed
up the stony path fast and sure, till we reached the
clear bright moonlight, blazing forth in silver splen-
dour again. Far down below the velvet pall of mist
lay thick and heavy, hiding the camp and its horses
and men from our sight.
“Friend,” said Isaacs, “you are as free as I. Praise
Allah, and let us depart in peace.”
The savage old warrior grasped the outstretched
hand of the Persian and yelled aloud—
“Illallaho-ho-ho-ho !” His throat was as brass.
“La illah ill-allah!” repeated Isaacs in tones as of
a hundred clarions, echoing by tree and mountain and
river, down the valley.
“Thank God . " I said to Ram Lal.
“Call Him as you please, friend Griggs,” answered
the pundit.
It was daylight when we reached the tent at the
top of the pass.


MR. ISAACS. 283
CHAPTER XIII.
“ABDUL HAFIz,” said Ram Lal, as we sat round
the fire we had made, preparing food, “if it is thy
pleasure I will conduct thy friend to a place of safety
and set his feet in the paths that lead to pleasant
places. For thou art weary and wilt take thy rest
until noon, but I am not weary and the limbs of the
Afghan are as iron.” He spoke in Persian, so that
Shere Ali could understand what he said. The
latter looked uneasy at first, but soon perceived that
his best chance of safety lay in immediately leaving
the neighbourhood, which was unpleasantly near
Simla on the one side and the frontiers of Baithopoor
on the other.
“I thank thee, Ram Lal,” replied Isaacs, “and I
gladly accept thy offer. Whither wilt thou conduct
our friend the Amir?”
“I will lead him by a sure road into Thibet, and
my brethren shall take care of him, and presently he
shall journey safely northwards into the Tartar coun-
try, and thence to the Russ people, where the follow-
ers of your prophet are many, and if thou wilt give
him the letters thou hast written, which he may pre-
sent to the principal moolahs, he shall prosper. And


284 MR. ISAACS,
as for money, if thou hast gold, give him of it, and
if not, give him silver; and if thou hast none, take
no thought, for the freedom of the spirit is better
than the obesity of the body.”
“Bishmillah! Thou speakest with the tongue of
wisdom, old man,” said Shere Ali; “nevertheless a
few rupees — ” -
“Fear nothing,” broke in Isaacs. “I have for thee
a store of a few rupees in silver, and there are two
hundred gold mohurs in this bag. They are scarce
in Hind and pass not as money, but the value of them
whither thou goest shall buy thee food many days.
Take also this diamond, which if thou be in want
thou shalt sell and be rich.
Shere Ali, who had been suspicious of treachery,
or at least was afraid to believe himself really free,
was convinced by this generosity. The great rough
warrior, the brave patriot who had shut the gates of
Kabul in the face of Sir Neville Chamberlain, and
who had faced every danger and defeat, rather than
tamely suffer the advance of the all-devouring Eng-
lish into his dominions, was proud and unbending
still, through all his captivity and poverty and trouble,
and weariness of soul and suffering of body; he could
bear his calamities like a man, the unrelenting chief
of an unrelenting race. But when Isaacs stretched
forth his hand and freed him, and bestowed upon him,
moreover, a goodly stock of cash, and bid him go in
peace, his gratitude got the better of him, and he
fairly broke down. The big tears coursed down over


288 MR. ISAACS.
“Was she so pale, then?” he asked anxiously.
“Why, yes. You remember how she looked the
night before you left? She was even paler the next
day, but when I said you had gone to do a good deed,
the light came into her face for a moment.”
“Do you think she was ill, Griggs?”
“She did not look well, but of course she was
anxious about you, and a good deal cut up about your
going.”
“No; but did you really think she was ill?” he
insisted.
“Oh no, nothing but your going.”
His spirits were gone again, and he said very lit-
tle more that day. As we were ascending the last
hills, some eight or nine hours from Simla, the moon
rose majestically behind us. It must have been ten
o'clock, for she could not have been seen above the
notch in the mountains to eastward until she had
been risen an hour at least.
“I wonder where they are now, those two,’
Isaacs.
“Shere Ali and Ram Lal?”
“Yes. They are probably across the borders into
Thibet, watching the moon rise from the door of some
Buddhist monastery. I am glad I am not there.”
“Isaacs,” I said, “I would really like to know why
you took so much trouble about Shere Ali. It seems
to me you might have procured his liberation in some
simpler way, if it was merely an act of charity that
you contemplated.”
9
said


MR. ISAACS. 289
“Call it anything you like. I had read about the
poor man until my imagination was wrought up,
and I could not bear to think of a man so brave and
patriotic and at the same time a true believer, lying
in the clutches of that old beast of a maharajah.
And as for the method of my procedure, do you
realise the complete secrecy of the whole affair? Do
you see that no one but you and I and the Baithopoor
people know anything of the transaction? Do you
suppose that I should be tolerated a day in the coun-
try if the matter were known? Above all, what do
you imagine Mr. Currie Ghyrkins would think of me
if he knew I had been liberating and enriching the
worst foe of his little god, Lord Beaconsfield?”
There was truth in what he said. By no arrange-
ment could the liberation of Shere Ali have been
effected with such secrecy and despatch as by the
simple plan of going ourselves. And now we toiled
up the last hills, vainly attempting to keep our horses
in a canter; long before the relay was reached they
had relapsed into a dogged jog-trot.
So we reached Simla at sunrise, and crawled wearily
up the steps of the hotel to our rooms, tired with the
cramp of dooly and saddle for so many days, and
longing for the luxury of the bath, the civilised meal,
and the arm-chair. Of course I did not suppose
Isaacs would go to bed. He expected that the Wes-
tonhaughs would have returned by this time, and he
would doubtless go to them as soon as he had break-
fasted. So we separated to dress and be shaved—
I3 U Vol. I


290 MR. ISAACS.
my beard was a week old at least—and to make our-
selves as comfortable as we deserved to be after our
manifold exertions. We had been three days and a
half from Keitung to Simla.
At my door stood the faithful Kiramat Ali, salaam-
ing and making a pretence of putting dust on his
head according to his ideas of respectful greeting.
On the table lay letters; one of these, a note, lay
in a prominent position. I took it instinctively,
though I did not know the hand. It was from Mr.
Currie Ghyrkins.
Saturday morning.
MY DEAR MR. GRIGGS – If you have returned to
Simla, I should be glad to see you for half an hour on
a matter of urgent importance. I would come to you
if I could. My niece, Miss Westonhaugh, is, I am
sorry to say, dangerously ill. — Sincerely yours,
A. CURRIE GEIYRKINS.
It was dated two days before, for to-day was Mon-
day. I made every possible haste in my toilet and
ordered a horse. I wondered whether Isaacs had
received a similar missive. What could be the mat-
ter? What might not have happened in those two
days since the note was written? I felt sure that
the illness had begun before I left them in the Terai,
hastened probably by the pain she had felt at Isaacs'
departure; there is nothing like a little mental worry
to hasten an illness, if it is to come at all. Poor
Miss Westonhaugh! So, after all her gaiety and all


MR. ISAACS. 291
the enjoyment she had from the tiger-hunt on which
she had set her heart, she had come back to be ill in
Simla. Well, the air was fresh enough now —
almost cold, in fact. She would soon be well. Still,
it was a great pity. We might have had such a gay
week before breaking up.
I was dressed, and I went down the steps, passing
Isaacs’ open door. He was calmly reading a newspaper
and having a morning smoke, until it should be time
to go out. Clearly he had not heard anything of
Miss Westonhaugh's illness. I resolved I would say
nothing until I knew the worst, so I merely put my
head in and said I should be back in an hour to break-
fast with him, and passed on. Once on horseback,
I galloped as hard as I could, scattering chuprassies
and children and marketers to right and left in the
bazaar. It was not long before I left my horse at the
corner of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins’ lawn, and walking to
the verandah, which looked suspiciously neat and
unused, inquired for the master of the house. I was
shown into his bedroom, for it was still very early
and he was dressing.
I noticed a considerable change in the old gentle-
man’s manner and appearance in the last ten days.
His bright red colour was nearly faded, his eyes had
grown larger and less bright, he had lost flesh, and
his tone was subdued in the extreme. He came from
his dressing-glass to greet me with a ghost of the old
smile on his face, and his hand stretched eagerly out.
“My dear Mr. Griggs, I am sincerely glad to see
you. 22


MB. ISAACS. 298
and no evening. Their hours are eternally the same,
save for the alternation of suffering and rest. The
nurse and the doctor are their sun and moon, reliev-
ing each other in the watches of day and night. As
they are worse—as they draw nearer to eternity, they
are less and less governed by ideas of time. A dying
person will receive a visit at midnight or at mid-day
with no thought but to see the face of friend—or foe
—once more. So I was not surprised to find that
Miss Westonhaugh would see me; in an interval of
the fever she had been moved to a chair in her room,
and her brother was with her. I might go in — indeed
she sent a very urgent message imploring that I would
go. I went.
The morning sun was beating brightly on the shut-
ters, and the room looked cheerful as I entered. John
Westonhaugh, paler than death, came quickly to the
door and grasped my hand.
On a long cane-chair by the window, carefully
covered from the possible danger of any insidious
draught, with a mass of soft white wraps and shawls,
lay Katharine Westonhaugh — the transparant phan-
tasm of her brilliant self. The rich masses of pale
hair were luxuriously nestled around her shoulders
and the blazing eyes flamed, lambently, under the
black brows — but that was all. Colour, beside the
gold hair and the black eyes, there was hardly any.
The strong clean-cut outline of the features was
there, but absolutely startling in emaciation, so that
there seemed to be no flesh at all; the pale lips


296 MR. ISAACS.
“What's the matter—for God's sake — Why,
Griggs, man, how white you are—O my God, my
God—she is dead!” I seized him quickly in my
arms or he would have thrown himself on the ground.
“No,” I said, “she is not dead. But, my dear
boy, she is dying. I do not believe she will live till
this evening. Therefore get to horse and ride there
quickly, before it is too late.”
Isaacs was a brave man, and of surpassing strength
to endure. After the first passionate outburst, his
manner never changed as he mechanically ordered
his horse and pulled on his boots. He was pale
naturally, and great purple rings seemed to come
out beneath his eyes—as if he had received a blow
—from the intensity of his suppressed emotion.
Once only he spoke before he mounted.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Jungle fever,” I answered. He groaned. “Shall
I go with you?” asked I, thinking it might be as
well. He shook his head, and was off in a moment.
I turned to my rooms and threw myself on my bed.
Poor fellow; was there ever a more piteous case? Oh
the cruel misery of feeling that nothing could save
her! And he –he who would give life and wealth
and fortune and power to give her back a shade of
colour — as much as would tinge a rose-leaf, even a
very little rose-leaf — and could not. Poor fellow!
What would he do to-night—to-morrow. I could
see him kneeling by her side and weeping hot tears
over the wasted hands. I could almost hear his


298 MR. ISAACS.
A cold draught passed over my head, and I turned
on my couch to see whence it came. I started bolt
upright, and my hair stood on end with sudden terror.
I had uttered the name of Ram Lal aloud in my
reverie, and there he sat on a chair by the door, as
gray as ever, with his long staff leaning from his
feet across his breast and shoulder. He looked at me
quietly.
“I come opportunely, Mr. Griggs, it seems. Lupus
in fabula. I hear my name pronounced as I enter the
door. This is flattering to a man of my modest preten-
sions to social popularity. You would like me to tell
you your fortune? Well, I am not a fortune-teller.”
“Never mind my fortune. Will Miss Weston-
haugh recover?”
“No. She will die at sundown.”
“How do you know, since you say you are no
prophet?”
“Because I am a doctor of medicine. M.D. of
Edinburgh.”
“Why can you not save her then? A man who is
a Scotch doctor, and who possesses the power of per-
forming such practical jokes on nature as you exhib-
ited the other night, might do something. How-
ever, I suppose I am not talking to you at all. You
are in Thibet with Shere Ali. This is your astral
body, and if I were near enough, I could poke my
fingers right through you, as you sit there, telling
me you are an Edinburgh doctor, forsooth.”
“Quite right, Mr. Griggs. At the present moment


MR. ISAACS. 299
my body is quietly asleep in a lamastery in Thibet,
and this is my astral shape, which, from force of
habit, I begin to like almost as well. But to be
serious —”
“I think it is very serious, your going about in
this casual manner.”
“To be serious. I warned Isaacs that he should not
allow the tiger-hunt to come off. He would not heed
my warning. It is too late now. I am not omnipo-
tent.”
“Of course not. Still, you might be of some use
if you went there. While there is life there is hope.”
“Proverbs,” said Ram Lal scornfully, “are the
wisdom of wise men prepared in portable doses for
the foolish; and the saying you quote is one of them.
There is life yet, but there is no hope.”
“Well, I am afraid you are right. I saw her this
morning — I suppose I shall never see her again, not
alive, at least. She looked nearly dead then. Poor
girl; poor Isaacs, left behind!”
“You may well say that, Mr. Griggs,” said the
adept. “On the whole, perhaps he is to be less
pitied than she; who knows? Perhaps we should
pity neither, but rather envy both.”
“Why? Either you are talking the tritest of
cant, or you are indulging in more of your dark say-
ings, to be interpreted, post facto, entirely to your
own satisfaction, and to every one else's disgust.” I
was impatient with the man. If he had such ex-
traordinary powers as were ascribed to him—I never


MR. ISAACS. 301
finer tissues, I will put blood in his veins, and if he
meet with no accident he may live to see hundreds
of generations pass by him. But where there is no
vitality and no essence of life in a man, he must
die; for though I fill his veins with blood, and cause
his heart to beat for a time, there is no spark in him
— no fire, no nervous strength. So is Miss Weston-
haugh now—dead while yet breathing, and sighing
her sweet farewells to her lover.”
“I know. I understand you very well. But do
not deny that you might have saved her. Why did
you not?” Ram Lal smiled a strange smile, which
I should have described as self-satisfied, had it not
been so gentle and kind.
“Ah yes!” he said, with something like a sigh,
though there was no sorrow or regret in it. “Yes,
Griggs, I might have saved her life. I would cer-
tainly have saved her—well, if he had not persuaded
her to go down into that steaming country at this
time of year, since it was my advice to remain here.
But it is no use talking about it.”
“I think you might have conveyed your meaning
to him a little more clearly. He had no idea that
you meant danger to her.”
“No, very likely not. It is not my business to
mould men’s destinies for them. If I give them
advice that is good, it is quite enough. It is like a
man playing cards: if he does not seize his chance
it does not return. Besides, it is much better for
him that she should die.”


MR, ISAACS. 805
CHAPTER XIV.
THE hours came and went, and though worn out
with the exertions of the past days, and with the
emotions of the morning, I lay in my rooms, unable
to sleep even for a moment. I went down once or
twice to Isaacs’ rooms to know whether he had re-
turned, but he had not, nor had any one heard from
him. At last the evening shadows crept stealthily
up, darkening first one room, then another, until
there was not light enough to read by. Then I
dropped my book and went out to breathe the cold
air on the verandah. Wearily the hours went by,
and still there was no sign of my friend.
Towards eleven o’clock the moon, now waning,
once more rose above the hills and shed her light
across the lawn, splendid still, but with the first
tinge of melancholy that clouds her departing glory.
Exhausted nature asserted herself, and chilled to the
bone I went to bed, and, at last, to sleep.
I slept peacefully at first, but soon the events that
had come over my life began to weave themselves in
wild disharmony through my restful visions, and
the events that were to come cast their lengthening
shadows before them. The world of past, present,


306 MR. ISAACS.
and future thoughts, came into my soul, distorted,
without perspective, nothing to help me to discern
the good from the evil, the suffering gone and long-
forgotten from the pain in store. The triumph of
discrepancy over waking reason, the fancied victories
of the sleep-dulled intellect over the outrageous dis-
cord of the wakeful imagination. I passed a most
miserable night. It seemed rest to wake, until I
was awake, and then it seemed rest to sleep again,
until my eyes were closed. At last it came, no dream
this time; Isaacs stood by my bed-side in the gray
of the morning, himself grayer than the soft neutral-
tinted dawn. It was a terrible moment to me, though
I had expected it since yesterday. I felt like the
condemned criminal in France, who does not know
the day or hour of his death. The first intimation is
when the executioner at daybreak enters his cell and
bids him come forth to die, sometimes in less than
sixty seconds from his waking.”
How gray he looked, and how infinitely tried. I
rose swiftly and took his hands, which were deadly
cold, and led him to the outer room. I could not say
anything, for I did not know how such a terribly sud-
den blow would affect him; he was so unlike any one
else. Why is it so hard to comfort the afflicted? Why
should the most charitable duty it is ever given us to
perform be, without exception, the hardest of tasks?
I am sure most people feel as I do. It is far less
painful to suffer wounds and sickness in one's own
1 A fact, as is well known.


MR. ISAACS, 307
body than to stand by and see the cold clean knife go
through skin and flesh and cartilage; it is surely
easier to suffer disease than to smooth daily and
hourly the bed and pillows of some poor tormented
wretch, calling on God and man to end his misery.
There is a hidden instinct—of a low and cowardly
kind, but human nevertheless—which bids us turn
away from spectacles of agony whether harrowing or
repulsive, until the good angel comes and whispers
that we must trample on such coarse impulse and do
our duty. “Show pity,” said the wise old French-
man, “do anything to alleviate distress, but avoid ac-
tually feeling either compassion or sympathy. They
can lead to no good.” That was only his way of
making to himself an excuse for doing a good action,
for Larochefoucauld was a man who really possessed
every virtue that he disclaimed for himself and denied
in others.
I felt much of this as I led Isaacs to the outer
room, not knowing what form his sorrow might
take, but feeling in my own person a grief as poig-
nant, perhaps, for the moment, as his own. I had
known he would come, that was all, though I had
hoped he would not, and I knew that I must do my
best to send him away a little less sorrowful than he
had come. I was not prepared for the extreme calm
of voice and manner that marked his first words,
coming with measured rhythm and even cadence from
his pale lips.
“It is all over, my friend,” he said.


808 MR. ISAACS.
“It has but begun,” said the solemn tones of Ram
Lal, the Buddhist, from the door. He entered and
approached us.
“Friend Isaacs,” he continued, “I am not here to
mock at your grief or to weary your strained heart-
strings with such petty condolence as well-nigh drove
Ayoub of old to impatience. But I love you, my
brother, and I have somewhat to say to you in your
trouble, some advice to give you in your distress.
You are suffering greatly, past the power of reason to
alleviate, for you no longer know yourself, nor are
aware what you really think. But I will show to
you three pictures of yourself that shall rouse you
to what you are, to what you were, and to what you
shall be.
“I found you, not many years ago, a very young
man, most exceptionally placed in regard to the
world. You were even then rich, though not so rich
as you now are. You were beautiful and full of
vigour, but you have now upon you the glow of a
higher beauty, the overflowing promise of a more
glorious life. You were happy because you thought
you were, but such happiness as you had proceeded
from without rather than from within. You were a
materially thinking man. Your thoughts were of
the flesh, and your delights—harmless it is true —
were in the things that were under your eyes —
wealth, power, book knowledge, and perhaps woman,
if you can call the creatures you believed in women.
“You gathered wealth in great heaps, and your


310 MR. ISAACS.
heart is the wellspring of the love that goes beyond
self. Therefore your heart awoke.
“Shall I tell you of the first early stirrings of your
love? Think you, because I am gray and loveless,
that I have never known youth and gladness of heart?
Ah, I know, better than you can think. It is not
sudden, really, the blossoming out of the tree of life.
The small leaves grow larger and stronger though still
closely folded in the bud, until the bright warmth of
the spring makes them burst into bloom. The little
lark in the nest among the grass grows beneath the
mother's wing and idly moves, now and then, uncon-
scious of the cloud-cleaving gift of flight, until all at
once, in the fair dawning, there wells up in his tiny
breast the mighty sense of power to rise.
“The human heart is like the budded folded leaves,
and like the untaught lark. The quiet sleep before
the day of blooming is, while it lasts, a state of hap-
piness. But it is not comparable with the breathing
joy of the leaf that feels and sees the wonderful life
around it, whispering divine answers to the wooing
breeze. The humble nest where it has first seen
light is for many days a happy home to the tender
songster, soon left behind, when the first wing-strokes
waft the small body upwards to the sky, and forgotten
as the first glad trill and quaver of the new-found
voice roll out the prelude to the glorious life-long
hymn of praise. The heart of man — your heart, my
dear friend—gave a great leap from earth to sky,
when first it felt the magic of the other life. The