Some one, with a face far blacker than the Hindu boy's, caught each girl by the hand.

"Girlies," cried a well-known voice. "We are safe—the fire is out!" Then turning quickly, "Friends, let's sing 'Old Hundred,'—hearty now!"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when, as with one impulse, all broke into the grand old measure. Nobody pitched the tune, nor started it—it started itself! Mrs. Campbell sang it on her knees, with streaming eyes and hair, the captain and his daughters sang it locked in each other's arms, and the Traveler, seeing Lady Moreham left momently alone, clasped her hand in brotherly fashion, and joined his fine bass to her uncultivated treble, never thinking of discords. So may the Redeemed some day sing the Doxology in Heavenly courts, safe not only from death, but better still, safe from the life we know of here!

When the "Amen," had died into silence the captain said, happily,

"Now, good people, get yourselves to bed as quick as you can. The storm is over, the fire is out, and though the poor old girl is so battered up she's lost her beauty, her heart's still in the right place—her engines are working all right, in spite of the cyclone! Now hustle, every one of you—breakfast won't be served till ten o'clock—and Heaven bless and keep us all!"



CHAPTER XVIII.

LAST DAYS TOGETHER.

There was something indescribably disheartening in the looks of the dismasted "International" as the twins came forth, refreshed by several hours of welcome slumber, after the long agony of the past night. The carpenters were already hard at work cutting away the sad remnants of the graceful, tapering mizzen-mast, which had been one of the beauties of the comely steamer, and a considerable space had been cleared for the passengers over which awnings were stretched; but the approach to it was somewhat choked and difficult.

Faith was first to reach the deck, and as she approached, young Allyne stepped forward from behind a rubbish heap, and said eagerly,

"I'm glad to see you out, at last! It's a beautiful morning after the storm. Let me pilot you across these chips to that nice chair."

"Thank you," was Faith's rather stiff response. But he would not give her time to be cool and unfriendly.

"Would you ever believe it could have been so dreadful last night?" he rattled on. "But you were very brave, Miss Hosmer!"

"Was I?" asked Faith, almost overpowered by his friendliness.

"Yes, you and your sister both were, for the matter of that—and by the way, how is Texas this morning?"

Faith's eyes began to dance. She mistrusted he had taken her for her sister again and, following his glance, became sure of it; for Hope was now approaching, along with Dwight, and the instant Tom Allyne's eyes fell upon her he felt intuitively that she was the girl he had been really waiting for, and his quick, annoyed glance proved the fact to Faith. She did not feel so chagrined over it as she might, had she greatly cared for his liking, and answered briskly,

"You mean Andy, don't you? Texas is the parrot, and belongs to Hope. There she comes now—shall we go to her?"

Nothing loth, Mr. Allyne followed her lead, and, as he stood talking with the two, made a closer survey than ever before, resolving that he would not make this mistake again. Had he ever made it before? The question, suddenly occurring to his inner consciousness, rather startled him. He would not mind pouring his thoughts out to Hope, who was so frank and jolly, but he felt rather afraid of this other girl, whom he had once offended. Yet, the longer he compared the two, as he stood opposite in merry conversation, addressing first one, then the other, the more certain he felt that Hope was not the girl in whom he had confided a few evenings since. And if not, what a donkey he had made of himself!

He tried to remember just what had passed, and grew silent and uncomfortable as he made the effort. How was it Dwight never mixed the two? He began to feel that keen, observing eyes were pretty good things to have. He should certainly cultivate his own, in future! As this undercurrent of musings reached definite conclusion, he broke out, boyishly,

"I'll know you apart after this, or know the reason why!"

"And how?" asked Dwight.

"Well, how do you, my boy?" was the quick counter-question.

Thus caught, the boy flushed and grinned broadly.

"Oh, I don't have to tell," he objected, with a shake of the head.

They all naturally began to insist, however, and he at length yielded, with the outburst, "Well, if it makes anybody mad, I can't help it."

"Of course not!" laughed Allyne. "Personal remarks are bound to make somebody mad, but that's just what makes them spicy. Proceed, young man, proceed!"

"Well then," slowly, "just watch the two for a minute, and make them laugh—" Of course, at this, they with the others standing near, did break into laughter—"there! Can't you see? Hope shows all her teeth, and a big dimple in the corner of her mouth; Faith smiles just enough to show a little of hers, and there isn't any dimple. So, when I'm not sure, I just say something funny, and if the mouth is big and dimpled, I know it's Hope without any mistake. Now, I knew you'd be mad, but what on earth ails Faith? She looks madder than you do?"

It was a fact. Hope had drawn herself up, not half pleased to have the size of her mouth—which was a sensitive feature—so questioned; but Faith had turned entirely away with sudden coolness, miffed because she did not look jolly, and display a dimple like the special one, the possession of which she had always envied her sister. It was an exhibition of female weakness entirely unexpected by Tom Allyne, and for some reason pleased him wonderfully. He turned from one to the other, full of hypocritical glee, though the face he then bent upon Dwight was severe in the extreme.

"See here, sir! Don't you know better than to say such things? Why, you as much as insinuate that one or the other of these young ladies has a blemish! Now that—"

"See here!" broke out poor Dwight, not entirely sure who was most abusing him, "who set me up to saying what I did, anyhow? I think it's downright mean for you all to turn on a fellow so! You all promised not to be mad, and now see you!"

"You are right," said Faith, turning quickly. "I am ashamed of myself for minding such a trifle! But I do sometimes get tired of being reminded that Hope is so much nicer and jollier than I."

"And I that Faith is so much more refined and ladylike!" added the other. Then both broke into laughter, Hope's white teeth and deep dimple showing plainly, and Faith's half-sad sweetness veiling her merriment to a tamer expression.

"It would spoil everything if you were either of you one whit different," cried Allyne, with fervor. "And, Dwight, I want to thank you for letting me into your little secret. I can never be deceived again."

"Are you certain of that?" asked Mr. Carnegie, as he joined the group. "I wish I could be so sure! But come, let's drop personalities. I've been sent to ask you to join a reading-club—"

"A reading-club?" shouted everybody.

"Yes. It is Mrs. Poinsett's hour to read to Lady Moreham, and she kindly suggested our joining them. Would you like to?"

"Lady Moreham? How wonderful!" murmured Allyne, and the sisters exchanged meaning glances.

But Dwight looked dubious.

"I'd rather hear one of Quint's yarns," he remarked, frankly.

Quint was a good-natured sailor, with a broad saber cut on one cheek that would have ruined his looks for some, but made him only the more interesting to Dwight. Besides, he had a capacity for reeling off yarns, that was irresistible, and even Hope's charms paled before his rarer attractions.

The boy now went below to find the man, and the girls started with Carnegie for the main saloon. After a few steps the latter looked back over his shoulder, and saw Allyne gazing somewhat moodily after them.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked pleasantly, turning back.

"Am I wanted?" was returned quickly.

"Of course, if you like to go," laughed the young officer, and Allyne strode forward.

Their loitering had widened the space between them and the girls, and suddenly Tom Allyne began, in a low voice,

"Carnegie, I haven't had an opportunity before, so now I make haste to say that I thank you for showing me that a fellow need not be of the namby-pamby kind because he lets the stuff alone. I used to think that boys with any spirit must drink and carouse, occasionally, but I've learned better now. I watched you last night."

The other turned with a rapid movement.

"Watched me?"

"Yes, you were cool and brave. When the captain needed volunteers you worked like a Trojan, and never flinched. And I believe you knew the special danger too, as well as——"

"Sh-h!" Carnegie glanced about with an alarmed air. "Did you know too?"

"I began to suspect soon after we went to work, and a low word of the captain to his mate, which I, too, caught, convinced me. You see, we were packed close in there! It wasn't any too safe."

Chester Carnegie's eyes were upon him.

"And you praise me for bravery when you were there and knew it all?" he said. "I begin to think somebody else is no coward, either, Allyne!"

He held out his hand, and they clasped silently. Then the latter said, in a deprecating tone,

"Personal fear is not my weakness. I wonder, Carnegie, if these passengers will ever know how close that fire came to your consignment of ammunition, last night."

"No, never! How did you suspect my share in the matter?"

"You were the first to offer your services. You persisted in working at a spot from which the rest of us had been warned, and the captain allowed it. I knew there must be method in your madness."

"You were right; it was a personal duty, and I could not have done otherwise. But you had no such motive, Allyne, and yet, understanding the danger, as you evidently did, you stood to your work as close to me as you could get. I like a brave man!"

"Well, if it has wiped out old scores, Carnegie—"

"It has. But come—they are beckoning. I'll tell you something, however. After it was over, last night, and the captain and I were congratulating ourselves, he remarked, with a jerk of his thumb toward your grimy self, 'That young man's head is too cool to be muddled up with the devil's brew. I'm sorry about that!'"

The last words were whispered hurriedly, and there was no time to respond, but Allyne's face shone as the ladies greeted them, with merry reproaches for their laggardness, and soon all were seated, quietly listening to Mrs. Poinsett, who was an excellent reader. Faith was not so good a listener, that morning, however. It was an exquisite day, after the storm. The air was of a crystal purity and delicious coolness, the sea, rough enough to attract the gaze, yet not so rough as to distract the nerves, and the sky's soft blue was occasionally flecked with small, faint cloudlets, that seemed like distant flocks of sheep, grazing in heavenly meadows. Only the battered ship beneath them recalled the fury of last night's stormburst. But as the memory of those anxious hours swept over her she looked at Lady Moreham, and wondered that she should so have opened her heart in that time of waiting, for just now she seemed as stately and unapproachable as ever.

Then, too, it was so tantalizing that her story should have been broken off in the middle, and left there. Would they ever hear its close? It did not seem likely. Moved out of herself by the nearness of death, the titled dame had reverted to childish days, speaking her thoughts aloud. Probably nothing would induce her to speak again.

"However," thought Faith, "father knows and perhaps he'll tell us some day, when he gets a minute's leisure—that is, if he can be convinced that she would not care. What an honorable man he is! We would never have known a lisp from his lips."

But it was a busy time with the captain. Only a day or so out from Bombay, now, he was straining every nerve to restore the vessel to something like her normal condition before they should enter port, and it seemed to his daughters that they could scarcely get a daily greeting from him, even, in his intense absorption. But they could wait, for, once on shore, he would have more leisure, as the steamer would be laid up for repairs, and the really saddening thought, now, was that so soon these friends of a month must all separate, to go their various ways.

The Vanderhoff party intended soon to start for Poonah, Mr. Carnegie must take his men to Lucknow, the two attaches were to remain for the present at the Secretariat, the Windemeres would meet friends at Magpore, while the Traveler declared vaguely and laughingly that he would be "off to the jungles," in a day or two. Lady Moreham said little of her plans.

"I shall let circumstances govern me," she answered courteously to all questions, and no one ventured to interrogate her further.



CHAPTER XIX.

OLD TIES AND NEW.

The next two days were glowing, as to weather, and filled with intensest life. There were trunks to pack, loaned articles to hunt up, or return, neglected stitches to take, and a vast amount of friendly visiting to be crowded in.

On shipboard one fully appreciates the old adage that "Blessings brighten as they take their flight." Even the tiresome become interesting when we feel we may never see them again, while the hobbies, or crankiness of the singular become entirely bearable, when they are about to be lost sight of forever. As death brings out the virtues, and veils the defects, of our friends, so does the nearness of, possibly, eternal separation produce the same effect, on shipboard. We love those who have become dear to us with an almost clinging tenderness, and we grow tolerant to affectionateness even of those not specially agreeable.

Faith forgot that Dwight had sometimes been rude and Bess contrary; both girls now thoroughly realized that beneath her coolness and seeming superiority Lady Moreham carried a crushed and tender heart, and Hope knew that she should miss even Mrs. Windemere's pathetic, patient little voice.

As they finally steamed by the lighthouse, and fixed eager eyes upon the city of their destination, many of these were dimmed with regret and sadness. Even Mrs. Campbell, who had been very quiet of late, looked sober as she leaned against the bulwark, handsomer than ever in her plain traveling suit of tan, and Carnegie, between Lady Moreham and Faith, felt his heart fail him as he thought of the lonely, busy life before him for the next two years. And then? He turned to the girl with a smile that concealed only partially the quiver of his lips.

"Do you know, it is just thirty days since I first saw you, and it is difficult to believe that I have not known you always. I remember, you and Miss Hope were standing together, on deck, and I thought how marvelously alike you were, but I have never once mistaken one for the other—never!"

She glanced up, half timidly.

"I remember you said you should know us apart, but when I told Hope, she thought she could deceive you at any time."

"Well, she knows better now!" he returned meaningly.

"Why? Did she ever try it?"

"Yes, once." He laughed enjoyably.

"She did. And she never told me!"

"Certainly not, for she failed entirely. I thought she would want to keep it to herself, so I never betrayed her."

"That was nice of you, Mr. Carnegie!"

"Only commonly decent, it seems to me. And, you see, I have told now."

"Told what?" asked Hope, approaching, with something very like a scowl on her bright face. "I do wish, Faith, that you'd look better after that Andy of yours! I happened to drop my best veil within his reach, and before I could stop him he had torn it to shreds. Texas doesn't act that way."

"You shall have mine," said Faith, promptly. "Poor Andy! I can't help liking him all the more, because everybody is down on him. My veil is just like yours, dear, so take it, and I'll go without. I don't care much for veils, anyhow, and we can be different in so little a thing as that, I'm sure."

Hope gave her an odd look.

"If that was the only thing we are different in!" she said instantly. "I'll never be so good as you, no matter how hard I try. And it's no matter about the veil at all! Do you know, it is exactly a month since we left home? It seems years when I think of Debby and the old school-days, yet the hours have seemed to fly sometimes, too."

"That's the odd thing about voyaging," observed the Traveler, as he joined them. "It sends our past out of our minds with its novelties, making it seem far away, yet there are few lagging hours, and Time never stands still."

"Is that always true?" asked Lady Moreham, turning quickly. "I have not found it so."

He looked at her with a kindly smile. It had become subtly understood among a few that this aristocratic lady had a past, and not a happy past.

"I think it as true as any general statement," he responded. "But I can also understand that insistent memories could never take such a strong hold of one as during the enforced leisure of long trips by land, or water. It would be a severe punishment for the remorseful, to condemn them to a voyage around the Horn in an old-fashioned sailing vessel. I think they would be ready for confession and hanging by the time they landed! But there's compensation in every situation, and the unhappy traveler, while remembering too much, perhaps, will also learn to readjust himself, and so make the future easier. Reflection is a good thing only when it lights up the future as well as the past."

The lady smiled, with more lightness than was her wont, and let a hand drop gently upon the shoulder of the girl beside her. "With Faith to guide?" she asked; then, looking at the other sister, "And Hope to cheer?" Then, more seriously, "It is a good thought, but one that has only come to me lately."

A rattle of boyish feet, and Dwight was among them.

"Most there, aren't we?" he cried with boyish eagerness. Then, growing sober, "But what's the reason nice things always have a bad side, too? It's just horrid to have to leave you all! Why, I felt like crying even to say good-by to Quint, Huri, and Tegeloo."

"But you're not to start the good-byes up here yet," put in Carnegie, hurriedly. "We shall not really separate for a day or two, and there's no use in prolonging the agony."

He spoke with feeling, and a glance passed between the elders.

A moment later, as the young people strolled onwards together, at the call of Bess, to watch the state barge of some native prince as it sailed slowly by, its dusky crew shouting greetings. Lady Moreham, looking after them, said, slowly,

"How lovely youth is when it is lovely!"

"True, my lady, and there we see it at its best. Those girls are charming, and it need surprise no one if these fine young fellows seek them out, and hate to be separated. Carnegie seems of fine grain, and little Miss Faith is as modest as a violet. She is your favorite, I imagine?"

"Oh, I would not say that! I find myself very much attracted to both, but there is something about Faith—a sympathy and tenderness, perhaps,—that is soothing when one's heart is sore. Hope is wonderfully entertaining, and brightens you up, but Faith seems to understand without telling, and somehow makes you feel happier—more at peace with yourself. I wish they were both my own!"

He let his mild gaze rest upon her.

"Lady Moreham, I am not an inquisitive man, but several times I have been on the point of asking you a question." He could see that she shrank, but continued obliviously, "Have you any kinsman by the name of Duncan Glendower Moreham, from Kent, England?"

She turned with a gasp, white to the lips.

"Why?" she whispered with an effort, "Why?"

"Because," he returned, not looking at her, "I traveled and hunted with him one whole season, two years ago. I sometimes exchange letters with him, and have his address now. He seemed to me a restless, wretched man, trying to drown some mental suffering in physical activity. He gave no title with his name, and, like the rest of us, lived in the most absolute simplicity, but I noticed the crest on his linen, and in some books. I knew him to be an English peer."

With a visible effort the woman controlled herself.

"Yes," she said in a voice strange in her own ears, "Yes, I know him. Would—would you give me his address?"

He took out a card from his vest pocket, wrote a line or two, and handed it to her in silence. As she read it her face grew almost radiant with surprised delight.

"Here?" she murmured. "So near?"

She seemed incapable of further speech, and, seeing it, the gentleman said quickly,

"You will pardon my officiousness. He is here in India, not many miles out from Bombay, and I shall see him very soon. Am I to mention you? I might—" he hesitated for the right words—"I could only say the pleasantest things of you, and the most general, but I am his friend, whom he claims to like and respect. If I am meddling with what is none of my business—"

"No, no, you are all that is helpful and kind! Let me think—no, I won't think—I have thought too much, and sometimes first impulses are best. I will trust you fully. You have tact, you know the world. I feel that you have guessed out a great deal of what it is hard to bring myself to talk about. But this much I will say—the man you mention was—no, is—my husband! For the rest, go to my good friend, the captain; he will tell you all. Good-by, and thank you from my heart!"

They clasped hands silently—the two strangers whose life-threads had been permitted to cross, just now, for some divine purpose, then the woman, stirred to the depths, went to her stateroom, and the man stood still for a time, looking out to sea. "Life is a wonder," he mused, "a succession of surprises. When Duncan brought his men to the relief of a stranger, set upon and nearly overwhelmed by an angry Chinese mob, that day in Muen Yan's district, he did not imagine what might come of it to his own advantage. I felt, from the minute I heard Lady Moreham's name, that I had gotten hold of the other end of Duncan's mystery, and I have not watched her so closely for nothing, all this voyage. My misguided friend and his over-proud wife will meet more happily than they parted, or I am much mistaken. I must wire him the minute I touch land."

Just down the deck the girls were laughing merrily, as Hope, teased into it by her sister, who was curious to know why she had failed in personating herself, told the story with keen enjoyment of her own discomfiture.

"It was away back," she began, "as much as three weeks ago, and Faith had been real mean and shut herself up with a book. In fact, nobody seemed real nice and ready for fun, and I couldn't find Dwight to plan things, so I sat moping on deck when I saw Mr. Carnegie coming along, looking almost as glum as I, and the thought crossed my mind that we might mutually cheer each other—and then, like a flash, I determined to pretend to be Faith. I looked up in a sweet, meek way with a smile—"

"Like this—" interpolated Carnegie, with a smirk that sent them all into convulsions.

"I couldn't look like that if I tried!" indignantly. "And you mustn't interrupt."

"I was only illustrating. Picture stories always take better with children. But beg pardon! Go on."

"Humph! Well, he took my bait with alacrity," giving the young man a defiant look, "so I began to talk to him as soon as he had got settled in his chair. I asked him whether he preferred Longfellow, or Tennyson," with a laughing glance at her discomfited sister, who had a little weakness for displaying her knowledge of poetry. "I didn't dare go into any of those other fellows, like—oh, Keats, say, or—or—well any of 'em—but I knew about the 'Building of the Ship,' and there's lots of guessing about Browning anyhow, so I thought I might steer clear of snags, if I managed well. Mr. Carnegie seemed ready enough to talk about them both, but oh! what a dance he did lead me! He called me Miss Faith, right enough, but when he asked me to repeat again, in that charming manner I knew so well, those fine lines from Jean Ingelow that I had given him yesterday, I began to tremble. He seemed astonished when I asked vaguely—'What lines?' and remarked that he had never supposed me forgetful before. Then he began talking about Ibsen, and I gave up. 'Oh! for goodness' sake, stop!' I cried, 'I'm not Faith at all.' 'I knew it,' he said calmly, 'and thought I could soon make you own up. Now, aren't you ashamed of yourself?' And I was!"

"And yet tried the same game on me!" commented Allyne in a low tone, but with reproachful emphasis.

She turned a laughing face upon him.

"Oh, no, that was different. You deceived yourself. Would you have me go about setting everybody straight?"

"Not at all. All I ask is that you will set me straight."

"Indeed!" cried Hope, "but that is asking a good deal."



CHAPTER XX.

IN OLD BOMBAY.

"I never expected it to look like this," remarked Faith in a dissatisfied tone, as they entered the carriage for their first explorations in Bombay, a day or so later.

She spoke to the air, perhaps, but her father answered the comment.

"Isn't it fine enough to please you, daughter?" as he took his seat opposite the two girls in a handsome victoria, that would not have disgraced the most aristocratic drive in London.

"Fine enough? It's too fine!" put in Hope with emphasis. "It's as Englishy as Portsmouth itself, so far. We expected to see coolies, and palanquins, and bungalows, and cobras, and—"

"Well, you need not hanker long after the last-named," laughed her father, "for there is a snake-charmer this minute, and I don't doubt he has a fine collection about him somewhere."

"In his boots, perhaps," suggested Faith slily, as they all turned to gaze at the dark-skinned fellow in dingy white turban and loin-cloth, who squatted on the sidewalk before one of those high modern buildings which had excited Faith's comment, a long pipe at his lips and a basket at his side, from which peeped an ugly flat head with darting tongue.

"Ugh!" she shuddered, turning another way, "I don't care for your cobras, Hope, and everybody knows that bungalows aren't to be found in city streets. But as for the coolies and palanquins, of course—"

"You have them both!" laughed the captain, pointing down the narrower street into which they had just entered.

All laughed with him, while the black bearers trotted by, as suddenly, from between the curtains of this box-like carriage, out popped a tennis cap, while a well-known voice shouted a boyish "Hello!" as a hand was waved in greeting.

"It's Dwight—Hello! Hello!" Hope shouted back, waving her white parasol vigorously. "Isn't he the greatest boy?"

"I wonder if he'll turn up on that bullock cart, too. He seems omnipresent!" laughed the captain, as they whirled by. "When are they off for Poonah?"

"I suppose to-day, but perhaps not till night," returned Faith.

"Did you ever see anything like that? If you call this Englishy, Hope."

"No, I don't. Things are beginning to look quite Indiany, since we left those fine new streets, I confess."

They were now slowly threading their way among the teeming crowds of a narrow place where it seemed as if the odd-looking houses upon each side had emptied all their occupants out before their doors. Men but half-clothed spread out their wares, or plied their trades, in full view of all, and children with no clothes at all paddled their bare black feet in the gutters, or sat cross-legged, rolling marbles over the paving stones. Presently, Faith pointed with a significant smile, and as they drove slowly by a teeming doorway, each gazed with astonished curiosity at the characteristic scene.

The central figure was a man in the barber's hands, who was just then calmly lathering his customer's face in the full gaze of all, while close by a straight, lithe, young Indian woman, with a bright-eyed baby sitting astride her hips, stopped to sell the two a handful of figs, from the fruit-tray balanced lightly above the gay cotton sari confining her dark locks.

"The men seem to have the best time of it here," remarked the girl in low tones. "The idea of that poor girl carrying so much about with her. I should think her baby was enough!"

"Yes, but that is better than being harnessed up with a donkey," said her father, bending forward to give the driver some instructions.

Faith looked at him with an astonished gaze.

"I never heard you speak of marriage like that before," she said reproachfully.

"Marriage?" He looked at her with a dazed expression, then broke into a hearty laugh. "So you thought my donkey was a husband? A queer mistake that! No, I meant the real thing—the four-legged donkey—and I literally mean that poor women are often used with donkeys to do the same kind of work."

"Shameful!" cried Hope indignantly.

"That is by no means the worst that woman has to bear in this country. I thank God my daughters came to a Christian land. A girl is of little account here, except to bear burdens, or wait on her lord and master. And when her husband dies she is to be deeply pitied. Married when but a small child, she goes into her husband's family to be cared for by his people, until old enough to be his wife in reality. Sometimes she is well treated, sometimes not. If he does not happen to fancy her as she grows older, her lot is little better than that of a slave, and she is beaten and abused by the other more favored women. But this is bliss compared with her condition should her husband die. Then, all her ornaments, which she loves as little children love glittering toys, are torn off, her head is shaved, she is made to look as hideous as possible, and cannot take part in any enjoyments or festivities whatever, but must run away and hide from every man, even her nearest of kin. But she is not only barred from every pleasure, but from all affection, as well. Her lord's death is laid at her door, and his family take every occasion to load her with reproaches, because if she had not been wicked in some other existence he would not have been lost to her now. It is not much wonder that the poor things used to be ready to die with him on the funeral pyre, for when they decided to do that, they were loaded with jewels and praises, everybody flattered them and told them that, because of their devotion, not only the husband, but all his relatives, would have better places in Paradise, and reign forever. So, intoxicated with all this notice, and delighted with her splendid attire, the benighted little creature, who never gets beyond childhood in intellect, felt she would rather have a short life and a merry one, and so often committed Suttee."

"And don't they do so now?" asked Hope.

"No, it is abolished by law—British law.

"But they burn their dead yet, don't they?" was Faith's question, as she listened with sympathetic shivers.

"Yes. Some day, when I get time we will go to the Ganges and see some of their strange burial ceremonies—that is, if you can stand it, daughter."

"Oh yes, but I do think there are some dreadful things in this world, papa!"

"True, darling, and there would have been more dreadful, if the blessed Son of God had not come to teach us better ways. Man, left to himself, is always a savage. God and good women, both, have helped him to be better."

He spoke reverently, touching the visor of his cap involuntarily. When he thought of good women, memory always recalled the wife he had loved, and his soul blessed her memory.

They had now left the new town far behind them, and were slowly passing between expressionless house walls, with soiled awnings stretched above the lane-like street. The whole population seemed to live out of doors, and the cooking, hammering, tailoring, baby-tending, and lounging, was all done at so close range that the horses could scarcely keep from stepping on the merchants, and the carriage was in danger of making a wreck of his stock of goods. The houses, which seemed only to serve as backgrounds to all this teeming life, were of all colors—red, green, orange, and blue—and between the queer, many-shaped roof-tops waved the feathery crowns of date trees, the glossy foliage of the fig, and the stately fronds of the palm—but these were of scanter growth just here, though what there were, swarmed with kites, crows, parakeets, and even squirrels, while dogs "by the million," as Hope remarked, and cattle, and monkeys, and goats, were on every spot where babies and larger children had left an inch of room.

As they penetrated further into the native portion of the city, Captain Hosmer called the girls' attention to the many shrines, where some one was always standing with clasped hands and bent head, engaged in prayers to Parvati, perhaps, or Vishnu—for the image in the shrine differed—and to the peculiar reverence which every Hindu shows to the cow, a sacred animal to them. The gentle creature seems actually one of the family, possibly prized even more than the children, for it furnishes them with food, drink and fuel and receives in return the first notice and care.

"The orthodox Hindu will feed his cow before he does himself," said the captain. "And as he does so, he will repeat a little invocation, and when he meets one on the road he will touch her sleek side and then his own forehead, that so her blessings may be upon his head."

"And let his daughters be treated worse than dogs," breathed Hope in deep disgust.

"Father," said Faith with sudden fervor. "I am ashamed of myself that I ever begrudged the little bit of missionary money I used to give at Sunday-school. If I could have realized how much these people need to be taught better, I would have given four times as much, and weighted it with prayers. Why, I think it is awful!"

"And yet this land is far advanced in decency and civilization compared with many," was the reply. "With the missionary, the trained nurse, and the railroad, India is in a fair way to become thoroughly enlightened before a half-century has rolled away. The trouble is that she clings so to her own cherished ideas of caste, and of worship. Personally the Hindostanee is a good fellow—gentle, charitable, and a loyal friend—but he is so priest-ridden, and so filled with superstitions and notions, that it is almost impossible to get any sense, far less any Christianity, into his pate. I have a large respect for those who stay here year by year, braving a climate that is enough to take all the life out of the strongest, and laboring with this prejudiced people, just because it is their duty. Folks oughtn't to begrudge them a few pennies, saved from candy or ribbons, my dear."

"No," said Faith, leaning back and closing her eyes a moment. "What a glare it is!" she murmured wearily. "The sun is so hot, and the light so white and blinding; then the houses are so dreadfully blue and pink, and the crows and people so black, and the dogs so greedy, and everything so noisy, it makes my head ache!"

"It is wearing, daughter, and one can't stand too much of it at once." He gave another order, and they presently came into a wider street, that was almost like a viaduct for shelter, as awnings were stretched above it the whole length. There was scarcely any life here, and the high stone walls of wealthy homes shut them in, with only an occasional balcony, or latticed window, to break the monotony of their blank surfaces.

"Here live the native families of the highest caste," explained the captain, "and inside are beautiful courts, with flowers and fountains, where they lounge and live, as the lower classes do in the streets. But it is cooler here, if not so lively."

"Delicious!" murmured Faith enjoyingly, still resting her eyes where there was little to see.

They turned from this shaded way into one of the new streets and, as the carriage suddenly stopped with an exclamation from her father, she looked up to see Huri, Tegeloo, and a half-dozen other Mohammedans of the "International," bowing to the ground before them, their white teeth showing in their fine dark faces, full of joy and devotion. On Tegeloo's wrist perched Texas, while a little black head popped up from a fold of Huri's mantle, and both bird and monkey began a noisy greeting in their own tongues—which meant a vociferous "Hello!" from the former and a chuckling cry from the latter. Warned by past experience the girls had left their pets on shipboard, in care of these faithful servants, who now were evidently giving them an airing.

"How nice of you, Tegeloo!" cried Hope, stroking the parrot, who grunted with satisfaction, and informed her many times that he was still, "Poor Texas, pretty Texas!" nipping her finger gently as he sidled and snuggled, while Andy leaped to Faith's lap, and was so determined to stay that he had to be removed by force, soft-hearted Faith looking back at the crying baby with the expression of a mother bereft of her child.

"Andy got swell-head!" laughed Huri, as he stroked him into submission, "Andy like to ride in big carriage. He no walk!" at which resentful Andy gave him a sounding slap that promptly ended his comments.



CHAPTER XXI.

FRIENDS ASHORE.

As the Hosmers returned to the hotel, each noted a handsome carriage before the door, with liveried outriders, and while themselves alighting young Allyne and his friend, Mr. Donelson, came down the steps to reach it, but, seeing our party, made haste to intercept them.

"We've just been to call on you," cried the former, his face radiant at the fortunate meeting, "and were about departing utterly crestfallen. Do you notice our style?" with a merry glance at the grand equipage.

"Notice it! It fills all the horizon," laughed Hope, with reddening cheeks. "We supposed that the Governor-General, at the very least, had come to bid us welcome, and inquire after our health. Of course we could not admit the idea that he had come here for any other purpose."

"Well, we may not be the Governor-General—who, by the way, might not feel like a journey from Calcutta just for a friendly call even upon two charming young ladies," observed Mr. Donelson, "but I haven't a doubt you'll find us quite as interesting!"

"And a great deal younger," added Allyne suggestively.

"Oh! such conceit," cried Faith, as they bubbled over with laughter.

"And we're much obliged for your valuable information," added Hope, rather taken aback at her own blunder.

"About the location of the Residency, or our relative ages?" asked Allyne.

"We make no charge for either!" continued Donelson, airily.

"Better come back inside then, gentlemen," proposed the captain. "It's a bit warm here."

But they felt they must get back for dinner, now, though it evidently cost Allyne something to decline.

"We will sometime meet again?" he questioned, as he clasped Hope's hand and looked beseechingly into her eyes.

"Possibly," she returned, flushing slightly, then with a mischievous glance, "But are you certain which of us you are speaking to? Have you learned to distinguish us yet?"

"I have—perfectly!" was the tart response. "When the rose gives me a taste of its thorns it is you; Miss Faith is never sarcastic."

"Indeed!"

"But,"—quickly—"I like thorns! They give zest to the loveliest rose."

"Come," admonished her father in a dry tone, "this glare and glitter will give you a headache. It isn't healthy."

The girls somewhat slowly followed him in. The young men rode away. In the heart of one was a deadly fear that, by one hour's foolishness, he might have forfeited some privileges which had become most precious in his sight of late. The other broke into his musings with a ruthless word,

"The captain does not specially favor us, Tom."

"I am sure he treated us politely," was returned with some resentment.

"Yes, too politely. I wouldn't get foolish in that direction, my boy; it won't work."

Tom Allyne did not answer, and his face was sober. But presently its expression lightened. He recalled what Carnegie had said of the captain's comment, after that dreadful night of fire and flood, and took courage.

"I've got to prove myself a man first," he told himself, "and it won't be an easy thing to do, with my surroundings. Is she worth it?" Then, as the color flamed into his cheeks, "Heaven help me to be worthy of her! And remember that you are worth saving, or you wouldn't have been given this chance, Tom Allyne!"

It was late the next afternoon when, trying to keep cool in their shady balcony in sheer white gowns of India lawn, another guest was announced, and to the surprise of both Mr. Carnegie entered, with the Traveler.

"Why, we thought you had gone on!" said Faith, with a flush, doubtless produced by the heat, which was great.

"I expected to," returned Carnegie, as the others exchanged greetings, the captain appearing in a duck coat and trousers which quite transformed him, "but found a day's reprieve awaiting me, which has lengthened out, as my men have had to undergo some formalities of registration here. I have been too busy to see you sooner, though it was hard to keep away. I met old Quint on the street to-day, and really longed to shake hands with him, just because he was from the 'International.' How attached I did get to that dear old steamer!"

"Yes, these attachments to steamers are really wonderful!" observed the Traveler with a dry air that sent the captain and Hope off into a peal of merriment, while the other young people looked very sheepish. But Carnegie soon rallied.

"I think they are, myself!" he allowed with frankness. "And I don't propose to let the attachment die out in my case, either," he added boldly. "Captain Hosmer, may I write to you and your daughters occasionally?"

The captain gave him a keen glance, which presently broadened into a smile.

"I shall be happy to hear from you," he said heartily, "but I am not a very good correspondent, myself. I usually get Faith, here, to answer my letters. Of course she may not make them so interesting as I should, but, barring a little too much tendency to long words and poetical quotations, she does very well. Yes, indeed, let us hear occasionally, Mr. Carnegie. I shall be interested to learn how you succeed in your new work."

Though all were smiling at the captain's raillery, Carnegie turned an earnest face upon him.

"I have some idea that I may go back with you. You will have to be here much longer than you had intended, won't you?"

"Considerably longer, yes. All right, if you can. The old 'International' will give you a welcome."

The two callers lingered almost beyond the limits of etiquette, and when they separated it was with an "Au revoir" from the young officer.

"I won't say good-by," he declared; "I shall see you again."

It was a day or so later. The Hosmers had taken the little steam launch for a trip to the island of Elephanta, containing the famous caves of the same name. It was a glorious morning, and the short trip over the dancing, dazzling waves to the pretty islet, with its steep banks and waving palms, was a delightful one. As they landed, the captain pointed out the mangrove swamps, and the rich growth of wild indigo and Karunda bushes, while Hope went wild over the splendid butterflies, which settled down in showers before them, transforming the green bushes into great nosegays of purple, crimson, and orange bloom. Only, these blossoms constantly changed and shifted, with feathery, fluttering movements and kaleidoscopic changes.

Birds were many and brilliant, also, and to add to this animal life a horde of dark-skinned little Hindu boys started up at every turn, clamoring to sell the party all sorts of odd collections, from jungle flowers to the gilded wood lice, the name of which condemns them, though they are really beautiful insects, until death robs them of their glow, and makes them as repulsive as others of their kin.

"Haven't I heard that snakes abound here?" asked Faith timorously, as they ascended the stone steps leading up the hill from the swampland below. "Don't they kill a good many every year?"

Her father smiled knowingly, and, as they reached the top, turned to an English soldier in charge, and said laughingly, "My daughter, here, imagines you keep snakes on hand—the idea!"

The other seemed to find some fun in the remark, and grinned broadly.

"The young ladies need have no fear," he returned politely, as he touched his white helmet.

But, as the girls passed on, he detained the Captain with a wink. "I see you know," he whispered, "but don't be worried. We've just been the rounds and killed three, and I don't believe any more will trouble us to-day. Just keep your eyes open, though, for they make the ninety-sixth this season. We'll soon get it up to the century mark; but it isn't like it used to be, when four and five hundred made the yearly score." His tone was positively regretful, though he referred to the cobra, deadliest of serpents, and the curse of every bright bit of glade and forest in India. It crawls out from its holes in the caverns of this island of Elephanta, and, with the miasma just as deadly that rises from the swamps, makes any residence upon its lovely-seeming hillsides a constant menace. But where will not people stay if prompted by self-interest? The dwellers on the sides of Vesuvius do not lie awake to wait for its eruption, and the dwellers on Elephanta do not step any more gingerly in their bare feet because at any moment a sting may end their career.

If "Death stalketh abroad at noonday," we always imagine he is on his way to some other fireside; ours is not to be invaded.

But the captain needed no warning. He had seen to it that the girls were thickly shod for their tramp, and he himself carried a cane with a heavy silver top, while his eyes, trained to close observation, seldom missed seeing what they were looking for. He soon overtook the girls, and preceded them down the stone steps into the cavern, upon which most of these poisonous reptiles are encountered in that special vicinity.

If one will visit a region devoted to a god whose power is represented by a hooded serpent, he should not complain at meeting the real thing, occasionally. Elephanta is dedicated to Shiva, the Destroyer, her attributes being imaged in the person of the cobra.

"Ugh! How gloomy!" muttered Hope, as they descended into the damp, cool cavern, keeping close to her father, but letting her roving eyes take in the mass of carving on every side.

"What does it all mean, papa?" asked Faith, also drawing closer.

"It is grand, and horrible!"

"Dose be gods," replied the native guide, giving her a reproachful look. "It is one s'rine to deir memory."

"Dear me! I wouldn't want to remember them," she went on quaintly, not noticing his look. "I am only afraid I shall, in my dreams. How can any people believe that supreme power can take such shapes as these?"

Her father looked thoughtful.

"Yet, after all, it is not so strange. When I think of the cruel forces in nature man had to overcome in early days, with his constant terror of the many he could not in the least understand—like electricity, or wind, even—and his danger from savage beasts and deadly reptiles, is it any wonder he got hold of but one idea,—that of power? It took a Saviour to fully teach him love and salvation. Even the prophets and priests couldn't make him fully understand. No, I don't wonder the ancients tried to propitiate all these harmful forces and begged for their mercy—poor wretches!"

As he spoke, in a low tone, they were passing slowly around the gloomy place at the heels of the guide, and shudderingly gazing at the hideous representations of a barbaric faith which seemed starting out of the shadows under the upheld torches. At first they could scarcely separate the crowding figures, so intermingled were they, but presently, as their eyes became more accustomed to the weird lights and shades, they could separate them into distinct groups and figures.

Before one gigantic, but peculiar form, which is the central one in that cavern, they lingered long, while the guide explained that this image is an attempt to show how perfectly the highest of their gods, Brahma, unites both sexes, in character and personality. One side gives the image of a man, rugged and muscular, the other, that of a woman, softly molded, and with long braids of hair.

Into the midst of their still and thoughtful survey broke the noise of frivolous talk and laughter, and another party were heard at the opening. They did not at once enter. They seemed far more occupied in making arrangements for some prospective merry-making than in any study of these curious relics. The girls could hear talk of champagne-cup and curry, and suddenly a voice sounded which made them look at each other.

"That is Mrs. Campbell," said Hope. "What is she doing here?"



CHAPTER XXII.

IN ELEPHANTA'S CAVES.

As she spoke some of the party began to descend. A man's voice, with a drawling accent, made some remark about its being "a beastly hole," and another, of a heartier bass tone added,

"You've hit it, Campbell. It is a 'beastly hole,' and the beasts are cobras, at your service. They kill a dozen or so a day, here."

"Heavens!" screamed a woman, "and you expect us to go down to certain death there? How ungallant!"—and amid such laughter and persiflage half a dozen men and women descended.

"But really, are there snakes?" asked Mrs. Campbell's languid tones, curiously like her husband's, without his coarseness—for this heavy, beefy, blear-eyed man was undoubtedly the husband whom she had never cared to mention on shipboard.—"You know I am deathly afraid of them. I should faint if I saw one."

Her voice showed real agitation, but her husband laughed uproariously. Evidently he was under the influence of liquor. The girls, after one glance at him, shrank back into the shadow, hoping they would not be recognized by the wife. For the first time in their acquaintance of the woman, they pitied her. To be that man's daily companion was a degradation.

Just as Mrs. Campbell's dainty foot touched the stone floor of the cavern, the captain saw a gliding motion in the uncertain light, and, with the readiness of the man used to coping with danger, he sprang forward and struck at something dark and slender, that might have been but a crevice in the uneven floor. But it was no crevice. A hissing sound issued from the silent, creeping thing, and with shrieks of consternation the women fled back up the stairway, while Mr. Campbell and the other man leaped to one corner, to get beyond the reach of its fangs.

"Stay where you are!" shouted the captain to his daughters. "I'll never let it get away;" and they could hear the whistle of his labored breathing, and the loud whacking of his stick, as they cowered behind the guide, white with terror.

It was over in a moment, and the reptile, inert and helpless, was stretched half-way across the entrance room. The captain stood upright and wiped his forehead.

"Come, girlies," he said, trying to speak cheerily, "let's get out of here. We've seen enough, I guess!"

Nothing loth, they quickly followed him up the steps while the trembling men and the guide gathered carefully around the now harmless reptile. Amid the consternation of the ladies above, who had widely scattered in their terror, the three were about departing unnoticed, when Mrs. Campbell recognized them and called out,

"Is that you, Captain Hosmer—and did you kill that horrid snake. I might have known it! You have a way of being on hand when you are needed."

He lifted his cap, and, as the girls hesitated, she came up to them with a really sweet look on her face.

"Don't hurry away, girls! You don't know how good it seems to see you again. I have been almost homesick ever since we landed. You know the Windemeres have gone on, but I found Mr. Campbell here waiting for me. We—"

She was interrupted by a coarse laugh, and her husband appeared, ascending the steps. Turning to him, she said in a dignified tone,

"Rufus, these are Captain Hosmer and his daughters, of the 'International.' I want you to meet them, then we will try and persuade them to eat tiffin with us, provided we can think of eating after such an adventure!"

As she spoke he came fully into view, and suddenly flirted out one hand from behind his coat, paying no heed to her remark. To her horror, she saw it was the dead snake he was thus playing with, and, knowing him of old, she turned pale.

"Rufus!" she cried warningly, backing up a step.

He gave a tantalizing laugh, and gave the repulsive thing another flirt, which brought it near her face. With a shriek of dismay she broke into a run, feeling, as she did so, that she had made a great mistake. He started after her, every step taking them further from the group, where she might have had protection from his vicious teasing.

"Stop!" thundered the captain, seeing the woman's wild face, "Stop, or you'll do her a mischief," but, laughing so loudly that he could hear nothing else, the brute kept on.

Mrs. Campbell, wildly excited, could not keep up this pace long, and as she faltered, in hopes to dodge and turn back, he drew nearer and gave the snake a fling. It whizzed about her head, and she gave an awful shriek of horror as she felt its slimy folds about her neck. It was too much! Never a strong woman, and morbidly afraid of these cobras, living or dead, she sank down in a faint, just before her amazed husband, who nearly stumbled over her inert body.

"Bless us! If she hasn't fainted," he muttered stupidly, as he bent over her, too muddled to understand all he had done.

The captain reached them before he had done more than stupidly gaze at her, and unceremoniously flinging him one side, said, "Give her air, you brute! It's lucky for you if you haven't killed her!"

He laid her back on the grass, flinging the snake far away, and the excited women gathered around. Just at this instant the launch sounded its summons for departure, and Captain Hosmer knew, if he would meet an important engagement at noon, he must not let her sail without him. Meanwhile, the drunken husband was bridling and threatening, claiming that the man had insulted him—yes, "actually had the audacity to lay hands on him, begad!" The captain did not notice him any more than if he had been a puppy snarling at his heels.

"We'll have to go," he said to one of the women, who looked more sensible than the rest. "A little water will revive her, but another such fright may be the death of her, with her heart giving out like that. You look after her, and get her home—" He stopped. "Poor creature! Where on earth is there a home for her?" With a stern visage he offered an arm to each of his daughters.

"We'll have to hurry, girlies. We must leave her to her friends. But mind me! Before I ever let one of you marry a drinking man I'll shut you up in the hold of the old 'International,' and batten down the hatches! Do you hear?"

Neither attempted to answer, but Hope looked sober as he helped them aboard the launch, which was all steamed up ready for the start. The first person they saw was the Traveler.

"Well met!" he cried gaily, as they shook hands with the cordiality of old friends. "You've been visiting false gods, I see."

"Yes, and where have you strayed from?" returned the captain, trying to throw off disagreeable impressions.

The Traveler mentioned a resort further on, at which the launch also stopped for passengers, and Hope, rallying a little, remarked,

"It's odd enough! We supposed almost everybody was going on from Bombay, and we would be the only ones left, but they all seem to linger, and appear in the most unexpected places."

"That's a way we have in Bombay," laughed the gentleman. "But I really have a good reason—a delay in the preparation of my outfit. I left my card for you this morning, with my final farewell pencilled upon it, for I expect to leave before dark. Meanwhile, have you seen Lady Moreham?"

"No, not since we landed. She is one who has seemed to drop out of sight most unaccountably."

"I did not suppose you had, for she and Mrs. Poinsett left very hurriedly last night."

"Indeed! For where?"

"Delhi, at first. The fact is, she joins her husband there—a friend of my own, by the way. A telegram from him hastened her going, and one of my reasons for calling was to give you her adieux, and all sorts of kind messages. I also left a letter from her to the Misses Hosmer at your rooms."

"A letter for us—how charming!" cried Faith, while Hope nodded vigorously.

But the captain, with a glance at his daughters, said lightly,

"And nothing for me?"

"I think she hoped to see you, Captain, but doubtless her letter explains everything. Did you know the old Madam is dead?"

"No! You don't say so. And is that why Lord Duncan—"

The Traveler shook his head. "I am a good deal in the dark about the particulars, but I learned something of the drift of affairs from the husband's own lips. I know he repented deeply of yielding such implicit obedience to that proud old woman's wishes. But she ruled all of her kin with a rod of iron. And to such a nature as Lady Moreham's the constant restraint, the sarcastic comments, and the vigilant training to which she was subjected, must have been terribly irksome. I can at least vaguely understand it, and I have her permission to ask you for her side of the affair."

"Yes," assented the captain. "Well, well I am glad the embargo is removed. It was that separation that the old dame insisted upon, which broke her heart. It was bad enough to be so completely cut off from all her own family, but when her husband, himself, consented that she should be banished for a season, to be properly molded and made over by Mrs. Poinsett, while he traveled in foreign lands, it was the last hold. She never could grip her anchor to any faith in God or man, for a time, and I think she hated everybody—at any rate everybody in the aristocracy."

"And we thought her proud of her rank!" murmured Faith. "Do you remember that first day when we called her 'a specimen of British aristocracy,' Hope?"

"I remember when I did," was the honest answer. "It was a foolish thing to say, and I have regretted it ever since."

"We can never judge with absolute correctness," mused the Traveler, with his kindly smile.

"But papa, hasn't she any home relatives left to her—not even a sister?" asked Faith, and unconsciously her arm stole about the waist of her beloved twin.

"I hope she has," was the answer, as the rugged sailor's face turned fondly towards the two. "I have a notion that her letter will explain how, all unconsciously, my little girls have been a link between her and her dear old home."

"We?" cried both, "how wonderful! How could we? Do tell us!"

"Let the letter tell," said the captain, and the Traveler remarked in a reverent tone, as he gazed thoughtfully over the beautiful sheet of water,

"We journey side by side, and our lives meet and separate without apparent thought, or design. It is God who writes the completed story, and seals the sequel with His own 'AMEN.'"



THE END.