d freshened sharply; and the impact of two ripples almost
capsized her chiragh. It dipped--it vanished....

With a low sound of dismay she craned forward; lost her balance, and
would have fallen headlong ... but that masculine fingers closed on her
arm and pulled her backward--just in time.

"Roy!" she breathed, without turning her eyes from the water--for the
precious flame had reappeared. "Look, there it is--safe...!"

"But what of _you_, little sister, had not I stayed to watch the fate of
your Dewali lamp?"

The words were spoken in the vernacular--and not in the voice of Roy.
Startled, she drew back and faced a man of less than middle height,
bare-headed, wearing the orange-pink draperies of an ascetic. In the
half dark she could just discern the colour and the necklace of carved
beads that hung almost to his waist.

"I am most grateful, _guru-ji_,"[13] she murmured demurely, also in the
vernacular; and stood so--shaken a little by her fright: unreasonably
disappointed that it was not Roy; relieved, that the providential
intruder chanced to be a holy man. "Will you not speed my brave little
lamp with your blessing?"

His smile arrested and puzzled her; and his face, more clearly seen,
lacked the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic.

"You are not less brave yourself, sister," he said, "venturing thus
boldly and alone...."

The implication annoyed her; but anxious not to be misjudged, she
answered truthfully: "I am not as those others, _guru-ji_. I
am--England-returned; still out of purdah ... out of caste."

He levelled his eyes at her with awakened interest; then: "Frankness for
frankness is fair exchange, sister. I am no _guru_; but like yourself,
England-returned; caste restored, however. Dedicated to service of the
Mother----"

It was her turn to start and scrutinise him--discreetly. "Yet you make
pretence of holiness----?"

"In the interests of the Mother," he interposed, answering the note of
reproach, "I need to mix freely among her sons--and daughters. These
clothes are passports to all, and, wearing them in her service is no
dishonour. But for my harmless disguise, I might not have ventured near
enough to save you from making a feast for the muggers--just for this
superstition of Dewali--not cured by all the wisdom of Oxford.--Was it
Oxford?"

"Yes."

"Is it possible----?" He drew nearer. His eyes dwelt on her frankly,
almost boldly.

"Am I addressing the accomplished daughter of Ram Singh