carry help to the Kabuli--who is
hurt?"

Carlin beckoned her back. "Not hurt, dear. He is ill. He has
hydrophobia."

"Our protection depends upon you," Deenah concluded, to Carlin. "We
commit ourselves to you; we render our lives and honour into your care.
You alone, Hakima-ji, can present the story of these doings to the chief
commissioner, whose name we hold in honour above other men. Will you see
that it be known--not one thread has been taken or changed from the pack
of the Kabuli; also, the chief commissioner--out of his equity which has
never failed--shall judge us, _knowing_ that we did the beating for the
Sahiba's sake."

The chief commissioner at Hurda was a good and a just man. He listened
seriously and spoke to Carlin of the value of good Indian servants in the
houses of the English; of the dangers of the tiger in the grass and the
serpent upon the rock and the Kabuli in the khud--to whom he would attend
at once.

It was many weeks after that when the case was called, and Deenah's eyes
grew red-rimmed like a pit-terrier's as he told the story again, but his
voice fondled the ears of those present in the court-room. . . . One by
one, the other four Kabulies left the market-place in Hurda; and when the
monster himself had been made to pay and his healing had been
uninterrupted for many weeks, there came, a day when the unwalled city of
Hurda knew him no more.

He was not forgotten, even though months sped by; for in Miss Annesley's
heart was a pang over the big man who had been horribly hurt. . . .
Meanwhile for Carlin all life was changed--as the magic of swift
afterglow changes every twig and leaf and stem. Then came her hard days,
watching for Skag's return--the weeks passing while he waited in Poona.
Every morning from a distance, she observed the train come in from the
South. When Skag did not appear, sometimes she would go alone for a
while to the edge of the jungle, but never deep, because he had asked her
not to. Sometimes it was an hour or two before she was ready to look out
at the world or the light again. . . .

One early morning as she crossed the market-place, Carlin saw a strange
elephant there with his mahout; and a messenger approached deferentially,
asking if she were the Hakima, and if she could lead the way to Annesley
Sahiba. . . . Four hours' journey away--this was the messenger's
story--a native prince whose dignity included the keeping of one
elephant, an honourable