noble generosity, and Devaka's gold chain, which she now held timidly in
her hand, was the object of many admiring glances, and drew for her
general words of congratulation.

"At last all had gone their several ways, leaving Baji Lal and his wife,
Bimjee and myself, alone beneath the pipul tree. A first look into each
other's eyes showed that we were all of the same mind. In their
excitement of the moment the unthinking throng had approved; but for us
there was nothing but bitter disappointment.

"It was Baji Lal who first voiced his feelings.

"'Chunda Das,' he said slowly, 'Sheikh Ahmed has promised to recompense
me for my losses; he has given a costly present to my wife. We want
neither his gifts nor his promises. They are as dust to us. The little
we did for him was not done for gold. Yet we took him into our home, and
fought death for him, and won. He left a valuable treasure under our
roof without consulting or trusting us. When this act of his brought
disaster on our heads, it was no thought for Devaka or for me that
brought him back in hot haste. It was the possible loss of the harp that
occupied all his thoughts. When he came upon the scene, he saw me tied
and ready for the word to die. On the roof he saw my wife with the
flames already leaping to devour her. Yet not one finger did he put
forth to save either her or me. He just rushed into the smoke-filled
house, that he might secure the harp--an instrument of great price, let
it be. But you, my dear friend, had ridden night and day to find the man
whom our neighbours thought we had murdered. Our faithful friend
Bimjee'--Baji Lal stretched out his hand to the barber--'defied fire and
smoke to rescue a defenceless woman from an atrocious death. Neither of
you had anything to gain by these deeds of bravery and self-sacrifice.
You did them for pure love of us. What do we want with that selfish
man's gifts? Chunda Das, give me the paper which binds him to his
promise to restore my home, that I may tear it into fragments and
scatter it to the winds. Devaka, my wife,'--and his voice fell to a tone
of great gentleness--'hand the necklet to Chunda Das, that he may
restore it to the giver.'

"Devaka, who, as I have said, had already removed the chain of gold from
her neck, looked at it perhaps a little lingeringly, let it slip through
her fingers caressingly, then with a sigh placed it in my hands and
turned away. But her sigh, I knew, was less for the surrender of t