e with heart elate, for he had instantly observed in the turban
of Golab Singh a gem which by its size and hue he knew must be none
other than the Sapphire of Fate, whose magical renown might yet in his
true hands rally a degenerate Khalsa until such time as the disciples of
Nanuk might again know good from evil, and reverence Truth alone.

An hour later, as he left the sumptuous baths where obsequious slaves
had attended him, an officer of state approached him with a message from
the Rajah.

"Atma Singh, there are within these walls Englishmen who hold command in
the British army. As a true friend and servitor to the Ranee, and the
Maharajah's esteemed guest, do not divulge nor let them suspect that
you had lately audience of her highness."

For Golab Singh, notwithstanding the cruelty of his administration, was
friend to all, Christian, Musselman, Brahmin, or Sikh, and did not love
to be suspected of an undue sympathy with any, not even when such
sympathy might wear the cloak of patriotic loyalty.

CHAPTER X.

On the morrow the Rajah of Kashmir sat in the terraced garden and talked
of life. Those who sat with him had lately braved death on battlefield,
but death had forborne to touch them, and they rejoiced in existence.
All around them the story was repeated; the deepening shade spoke of
another shadow, but the flashing sunbeams chased the thought ere it
chilled; eaves fluttering to the mould said, "Ponder the grave," but the
shining air stirred and sent them whirling aloft. Death and Life enacted
a drama.

* * * * *

The human comedy ends in woe, but Nature tenderly masks her catastrophe,
and her sorrows are hung with gayest colours and adorned with fairest
effects. This is seen at sunset. The evening saddens, the earth melts,
and in my egoism I hail a fellow mourner. I would protract the moment of
the sun's entombment.

"There's such a charm in melancholy,
I would not if I could be gay."

It is the mood of little griefs. An unquiet wind murmurs, but it does
not rise to a wail.

I fain would bid th' AEolian tones prolong
To mourn the jolly Day's discomfiture,
And, mindful of mine own estate, among
The buds and grieving trees my plaint outpour,
That sweets must fade though Night will aye endure.
But crafty Nature, fancy to beguile
From her disaster, which, alas! is mine,
Bids to the front in radiant defile
A