d.' With that he put the
question, 'What think you of human life?' The hermit, who had halted
hitherto at no question, arose, turned him about, and in silence
withdrew to the depths of his grotto."[2]

"Proving," laughed the Rajah, "that he added the virtue of discretion to
his multiform merits. But we turn not our backs on the question until my
illustrious guest Atma Singh of the blood of the Holy Nanuk further
expound the nature of life."

All turned to Atma. The frivolity of the Rajah was distasteful to him in
connection with so grave a theme. His eyes involuntarily sought the
glance of the young Englishman who had spoken. He was an officer in the
British army and his name was Bertram. His expressive face kindled with
kindly grace as the young Sikh claimed sympathy with him in his view of
life as a battlefield.

"But not," said Atma, "that triumph crowns prowess in this fight. I
know that life is a battle in which sooner or later we must all succumb,
but we die knowing that the right is stronger through our struggle."

"I am rebuked, Atma Singh," said Bertram; "your battlefield is a nobler
one than that on which human effort is rewarded by gain. I pray you
continue."

"Behold the strength that comes from a convert," sneered some of the
company, as with fervent though modest speech Atma spoke of the high
courage and dauntless faith which transform defeat into Immortal
victory.

A silence fell on the gay throng. Some were gloomy because reminded of
their national discomfiture. Others looked coldly on Atma and muttered
with discontent--

"He speaks of life as a thing that is yet to be."

FOOTNOTE:

[2] I have taken the liberty here of altering a well-known fable whose
authorship I do not know.

CHAPTER XI.

Rajah Lal Singh arrived at Jummoo a few weeks later in much pomp and
state. No hidden or hazardous mission was his. His gorgeous train of
armed attendants mounted on richly caparisoned horses traversed the
public roads, winding like a brilliant serpent through the vales of
Kashmir. He brought tidings of the daily increasing quiet and peace now
resting on the torn and war-spent Punjaub. Festivities were heightened
after his arrival, and revelry held sway day and night.

Atma and Bertram in unconscious kinship drew to one another, forsaking
frequently the mirth and glare of the court to converse of things that
are hard to understand. They were one evening in a shady retreat at the
foot of the R