ah_!

Archie started into his old position, for once more, apparently from
close at hand, came the deep-toned, savage, snarling roar of some huge
tiger that had approached the big stable without a sound, and in
imagination Archie could see its fiery, glaring eyes distended with a
gaze that seemed to pierce the woven wall, as, with the soft white fur
of its under parts brushing the earth, it gathered itself up ready to
dash like some living catapult clean through the frail partition to his
very feet.

"To impale itself, if I am lucky," thought Archie. And then the silence
continued for what seemed to be an hour, before, in the hope that the
monster had once more stolen away as silently as it had come, the young
man once again ventured to recommence the duties of his lonely, rustling
beat. And now again he was attacked by his former horrible dread. The
imaginary picture was in all its force. Poor Peter must have been
followed by the tiger and dragged down helplessly to a horrible death;
and, yes--for it was all too clear--this was indeed the reason why they
were not guarded at night.

There was the temptation for them, had they known, to attempt to make
what would seem to be an easy escape; but for what? One sudden blow
from a tremendous paw--and death.

The thought was sufficient to prostrate a man in the full vigour of his
health and strength, and hence it was more than enough to cause a weak
lad, slowly recovering from the fever and suffering from the shock of
concussion and wound, to lean heavily upon the staff of the spear he
held and feel at times that he should sink down in a heavy swoon.

It was a terrible night--one which seemed as if it would never end; but
he fought bravely on, proving in himself that hope springs eternal in
the human breast, and driving back what he called to himself his coward
thoughts, till at last, after twice more being startled by the coming of
the tiger, he did sink down heavily amongst the rustling leaves, and
buried his face in his hands, that had quitted their hold of the spear,
to receive the quivering face that now lay motionless upon them.

But it was no new coming of the enemy that had banished sleep and set
every nerve pulsating before it seemed to lie weak and slack. It was
one strange, twanging cry that he recognised at once as the call of the
argus pheasant, far away in the jungle, and it meant so much--the fading
away of the black darkness, and the glowing golden