arp struggle, were
bound hand and foot.

"That is pretty well all of the story, I think. Sivajee Punt was one of
the killed. The prisoners were all either hung or imprisoned for life.
I escaped my blowing up for having gone down the Ghauts after the bear,
because, after all, Sivajee Punt might have defied their force for
months had I not done so.

"It seemed that that scoundrel Rahman had taken back word that I was
killed. Norworthy had sent down a strong party, who found the two dead
bears, and who, having searched everywhere without finding any signs of
my body, came to the conclusion that I had been found and carried away,
especially as they ascertained that natives used that path. They had
offered rewards, but nothing was heard of me till my note saying I was
in Sivajee's hands arrived."

"And did you ever see the women who carried you off?"

"No, Mary, I never saw them again. I did, however, after immense
trouble, succeed in finding out where it was that I had been taken to.
I went down at once, but found the village deserted. Then after much
inquiry I found where the people had moved to, and sent messages to the
women to come up to the camp, but they never came; and I was reduced at
last to sending them down two sets of silver bracelets, necklaces, and
bangles, which must have rendered them the envy of all the women on the
Ghauts. They sent back a message of grateful thanks, and I never heard
of them afterwards. No doubt their relatives, who knew that their
connection with the Dacoits was now known, would not let them come.
However, I had done all I could and I have no doubt the women were
perfectly satisfied. So you see, my dear, that the Indian bear, small as
he is, is an animal which it is as well to leave alone, at any rate when
he happens to be up on the side of a hill while you are at the foot."

THE PATERNOSTERS

"And do you really mean that we are to cross by the steamer, Mr. Virtue,
while you go over in the Seabird? I do not approve of that at all.
Fanny, why do you not rebel, and say we won't be put ashore? I call it
horrid, after a fortnight on board this dear little yacht, to have to
get on to a crowded steamer, with no accommodation and lots of seasick
women, perhaps, and crying children. You surely cannot be in earnest?"

"I do not like it any more than you do, Minnie; but, as Tom says we
had better do it, and my husband agrees with him, I am afraid we must
submit. Do you really thi