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perintendent of police arrived early next morning with his myrmidons, the natty inspector, the constables in blue coats and mustard-colored trousers, and that pest of a man the Tracker, Hafiz Ullah and his brother, mounted on swift camels, were speeding by little-used tracks towards the frontier.

The pest of a Tracker made casts like a pack of hounds while the police officers catechised cringing sweepers and other barrack servants. He was making casts during the whole of the morning, and making them vainly.

"Protector of the Poor," said the Tracker at last, "the wind and the dust have destroyed all tracks. Therefore I am helpless."

"You are the Son of an Owl," said the D.S.P., who was notoriously fond of abuse.

And the sergeant of the guard, under arrest in his quarters, thought bitterly upon dust-storms and wondered who would be president of the courtmartial.

But Hafiz Ullah, travelling by a thieves' road, thought blithely of a certain damsel and pictured her as drawing water from the well, which pleased his heart and tantalized his parched and drouthy throat.

And in a husky voice he gave tongue to the well-known bazaar song: "Taza ba-taza, Nau-ba-nau."

CHAPTER III.

Hafiz Ullah, weary but happy, ap proached his father's house. He had saved his time with a month and more to spare, and cunningly hidden in bales of merchandise were four rifles, all with the Government mark, all in good condition. In vain had trackers tracked, policemen searched, detectives watched, telegraphs ticked. Hafiz Ullah had baffled them all-had, as it were, defeated the British Empire off his own bat, and with a minimum

of bloodshed. There had been one little scuffle, but one policeman's life was of small account when weighed in the balance with the girl who drew water at her father's well.

Therefore Hafiz Ullah rejoiced and was glad, and entered his father's house with a light heart and a happy smile. He greeted his mother, and saw not that she eyed him anxiously, and had to swallow before she could speak; he failed to note the concern in her face and the compassion in her eyes when she looked at him.

"Give me food, oh mother," he said, "that I may eat before I go to the house of Chirag Ud Din. All is well, and though I have not the ammunition I can balance the matter with an extra rifle. God has been merciful; my kismet is good. Therefore bring food quickly that no delay may occur."

His mother loved Hafiz Ullah; she shrank from telling him the news that would hurt him: It was hard that it must be her hand that dealt the wound to the creature she loved most in all the world. But it had to be, and she spoke.

"She is married to Sher Khan; that son of a burnt father would not walt for thy return. Sher Khan offered him money, and he gave him the girl, laughing at me when I spoke of thee."

The old woman wept, and Hafiz UIlah stared at her as though he had not heard.

Perhaps half an hour passed in silence, while the woman cried gently, and Hafiz Ullah sat motionless with eyes fixed on the floor, his face void of expression. But in his heart was a furnace, and the temper of a devil held him.

Chirag Ud Din had played him a trick; Lala Gul was the wife of Sher Khan; Sher Khan, whom he had always despised in his heart, was the husband of Lala Gul. At length Hafiz Ullah spoke.

"It was a jest of Chirag Ud Din's; but what of it? What is a woman to me? And in truth I have the rifles. There are other women besides the daughter of Chirag Ud Din. Enough!"

He went out, and his mother rocked herself to and fro, crying bitterly.

"Do I not know him? Is he not his father's son, so that when he says least he means most? I, who know his heart, can see the fire that is burning him."

She continued muttering to herself, and then habit reasserting itself, she put her trouble from her while she went about her household duties. But her heart was heavy within her, for she knew that trouble was brewing.

Hafiz Ullah sat in the house of Chirag Ud Din and talked pleasantly with his host.

"So then the girl is married to Sher Khan, and thou did'st not wait for my return. Well, thou did'st wisely, for in truth I could get no rifles, and have returned with empty hands."

"Ah, I knew it," said Chirag Ud Din; "when I set thee the task I did but jest, for well I knew that you could not perform it. In truth, I thought not that thou would'st try, and therefore I considered it needless to await thee."

"Liar," muttered Hafiz Ullah under bis breath; but smiling pleasantly he said, "Of course it was a jest about the rifles. And indeed Sher Khan is a rich man, and doubtless the wedding was a fine one, with much dancing and singing. But I warrant Sher Khan knew nought of the jest of the rifles that thou madest with me."

He laughed heartily at the idea. "No, I had not mentioned it to him, for had I done so he would have thought it strange that you had set eyes on the girl in the first place. No, he knows nought of thee, and as LIVING AGE. VOL. XLIV.

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for Lala Gul, what concern was it of hers?"

That was what Hafiz Ullah had come to find out, and his business was now finished-nearly.

"Ah, it is well then," he said. "And now of thy kindness give me a draught of sherbet, for I am thirsty."

Chirag Ud Din rose to get it, and as he turned his back Hafiz Ullah's knife was planted in it, neatly, violently, fatally.

Hafiz Ullah went swiftly forth. None had seen him enter, for he had waited to do so till the coast was clear; none saw him leave. Therefore none knew, save perhaps the mother of Hafiz Ullah, who it was that had slain Chirag Ud Din.

Hafiz Ullah had wiped off one score, but he was not satisfied. 'In his heart were rage and envy, hatred and love, and what he could not have himself another should not have if he could help it. Therefore Sher Khan must die; yes, and Lala Gul too, if there were any difficulty. For disappointed love had turned, in his warped and bitter mind, to hatred, and unconsciously he had begun to hold her responsible for her father's falseness. In his first blaze of anger he had been something devilish; but now in the brooding, smouldering, selfish, torturing resentment which fed upon his heart and twisted his bitter, miserable mind, he was something far worse -something snake-like, treacherous, poisonous, a thing that could wait for revenge with patience, that lusted for blood so deeply that it could bide its time and its chance, calculating coldly and calmly the means, the opportunity, the probablities of success.

But how could he get at Sher Khan? He was a man of means, who had many servants, who went well armed himself and saw that his retainers did likewise. There was little chance of

An ambush

killing him in the open. would be of little avail; for what could one man do against the eight or ten who generally accompanied Sher Khan when he went abroad? A long shot was too uncertain and too risky.

So the devil entered into Hafiz Ullah and whispered to him that the only way was to do it by treachery-to get on terms of friendship with Sher Khan, to become, if possible, his intimate, and thus to find the opportunity that his heart desired. And Hafiz Ullah lent a willing ear to the devil and set himself patiently to work.

Weeks passed, and every bitter day brought greater bitterness to Hafiz Ullah's heart. His smiling face, as he talked, walked, hawked, with Sher Khan, was a masque that hid a cruel, treacherous, malicious, devilish mind.

Day after day, week after week, till at length it grew to be month after month, he talked with Sher Khan, hunted with him, played with him, rode with him, ate with him, drank with him, almost lived with him; he was ready to do everything and anything with him, save only to forgive him for the wrong towards himself that Sher Khan had not been guilty of.

In fact Hafiz Ullah was obsessed: he was a maniac in this one respect, and to it he sacrificed everything-his selfrespect, his honor, his position of trusted friend. He was false to himself, to the love that had turned to gall, to Sher Khan, to the salt that he had eaten.

Indeed he had verified Yakub's saying, and had become a son of Satan.

And at last one day he felt that his cup of bitterness was full. For an heir was born to Sher Khan, and the brown baby lifted up his voice and wept, as though he realized his own piteous state; for he had hardly entered the world before Lala Gul-The

Tulip Rose, the maid drawing water at the well-smiling happily, sighed and died.

And Hafiz Ullah, possessed of seven devils, and himself a son of Satan, retired to a lonely place and wept scalding tears of sorrow, self-pity, loneliness, and envy.

The child that should have been his was Sher Khan's; the maid that should have been his had been Sher Khan's, and was now dead and beyond his reach to kill or to take as he pleased when he had disposed of her husband. Hafiz Ullah, ex-trooper, with two good conduct stripes and two medals, wept bitterly.

And still the months went on; for now Hafiz Ullah, a definite plan in his head, could wait in patience. He had found a way by which Sher Khan should make him at least partial restitution, and his thoughts dwelt now more upon the future than the past.

And little Allah Buksh-"The Gift of God"-throve and waxed fat and was merry. He was the joy of his father's house, and the brown fingers that plucked strongly at Hafiz Ullah's beard gripped still more strongly at Hafiz Ullah's heart. Never were seen two such devoted friends as the brown baby that smiled and gurgled and the treacherous Afghan who held him in his muscular, hair-covered arms. In secret Hafiz Ullah addressed him as My Son, and continually he sharpened the knife and passed his thumb along its razor edge.

And the months passed rapidly till the child was weaned. When he was eight months old Allah Buksh was a strong little boy, and the women of the household, with holding up of hands, averred that never had been seen such legs, such arms, such a pow erful little body.

And one of them, a servant, seeing Hafiz Ullah as usual playing with the child, called to him and said

"In truth, Hafiz Ullah, the child is as it were thine own son."

And that speech filled the cup.

Sher Khan bent over the little figure which lay beside his own string bedstead. He Buksh's touched Allah head with his hand, then lay down, drew the quilt over his head, and slept the sleep of the man who is content with his lot in life. An hour, perhaps two hours, later a man crept stealthily into the room; crouching, moving with silent, cat-like steps, he approached the sleeping man. Something woke little Allah Buksh and he uncurled himself and sat up with a wail.

Hafiz Ullah made a spring at the bed, and hurling himself upon Sher Khan, plunged the oft-sharpened knife once, twice, three times into his neck. Then turning to the baby, he lifted him with bloody hands; and the child, knowing his friend, allowed himself to be soothed and hushed till he fell asleep.

Hafiz Ullah, covering the child carefully, stole forth.

Considering the greatness of the distance to be travelled, it was not long after this that Hafiz Ullah presented himself a little travel-worn, somewhat aged, rather haggard, to the adjutant of the cavalry regiment in which he had formerly served. To him he made his petition and told his tale. Blackwood's Magazine.

"Sahib, I have returned to re-enlist; speak for me to the Colonel Sahib that he may take me back into the regiment. The reason of this? Now I will tell the truth and hide nothing. In my own country I fell on evil days, for a Sirdar, a great man, cast envious eyes upon my lands; he oppressed me greatly; he seized the land; he took from me Thus my cattle. I ruined. Finally, my wife died of smallpox after great suffering. Therefore taking my son, who is yet a babe, I fled from that country, where only evil befell me, and lo! I have come again to serve the Government."

was

So Hafiz Ullah was re-enlisted; he is now a non-commissioned officer. Some day he will very likely be given a grant of land upon one of the new Canal Colonies. In the meantime he teaches the lance exercise to recruits, and has nearly convinced himself that Allah Buksh is really his own son. Allah Buksh never doubts it, and the two love each other greatly.

To quote Yakub once again

"God the All-Merciful painted the rainbow, the flowers, and a woman's eyes with His right hand. But He tied His right hand behind His back when He painted the heart of man. Yet who shall deny the wisdom of God?"

Septimus.

THE FRIENDSHIP OF THE STARS.

·

We listen now and again to a lecture on the stars. As a rule, it consists of a theory to account for their presence in the heavens, and an effort to convey some idea of their vast distances from us and the rates and directions of their motions. Standards of time, distance, and speed of which we have experience on earth have to

give way to standards of which we can have little conception. The unit of a mile a minute, the best we travel at, is superseded by the speed of light, at which we never shall travel-unless it be by the light-allied ethereal element in our being when, having shed its clogging vesture of flesh, it wings its way back to God, "who dwelleth even

above the stars." It should be less hard to die on a starry than a clouded night.

But although we cannot follow fully the scientific methods by which the results given us have been arrived at, we yet believe them to be true, as far as human knowledge and skill have gone, and are generally much interested. The interest, however, does not penetrate deeply nor last long. It is rubbed off the tablets of the mind with much the same ease as the imposing cypherline of star distance is wiped off the demonstration board. By the time we have reached the home gate, the stars are again shining with their accustomed light, and are not the swiftly moving spheres of the lecture dimly seen through depths of space? Science is as yet too young to make an impression that can displace the so much older, more mellow, and more soothing one of tradition, fancy, and sentiment. It is, as it were, the trained, keen glance through a telescope, the marking of angles painfully small, and an expression of results in complicated mathematical terms, opposed to the calm upward gaze of the Eastern sage, and the thoughtful writing on his scroll of:-"Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons? Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? Canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth?" It is thus vaguely, of a piece with their remoteness, but yet with a strong love, that most of us regard the stars. The sun is a fierce lord, demanding active effort in return for the aid of his countenance; and the moou is a fickle mistress, with her face, as a rule, turned wholly or in part away from her lover. She is very lovable, with her amica silentia, but the love begotten varies with her mood. We regard the stars differently. Old and

faithful friends of our childhood, youth,
and age, they are always the same.
The observer with more deliberate vis
ion, when life has passed onwards to-
wards the close of its allotted span,
can count upon seeing the same stars
in the same part of the heavens as
when he looked at them carelessly and
fitfully in his fresh and eager youth.
He has passed through much of joy and
sorrow in the interval, but throughout
it all the "Wain" has travelled softly
every night along the same distant
road. The impression of stability in
an unstable world begets a sense of
profound comfort. He may have trav-
elled over half a world, yet however
strange his day scenes, he has been
able to return home by starlight. In
changing hemispheres he certainly
would drop temporarily one set of star
friends to pick up another. But the
old ones were ready in their accus-
tomed place to welcome him as soon as
he recrossed a well-known line. The
sea-weary sailor of the Northern world,
after rounding Cape Horn, looks out
for the North Star as "the first land
he makes." For the closer welcome
home, however changed men and things
may have become, the relation of a
cluster of stars to the church tower, the
crest of the hill, or sea horizon brings
back more quickly and fully old memo-
ries and associations to the mind than
aught else. When the wanderer re-
turned to Locksley Hall his soul read-
ily found anchorage to the stars:-
"Many a night from yonder ivied case-
ment, ere I went to rest,

Did I look on great Orion sloping
slowly to the West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, ris-
ing thro' the mellow shade,
Glitter like a swarm of fireflies tan-
gled in a silver braid."

It is easy to conceive how in an earlier age the stars, always steadily looking down from the same positions

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