When Ram Deen's bugle was heard at the Bore bridge, the munshi from the post-office came across the road and joined the group sitting round the fire in front of the police-station, at which only the great felt free to warm themselves.

The munshi was struggling with "the po-ets of the In-gel-land," as he expressed it in Baboo-English, and did not often take part in the proceedings round the Thanadar's fire; but that night he took his place with the assurance of one who has something to tell. A mem-sahib, in evident distress, with a very young baby in her arms, and unattended, had taken special passage to Moradabad on the mail-cart; and Ram Deen, the driver, would therefore have to return to Lal Kooah that night without any rest. Such a thing had never happened before, and beards wagged freely round the fire in all sorts of surmisings. For once in his life, the munshi, whom Kaladoongie had always looked upon as a mere rhyme-struck fool, held the public eye, and moved largely and freely among his fellows.

Beauty in distress appeals even to the "heathen in his blindness," and the munshi drove round to the dÂk-bungalow to receive and translate the lady's final instructions to Ram Deen. Not that there was any occasion for his services, for the lady with the fair hair and blue eyes used excellent Hindustani; her soft "d's" and "t's" showed that she had been born in India, and that she had spoken Nagari before she acquired English.

She was waiting on the veranda with her baby in her arms when the mail-cart drove up; and, ignoring the fussy little munshi, from whom no help could be looked for in the troubles that beset her, she spoke to Ram Deen, who soon won her confidence, for he showed himself to be thoughtful and a man of resource.

"The mem-sahib must be well wrapped up to-night," he said, "and the little one too, for it will be exceedingly bitter as soon as we pass through the timber and arrive at the tall grass. And the babe seemeth very young from its cry."

"It is but two weeks in age, coach-wan, and we are well wrapped up; but make haste, oh, make haste!"

When Ram Deen had lifted her on to the seat, he fastened her to the back of it with his waistband, and wrapped her feet up in his own blanket. "There be ruts and stones on the road," he explained, "and the mem-sahib will have to hold the little one with both arms, and very close to her to keep it warm."

By the time they had reached the level plateau beyond the Bore Nuddee, the horses, at her urgent and repeated request for more speed, were being driven as fast as Ram Deen dared to drive, seeing there were ten miles to be covered by the same team.

As they proceeded, the lady showed her distress by an occasional deep sigh; and once, when Ram Deen looked at her face, dimly illuminated by the lamps of the mail-cart, he saw the gleam of a tear on her eyelashes. He was glad when she spoke and gave him an opportunity of trying to distract her mind.

"Sawest thou any travellers on the road to-day, coach-wan?" asked the lady, timidly.

"Yea, Most Worshipful. A carriage, with a sahib and an English woman, stopped by the well at Lal Kooah this evening; and the sahib warmed himself at the bunnia's fire and bought milk, whilst his man-servant made preparation for their evening meal."

"What manner of man was he, coach-wan; and didst thou learn his name?"

"The servant told me that the sahib's name was Barfield,—Captain Barfield,—mem-sahib, and that he was going to Meerut to join the regiment to which he belongs. Moreover, he said that the woman in the carriage was not his master's wife—but, toba, toba! what am I saying? This is shameful talk for the mem-sahib to hear, and I ask the forgiveness of the Provider of the Poor for my stupidity."

"Go on, go on, coach-wan," she said, eagerly, laying a hand on his arm. And as he talked, she fell aweeping bitterly, and Ram Deen knew not how to comfort her, for he had never spoken to a mem-sahib before. So he blundered into speech again.

"What manner of man, Most Worshipful, was the sahib? As he stood by the fire, I saw that he was nearly as tall as I,—and I am a span higher than most men; the beard on his upper lip was very fair, and his face showed red in the firelight; furthermore, he smelled of strong waters. He stood awhile, unmindful of those about him, twitching his beard and digging his nails into the palms of his hands; and he looked as a man who hath a new sorrow."

"Oh, coach-wan! that is the first good word I have heard this day. It shall enrich thee by ten rupees ere the sun rise."

"Presently," resumed the driver, "as the sahib stood before the blaze, the woman in the carriage began to sing, and it was as the song of one who hath smoked opium or bhang. Then the sahib stamped his heel on the ground, and with an oath—such I took it to be, for it sounded terrible—he went towards the carriage; and the woman, opening the door thereof, put forth her head, and we saw that her hair was unloosed and hung about her shoulders.

"She fell to scolding the sahib, who thrust her back into the carriage, so that we should not look upon her disorder. Then he fastened the doors, so that she could not open them. Whereon she fell to screaming and beating on the sides of the carriage like a wild beast newly caged.

"So the sahib, being shamed, gave orders, and his horses, which were already spent, were again yoked to the carriage; they departed slowly into the darkness, and we could hear the woman scolding long after they had passed out of sight."

"What time was it when they left Lal Kooah, coach-wan?"

"About the seventh hour, and now some two hours ago, mem-sahib."

"Oh, make haste, make haste, coach-wan! Twenty rupees to thee if we overtake them ere they reach Moradabad!"

"Fear not, mem-sahib. We shall come up with them or ever they get to the next chowki, where fresh horses await the mail-cart."

"Oh, coach-wan, it is my husband we follow! The woman with him is of those who steal men's senses from them and rob women of their husbands. Oh, make haste, make haste!"

They flew along the road. And when the light of the wayside fire at Lal Kooah gleamed in the distance the lady said, "Thou wilt not leave me here to another driver, coach-wan?—Thou art a man, and I may need a man's services to-night."

"Mem-sahib, I am thy servant even as far as Moradabad if it be necessary."

"God reward thee!" she exclaimed.

And then Ram Deen woke the jungle echoes with a brave blast.

The hostler at Lal Kooah had fresh horses ready by the time the mail-cart drove up, and in less than five minutes Ram Deen and his charge were speeding along the level road.

The jungle had now ceased, and they were in the region of the tall plumed grass. The stars twinkled frostily, for the night was bitterly cold, and the clatter of the horses' hoofs on the hard road rang out sharply.

"The little one,—is it well wrapped up, mem-sahib?" asked Ram Deen.

"It is asleep, and quite warm, coach-wan. Proceed."

When they had left Lal Kooah two or three miles behind them, Ram Deen's keen eye caught the glimmer of a fire through the tall grass that came up to the edge of the road where it curved.

"We have found those ye seek, mem-sahib," said Ram Deen, bringing his horses to a stand-still.

Through the quiet night came the voice of a drunken woman singing a ribald barrack-room ditty interspersed with fiendish laughter and oaths:

Then the singer called aloud, "Captain! Captain Barfield!" But, getting no response, she beat a furious tattoo on the wooden panels of the carriage, shouting at the top of her voice, "Pretty sort of a jaunt to Moradabad this is! You're a liar, captain! But I'll tell your doll-faced wife how you treated her when her baby was only two weeks old." She then swore a round of torrid oaths, and wound up with a scream that might have been heard a mile off.

"Mem-sahib," said Ram Deen, "bide here with the hostler till I have tamed that she-devil, and then I will take thee to the captain sahib. The little one,—is it warm?"

"Quite warm, and still asleep, coach-wan. Go, and God advance thee!"

Ram Deen found the captain seated on a log in front of a blazing fire. With his elbows on his knees, the captain pressed a finger to each ear to escape the tirade of the terrible woman in the carriage. A touch on his shoulder made him start to his feet, and as he turned round Ram Deen salaamed gravely.

"I thought the sahib slept. No? Her speech galled thee," pointing to the carriage, "and thou wast fain not to hear it?"

The captain nodded assent. He was worn with the trying position his folly had placed him in, and, at another time, he might have resented the touch on his shoulder, but the tall native in front of him spoke with dignity and a quiet assurance indicative of a large fund of reserve force,—and he might be helpful.

"Where are thy servants, sahib?"

"They fled when she cursed them. May the devil take them!"

"I am the driver of the mail-cart on this road, sahib, as thou mayest see," said Ram Deen, pointing to his badge and bugle, "and this woman's tongue stayeth the Queen's mail; for on my cart, which I have left behind the bend of the road yonder, is a mem-sahib who perchance knoweth thee, for she, too, cometh from Naini Tal, and 'twere well she should not hear thy name on this woman's lips. She must not be kept waiting long, sahib, for the babe in her arms is but two weeks in age" (the captain started), "and the night is exceedingly bitter. Have I the sahib's permission to drive his carriage beyond the hearing of those who are fain to pass?"

"Drive her to Jehandum, coach-wan, so she come to no hurt."

Thereupon Ram Deen approached the carriage, and tapped on the door, saying, "Woman, it is not meet that the worthy traffic of the Queen's highway should be disturbed by thy unseemly conduct."

For answer he received a volley of curses in broken Hindustani, such curses as are in vogue in the barracks of English regiments in India; and the woman in the carriage wound up with a request for more brandy.

"Nay, it is not brandy thou shouldst have, but water,—cold water to cool thy hot tongue," and mounting the carriage Ram Deen urged the jaded horses into a trot.

Two hundred yards farther on the road crossed the Bore Nuddee, now a sluggish river about four feet deep. Leaving the road Ram Deen drove down the bank and into the stream. When the woman in the carriage heard the splashing of the horses, and felt the water rise to her knees, she screamed with fear and became suddenly sober.

"Hast had water enough to cool thy tongue?" asked Ram Deen, tapping on the roof of the carriage.

"Stop, stop!" she entreated, frantically. "I will do whatever you wish."

"Canst thou forget Captain Barfield's name, or must I drive into deeper water?"

"I know not whereof you speak."

"'Tis well! And who is thy husband?"

"A soldier whose regiment is at Delhi, whither I go."

"Thou must be true to him hereafter.—Ho there, horse! the alligators cannot swallow thee!"

"Alligators! Are there alligators in this river?" whined the woman in the carriage.

"There is scarce room for them within its banks."

"Oh, sahib, I am fain to go to my husband, whom alone I care for. Proceed, for the love of God!"

So Ram Deen drove her through the stream and up the opposite bank on to the road. When he had tied the horses to a tree by the highway, he said, "There will be travellers going thy way presently, and they will drive thee to Moradabad. Remember, I may have business in Delhi very soon. Salaam, Faithless One."

And the woman responded in a very meek tone, "Salaam."

"Come, mem-sahib," said Ram Deen, as he resumed his seat on the mail-cart; "the captain sahib awaits thee."

When they were abreast of the fire, she called in a faint, tremulous voice, "Harry, Harry, my dear husband! I am very tired, and very cold. Won't you come to me?"

Leaving the hostler in charge of the mail-cart, Ram Deen followed the captain as he carried his wife to the fire.

Seating her on the log, Captain Barfield knelt beside his wife, chafing and kissing her hands.

"Thank God, you found me!" he sobbed.

"The ayah told me a few hours after you left me that that—that woman had been seen to join you beyond Serya Tal; so I and the baby came to help you. You still love us, dearest?" she asked, pleadingly.

"My beloved, I am not worthy of you! There is a sword in my heart!" And he bowed his head on her lap and wept, whilst she stroked his hair with a slender hand.

"God has been very good to me to-night," she said, softly.

Soon after, removing the shawl from the little one's face, she said, "Kiss your baby, Harry."

His lips touched the little face.—It was very cold. He started back, and, taking the child from its mother's arms, he held it near the firelight.—It was dead!

As they looked across the little limp body into each other's eyes with speechless agony, Ram Deen bent over them and took the little one tenderly from the captain's hands.

"Attend to the living, sahib; I will see to thy dead," he said, softly.

He turned away his face from the sorrow that was too sacred to be witnessed by any one save God.

As Captain Barfield folded his young wife in his arms, a deep groan rent his breast at the thought of his folly and its consequence.

"Thou wert very tender—a mere blossom—and the frost withered thee," said Ram Deen very gently, composing the baby's limbs.