The three persons who were sheltering themselves in the porch of the temple had apparently no apprehensions. Each in turn, throwing a coarse black blanket about him, mounted the heap of stones and looked eagerly toward the villages and along the line of road. The others sat together, rolling up leaves of the banian tree from time to time, which they filled with tobacco from their pouches, and smoked as fast as made. All three were heavily armed with long straight swords with solid basket-handles, from which a spike projected below the hilt, enabling the wearer to use his weapon double-handed, as well as to protect the wrist; shields of stout hide, with brass bosses, hung at their backs, and daggers of different forms were in their girdles. In the chamber of the temple their three matchlocks leaned against the wall—two being ordinary ones with long bright barrels, the other short and handsomely inlaid with gold, evidently of superior value to the others. The men wore their large crooked powder-horns, and bullet-bags, with tinder-boxes, attached to soft leather waist-belts, and their priming-horns, hung to the breast-buckles of their sword-belts, of buff leather. The matchlocks were ready for instant use; for the matches were lighted, and the smoke, from the match-ends, and that of a small fire made of dried twigs, filled the chamber and issued from the door.

The two men who were sitting in the porch—one had just gone and taken post again upon the stones—were stout square-built fellows, of dark-brown complexion, with peculiarly round powerful shoulders, which gave them almost the appearance of deformity. They wore coarse cotton tunics and tight drawers, which reached to the knee, leaving the lower part of the legs bare, and showing them to be sinewy and well exercised by constant travel. They had not removed their sandals, which were strong and studded with large-headed nails, and, as they sat together, the resemblance in figure was very striking. They were, in fact, twin-brothers, and, being Mahrattas, had been named, as is usual, Rama and Lukshmun, after the popular heroes of the Mahabarut. Even in features there was a strong resemblance; but the expression of the elder, Rama, was as gloomy, if not savage, as that of the younger, Lukshmun, was cheerful and good-natured.

The brothers had been long silent, and the third person, who, with a heavy black blanket thrown over his head, had been sitting for some time upon the stones, got up and returned to the porch as a fresh cloud passed overhead, accompanied by heavier rain than before, which gradually shut out the village and road from his view, shook the wet from the blanket, and stood looking gloomily at the sky and the torrents of water which were running off the ground towards the declivity of the eminence. There was a great contrast between this person and the others in every respect, and he merits, perhaps, a separate description.

Though young, he was evidently the leader of the party, and his comparatively fair complexion and regular features, as well as the caste-mark on his forehead, showed him to be a Rajpoot, descended from those emigrants from Northern India whom military service, even at that period, had tempted from Oude and Delhi to the remote Dekhan. In stature, as in powerful make, he much exceeded his companions, and his carriage was soldierlike and graceful. He wore a quilted tunic of what had once been gay red "mushroo," the strong satin of the country, but now stained and frayed; long tight drawers, turned up to the calf; a dark red turban, of fine texture, jauntily cocked aside, its gold thread end being turned back over the top; and his powder-horn, bullet-bag, and shield, as well as a little gold embroidery upon his sword-belt, all of a better quality than the others, with a fine single pearl ear-ring—proved him to be as much superior to them in rank, as his expression and deportment were in intelligence.

Gopal Singh, for such was his name, was, in truth, decidedly good-looking. Large black eyes, full of light, a prominent nose, bushy whiskers, very neatly trimmed, and a small moustache twisted upwards into close curls at the corners of a mouth delicately formed and almost effeminate in character when relaxed, but which, when the lips were compressed, seemed full of deep expression both for good and evil,—the chin, clean-shaved and prominent, betokening firmness,—all combined to form a countenance in which decision and energy were evident; but, in spite of his good features, their general expression was repellant, expressing cruelty and lawlessness of no common order.

"He will never get across the Benathoora to-day, my friends," he said, stepping into a dry corner of the porch and sitting down; "and we have a weary journey to Itga before us in this mud; yet I dare not face the master, my uncle, without some news of him."

"Maharaj," replied Rama, respectfully, folding his hands—"Great prince"—by which title (an ordinary one of respect), or that of Jemadar, Gopal Singh was usually addressed by them—"I know the Benathoora, and she will not come down before night; and if it be true that the man left Kullianee yesterday, there is plenty of time for him to be here by sunset. Depend upon it, he will make for Allund to-day, and there will have been no deep mud for some hours after he left. Couldst thou see nothing on the road?"

"Nothing, Rama. At one time I thought I saw him at the gate of the village yonder, but as the rain cleared off, it was only some cattle going in; then the mist closed up the view, and I could see no more, and came away. By Krishna, but this rain is something to see! I question whether he could cross the nulla down there before Kinny, it seems filling so fast."

"Ah! he can ford it well enough if he is bent on coming," said Lukshmun, "and he could not stop at either village, for I told the Gowra this morning, if a stranger came, to send him on with a guide, and to shut the gate if he wanted to stop. So, if he left Kullianee yesterday, he ought to have come a good distance before night; and if he started again this morning, there is no river, or nulla, between to stop him but the Benathoora, and that will be fordable till midnight, even with heavier rain than this. He would not stay for the rain to clear?"

"He must have left it," returned the Jemadar; "he dared not stay there. One of old Lukmun Geer's disciples was to accompany him to a village half-way to Allund yesterday, and send him on from thence with guides from village to village. We offered escort, but he would take no one—the fellow was suspicious."

"Then he is quite safe, Maharaj. The guides may plague him; but if he started under injunctions from the old Bawa's disciple, he will be passed on carefully," returned Rama.

"I hope he is, brothers. I would not lose our chance of the gold he has for something—nor indeed of himself."

"Gold! Jemadar," cried both eagerly, in a breath.

"Yes, my friends; good royal mohurs, I know; for the day before yesterday he rested at the Gosai's Mutt, and had a Hoondee cashed in the shop. It was a goodly pouchful, I know, and it will come to us if we wait patiently."

Gopal Singh lighted some tinder with his flint and steel, and then a leaf cigarette, as we may call it, and began to smoke in silence which was only broken by the dripping of the rain from the porch of the temple and the tree, the general plash over the plain, and the loud and continuous croaking of the frogs in the pools and puddles.

The Jemadar first broke silence. "Some one must look again," he continued, after a while; "and it is brighter now. Go thou, Lukshmun, take the blanket and sit close."

"It is not weather to turn out a dog," muttered the man, sulkily, getting up and stepping down from the porch; "but I will go, Maharaj, if it is your order. Shall I go on to Kinny," he continued, "and see if I can get tidings of him? Better that than sitting up there like a drenched scarecrow in a field."

"Good, brother, go! Try the nulla before you venture into the middle of it, lest it be too strong for you," said Rama.

"And wait there for a time," added the Jemadar. "If he do not arrive before night thou canst bring some flour, ghee, and sugar from the Patel; for if we are to watch here all night we had need to eat, and I must make some bread; but if the man comes, bring him on—he will be well-mounted and will not fear the nulla, and thou canst invent something about going back to Allund on urgent business."

"Trust me for that, Jemadar. If I have an ugly face I can speak soft words when I choose, and I know enough of the camp language to make him understand. Now, I am going." So saying, he doubled the blanket in a peculiar manner, so as to form a cloak, threw it over his head and shoulders, and folded the sides tightly about him; then taking off his sandals, which he carried in his hand, he strode away in the rain, as rapidly as the mud would admit.

"Take care of the thorns in the lane near the village; put on your sandals there: we can't have you troubling us with a BÁbool thorn in your foot," shouted the Jemadar.

Lukshmun turned round and nodded his assent, and continued as before. They watched him silently till he disappeared over the brow of the eminence, when Rama said to his companion, "What if they have sent the man on by the other road, or warned him, Jemadar?" There was another road which passed about half a mile to the south of where they sat.

"He dare not, Rama; by his soul he dare not," replied the Jemadar, with flashing eyes and distended nostrils. "Do you think he would dare my uncle's vengeance? does he wish his cattle to be harried by Pahar Singh, and his village burnt?"

"Perhaps not; and it would be likely enough to happen, Jemadar," said Rama, laughing; "and, I suppose, we should have to come to do it. But what is to be done with the man?—That?" and he pointed significantly to the old well with his thumb.

"O no, Rama," returned the other, laughing in his turn. "Nothing of that kind, now. The man himself is precious, why, the uncle knows, and some more of them, though they have not told me. I only hope he will not make a fight of it and get hurt."

"Then we could not help it, of course, Jemadar."

"No, indeed, friend. But we are three to one, and he is only a Mutsuddee after all—not a man of war—he will be quiet enough, I dare say."

"Well, if I am to say the truth, Maharaj, I am glad of it," returned Rama. "It is all very well to kill people in a fair foray, or if anybody will fight in a DurÔra, one's blood is up, and it does not matter; but, somehow or other, the last affair here was not agreeable, and ever since I have not liked the place at night. We need not add to the people that lie yonder," and he pointed over his shoulder to a corner of the tree, "unless, indeed, it is to be, then of course we can't help it."

"Nor I either, Rama. It is only pleasant here when there are fifty or sixty good fellows assembled, and the gold and silver are boiling in the pots yonder. I don't like this new business as well as the old——By Gunga, what a flash!"

Indeed the flash of lightning, which caused both to start to their feet, was nearly blinding. Without warning, except by the passage of another dark cloud above, it had fallen on part of the old tree which was separate from the rest—a branch supported by two roots which had struck into the ground—and had riven away part of it, which fell across the mound of stones with a loud and heavy crash, and was followed by a cracking peal of thunder, so loud and so near that the men involuntarily put their hands to their ears.

"It would have killed him if he had been on the stones," said Rama, who first spoke, as the peal, spreading itself over the heavens, was dying into deep growls in the distance. "By all the gods! was there ever such thunder?"

"It will break up the clouds, perhaps," returned the Jemadar, "and this rain will then stop. Yes, it was a narrow escape, indeed, and we may be thankful he went. It is a good omen for us, Rama!"

"I vow a rupee to be inlaid in the floor of the temple of DÉvi, at Tooljapoor, and to feed twenty-four Brahmuns," said the man, reverently. "Yes," he added, looking up and over the plain, "I think it will break up before sunset."

But we must follow the spy on his double errand, while the pair, who still converse, speculate upon the probable issue of it, smoke by turns, and long for a break in the rain. And there is another person, too, who must needs be looked after on his journey hitherward.