s. My gown, as well as the traveling suits of
the colonel and of Mr. Y---- were nearly torn to pieces. The cactuses
gathered from us whatever tribute they could, and the Babu's disheveled
hair swarmed with a whole colony of grasshoppers and fireflies, which,
probably, were attracted thither by the smell of cocoa-nut oil. The
stout Sham Rao panted like a steam engine. Narayan alone was like his
usual self; that is to say, like a bronze Hercules, armed with a
club. At the last abrupt turn of the path, after having surmounted the
difficulty of climbing over huge, scattered stones, we suddenly found
ourselves on a perfectly smooth place; our eyes, in spite of our many
torches, were dazzled with light; and our ears were struck by a medley
of unusual sounds.

A new glen opened before us, the entrance of which, from the valley,
was well masked by thick trees. We understood how easily we might have
wandered round it, without ever suspecting its existence. At the bottom
of the glen we discovered the abode of the celebrated Kangalim.

The den, as it turned out, was situated in the ruin of an old Hindu
temple in tolerably good preservation. In all probability it was built
long before the "dead city," because during the epoch of the latter, the
heathen were not allowed to have their own places of worship; and the
temple stood quite close to the wall of the town, in fact, right under
it. The cupolas of the two smaller lateral pagodas had fallen long ago,
and huge bushes grew out of their altars. This evening, their branches
were hidden under a mass of bright colored rags, bits of ribbon, little
pots, and various other talismans; because, even in them, popular
superstition sees something sacred.

"And are not these poor people right? Did not these bushes grow
on sacred ground? Is not their sap impregnated with the incense of
offerings, and the exhalations of holy anchorites, who once lived and
breathed here?"

The learned, but superstitious Sham Rao would only answer our questions
by new questions.

But the central temple, built of red granite, stood unharmed by time,
and, as we learned afterwards, a deep tunnel opened just behind its
closely-shut door. What was beyond it no one knew. Sham Rao assured
us that no man of the last three generations had ever stepped over the
threshold of this thick iron door; no one had seen the subterranean
passage for many years. Kangalim lived there in perfect isolation, and,
according to the ol