st saw him; but the passage of years had not failed to change me
into an old woman. As to him, he appeared to me twenty-seven years ago
a man of about thirty, and still looked no older, as if time were
powerless against him. In England, his striking beauty, especially his
extraordinary height and stature, together with his eccentric refusal to
be presented to the Queen--an honour many a high-born Hindu has sought,
coming over on purpose--excited the public notice and the attention of
the newspapers. The newspapermen of those days, when the influence of
Byron was still great, discussed the "wild Rajput" with untiring
pens, calling him "Raja-Misanthrope" and " Prince Jalma-Samson," and
in-venting fables about him all the time he stayed in England.

All this taken together was well calculated to fill me with consuming
curiosity, and to absorb my thoughts till I forgot every exterior
circumstance, sitting and staring at him in no wise less intensely than
Narayan.

I gazed at the remarkable face of Gulab-Lal-Sing with a mixed feeling of
indescribable fear and enthusiastic admiration; recalling the mysterious
death of the Karli tiger, my own miraculous escape a few hours ago in
Bagh, and many other incidents too many to relate. It was only a few
hours since he appeared to us in the morning, and yet what a number of
strange ideas, of puzzling occurrences, how many enigmas his presence
stirred in our minds! The magic circle of my revolving thought grew too
much for me. "What does all this mean!" I exclaimed to myself, trying
to shake off my torpor, and struggling to find words for my meditation.
"Who is this being whom I saw so many years ago, jubilant with manhood
and life, and now see again, as young and as full of life, only still
more austere, still more incomprehensible. After all, maybe it is his
brother, or even his son?" thought I, trying to calm myself, but with no
result. "No! there is no use doubting; it is he himself, it is the same
face, the same little scar on the left temple. But, as a quarter of a
century ago, so now: no wrinkles on those beautiful classic features;
not a white hair in this thick jet-black mane; and, in moments of
silence, the same expression of perfect rest on that face, calm as a
statue of living bronze. What a strange expression, and what a wonderful
Sphinx-like face!"

"Not a very brilliant comparison, my old friend!" suddenly spoke the
Takur, and a good-natured laughing note rung in his v