h.

'"No," shouts Hurdeo Singh (the chief).

'"Then blood must be shed at your door, and the life forfeit paid
at your threshold, so that the curse may alight upon you and your
house."

'He draws the dagger from its sheath. He had not laid his hand
upon its handle in the same manner that he would have laid it on
the hilt of his sword, but the reverse way to that; he puts the
palm of his hand under it and not over it, so he could best use it
in the way he intended to use it--so could he best strike the blow
he meant to strike.

'"Begone! Begone!" shouts Hurdeo Singh, waving him away with his
hand.

'The people around stand fixed as statues, eyes straining, necks
craning. The herald stretches his left arm behind his mother, and
she, throwing open her _chudder_, leans back against it....

'The money-lender had given a sudden cry, stretched out his hand,
uttered some words.

'When Hurdeo Singh had beheld the herald raise his right arm, his
own had gone up with it, and from his mouth had come the cry,
"Don't! Don't."

'But it was too late. The herald had raised his arm, turned round
his head, and plunged the sharp stiletto into his mother's breast.'

It would be scarcely possible in an article that ranges over the light
literature of Anglo-India to omit mentioning the name of Mr. Rudyard
Kipling, who is the most prominent and by far the most popular of
Anglo-Indian authors. Yet our reference to his writings must be very
brief, since most of them lie beyond the scope of our present subject;
for although Mr. Kipling's short stories are famous, and he is a
consummate artist in black and white, yet in the complete edition of
his volumes up to date there is, in fact, but one full-sized Indian
novel, and for this he is only responsible in part. Nor, assuming that
the Indian chapters of the _Naulakha_[14] may be ascribed to him,
would it be fair criticism to treat them as good samples of his work,
or as illustrating his distinctive genius. The attempt in this story
to bring together West and East, and to strike bold contrasts by
setting down a Yankee fresh from Colorado before the palace gate of a
Maharaja in the sands of western Rajputana, is too daring a venture;
and the plot's development, though here and there are some touches of
true vision and some vigorous passages, labours under the weight of
its extrava