voice of the
ash-besprinkled devotee:

"Allahu akbar! God is great! Over many things he gives his servants
power."

II. THE HOLLOW COLUMN

TOLD BY THE TAX-COLLECTOR

"Every man's fate is fore-ordained," said the tax-collector,
reflectively stroking his beard. "Although we may not understand it at
the moment each particular event that happens is simply a means prepared
for some destined end that may be many years remote in time. Vishnu the
Preserver saved the life of the little maid of Jhalnagor so that her
father's life might later on be saved. But none can read the future, so
that we are all blindly doing the things of to-day without knowing their
real bearing on the things of a far-away to-morrow. And one man can make
or mar the happiness of another man, even though their lives be
separated by hundreds of leagues in space or hundreds of years in time."

"In your mind doubtless is some tale to illustrate the truth of what you
teach," remarked the astrologer, with a shrewd uplifting of his
eyebrows. "The stars can help us to read the future, as I can prove to
you by a story of actual experience. But before I proceed to my
narrative, pray, friend, let us hear from you."

"Gladly," assented the tax-collector. "The story of this noble Rajput
has brought to memory an incident in my own life many years ago,
likewise serving to show that the gods prepare long years ahead for the
working out of each particular man's destiny. Listen:

* * * * *

"As a youth I was a keeper of accounts in the service of a rich
zemindar, whose estate lay in the Country of the Five Rivers. He was a
usurer as well as a landowner, as had been his fathers before him for
many generations. So in his castle was an accumulation of great stores
of wealth--gold and silver and precious stones, cloth of gold, silks,
brocades, and muslins, ivory and amber, camphor, spices, dye stuffs, and
other merchandise of divers kinds."

The Afghan general stirred, and the scabbard of his sword rattled on the
floor as, raising himself from his elbow that rested on a cushion, he
sat up and assumed an attitude of keen attention.

"Where is this place?" he asked, a wolfish gleam in his eyes, and his
lips curved to a smile that revealed, under the black, curled moustache,
the white gleam of sharp-pointed teeth.

The story-teller also smiled, knowingly, and raised a deprecatory hand.

"Nay, friend, this zemindar, my first ma