he so vigorously
shook the lantern that it almost fell out of his hand.

But Quita was adamant. She bade them set out at once, or the Sahib
would smite them there and then. Awed by a threat that would never
have been executed, they hastened to assure her that she was,
collectively and individually, their "father and mother," that their
worthless lives were at her service, and that they would start
forthwith.

Three minutes later, they were swinging cautiously along the four-foot
track that corkscrews down to the level of the Mall, the foremost man
thrusting the lantern well ahead, with the sole result that a great
white circle showed weirdly upon the curtain of mist, through which
they journeyed by faith, and not by sight. With every step of the way
Quita's conviction grew that she had pushed persistence to the verge of
folly; and the thought of Michael, alone and dejected, tugged at her
heart. The rain formed miniature canals in the waterproof sheet that
covered her; and more than once a jerk of the dandy emptied these into
her lap; while the mist itself was so dense that she seemed to be
breathing water instead of air. There was no denying that to-morrow
would do as well as to-night. But her impatient spirit fretted against
delay; and this senseless obtrusion of inanimate things,--angering her,
as only the inanimate can,--drowned the still small voice of
common-sense.

Nevertheless, human will and endeavour have small chance in a duel with
that invisible Force, which men call Fate. In the language of the
East, "it was written" that she should not get down the hill that
night; and before they reached the Mall, Quita was compelled to own
herself beaten.

A jerk, a crash, followed by darkness, and a thud that brought her
half-overturned dandy into violent contact with the ground, fairly
settled the matter. The "mate" had missed the path; and, but for an
instantaneous counter-jerk on the part of the men behind, Quita would
have been shot down the _khud_, instead of on to the stony roadway. As
it was, she thrust out both hands to save herself, while the rain
pattered through the light lace scarf on to her head and neck. The
lantern glass was broken, and the "mate," lamenting volubly, declared
that his arm appeared to be broken also. Quita herself was
ignominiously damp and bedraggled; and vanity apart, going on was out
of the question. Even getting back, minus the lantern, would be a
difficult matter. W