he was really
asking my advice. Pshaw! as if any advice could influence a man like
that! Absurd.

I sipped my coffee in disgust with myself. All the time, while trying to
persuade myself that Isaacs was only a very successful schemer, neither
better nor worse than other men, I was conscious of the face that would
not be banished from my sight. I saw the beautiful boyish look in his
deep dark eyes, the gentle curve of the mouth, the grand smooth
architrave of the brows. No--I was a fool! I had never met a man like
him, nor should again. How could Miss Westonhaugh save herself from
loving such a perfect creature? I thought, too, of his generosity. He
would surely keep his promise and deliver poor Shere Ali, hunted to
death by English and Afghan foes, from all his troubles. Had he not the
Maharajah of Baithopoor in his power? He might have exacted the full
payment of the debt, principal and interest, and saved the Afghan chief
into the bargain. But he feared lest the poor Mohammedans should suffer
from the prince's extortion, and he forgave freely the interest,
amounting now to a huge sum, and put off the payment of the bond itself
to the maharajah's convenience. Did ever an Oriental forgive a debt
before even to his own brother? Not in my experience.

I rose and went down to Isaacs. I found him as on the previous evening,
among his cushions with a manuscript book. He looked up smiling and
motioned me to be seated, keeping his place on the page with one finger.
He finished the verse before he spoke, and then laid the book down and
leaned back.

"So you have made up your mind that you would like to see Ram Lal. He
will be here in a minute, unless he changes his mind and does not come
after all."

There was a sound of voices outside. Some one asked if Isaacs were in,
and the servant answered. A tall figure in a gray _caftan_ and a plain
white turban stood in the door.

"I never change my mind," said the stranger, in excellent English,
though with an accent peculiar to the Hindoo tongue when struggling with
European languages. His voice was musical and high in pitch, though soft
and sweet in tone. The quality of voice that can be heard at a great
distance, with no apparent effort to the speaker. "I never change my
mind. I am here. Is it well with you?"

"It is well, Ram Lal. I thank you. Be seated, if you will stay with us a
while. This is my friend Mr. Griggs, of whom you probably know. He
thinks as I do on many poin