ents. Nobody else became
friendly. Surji Rao took care of that. And at last one morning a
report went like wildfire about the palace and the city that the
missionary had killed a sacred bull, set free in honour of Krishna
at the birth of a son to Maun Rao, the chief of the Maharajah's
generals. Certainly the bull was found slaughtered behind the
monkey temple, and certainly Dr. Roberts had beefsteak for
breakfast that day. Such a clamour rang through the palace about
it that the Maharajah sent for the missionary, partly to inquire
into the matter, and partly with a view to protect him.

It was very unsatisfactory--the missionary did not know how the
bull came to be killed behind his house, and, in spite of all the
Maharajah's hints, would not invent a story to account for it. The
Maharajah could have accounted for it fifty times over, if it had
happened to him. Besides, Dr. Roberts freely admitted having
breakfasted upon beefsteak, and didn't know where it had come from!
He rode home through an angry crowd, and nobody at all came for
medicines that day.

Two days later the Rajput general's baby died--could anything else
have been expected? The general went straight to the Maharajah to
ask for vengeance, but His Highness, knowing why the chief had
come, sent word that he was ill--he would see Maun Rao to-morrow.
To-morrow he had not recovered, nor even the day after; but in the
meantime he had been well enough to send word to Dr. Roberts that
if he wished to go away he should have two camels and an escort.
Dr. Roberts sent to ask whether Sunni might go with him, but to
this the Maharajah replied by an absolute 'No.'

So the missionary stayed.

It was Surji Rao who brought the final word to the Maharajah.

'My father and my mother!' he said, 'it is no longer possible to
hold the people back. It is cried abroad that this English
hakkim[7] has given the people powder of pig's feet. Even now they
have set upon his house. And to-day is the festival of Krishna.
My heart is bursting with grief.'

[7] 'Doctor.'

'If Maun Rao strikes, I can do nothing,' said the Maharajah weakly.
'He thinks the Englishman killed his son. But look you, send Sunni
to me. HE saved mine. And I tell you,' said the Maharajah,
looking at Surji Rao fiercely with his sunken black eyes, 'not so
much of his blood shall be shed as would stain a moth's wing.'

But Maun Rao struck, and the people being told that the missionary