iddle of the level men call the Ladies'
Mile, the Horror was awaiting me. No other 'rickshaw was in sight--only
the four black and white _jhampanies_, the yellow-paneled carriage, and
the golden head of the woman within--all apparently just as I had left
them eight months and one fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied that
Kitty must see what I saw--we were so marvelously sympathetic in all
things. Her next words undeceived me--"Not a soul in sight! Come along,
Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings!" Her wiry little
Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this
order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty
yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The
'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road: and once more the Arab
passed through it, my horse following. "Jack, Jack, dear! _Please_
forgive me," rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval: "It's
all a mistake, a hideous mistake!"

I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at the
Reservoir works the black and white liveries were still
waiting--patiently waiting--under the gray hillside, and the wind
brought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered
me a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I had
been talking up till then wildly and at random. To save my life I could
not speak afterwards naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church wisely
held my tongue.

I was to dine with the Mannerings that night and had barely time to
canter home to dress. On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men
talking together in the dusk--"It's a curious thing," said one, "how
completely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanely
fond of the woman (never could see anything in her myself) and wanted
me to pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for
love or money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it, but I've got to do what
the _Memsahib_ tells me. Would you believe that the man she hired it
from tells me that all four of the men, they were brothers, died of
cholera, on the way to Hardwar, poor devils; and the 'rickshaw has been
broken up by the man himself. Told me he never used a dead _Memsahib's_
'rickshaw. Spoilt his luck. Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little
Mrs. Wessington spoiling any one's luck except her own!" I laughed aloud
at this point; and my laugh jarred on me as I uttered