"The crowd were pressing round us, with angry gestures and threatening looks, like wild beasts baulked of their prey.

"'Pull his beard,' 'Knock off his turban,' and such like impertinences were hurled at me. But, taking no heed of these, I again addressed the patel, raising my voice so that all around might hear.

"'You gave me fourteen days to find the stranger whom you say was murdered, and ahead of time I have returned and brought him with me. And Baji Lal, whom this very minute you were about to murder--aye, murder--is an innocent man, and his wife a maligned woman.'

"And such is human nature, that they who a short time before had been so keen to see Baji Lal done to death, were now loud in their acclamations at his escape.

"But the patel looked at me with lowering brow.

"'Fine words, Chunda Das, but I do not see the Sheikh?'

"The crowd hushed their outburst, and faces again looked serious.

"'Oh, yes,' cried some one. 'Let us see him. Where is Sheikh Ahmed?'

"'Where, indeed, but in the burning house, endeavouring to save your other victim?' I made answer, turning round and pointing with uplifted arm to Devaka, who now was standing with hands held out beseechingly to the throng, her face uncovered, full of entreaty.

"And even as we gazed the flames burst through the roof beneath her feet, and the clouds of smoke almost hid her from view.

"There was no sign of Sheikh Ahmed, and I was greatly perturbed. What had happened to him? Why did he not appear on the roof? From their countenances I could see that the spectators were still unconvinced of the presence of the man.

"Baji Lal up to this time had remained pa.s.sive, his head bowed as if in helpless acknowledgement of the power of destiny. But at my call he cast his eyes upward with the others, and, beholding the form of his wife through the eddying smoke wreaths, he broke out in loud and pa.s.sionate appeal.

"'Chunda Das, friends, neighbours, do not let her burn. She is innocent of any crime. Do not let her perish. Chunda Das, cut my bonds, that I may save her or die with her.'

"I was about to sever the thongs that confined his wrists and ankles, when the patel laid a detaining hand on my shoulder.

"'Not so fast, not so fast, if you please. We have not yet seen Sheikh Ahmed, and Baji Lal is still condemned to die.'

"I flashed an indignant look at the relentless man, but a cry of 'There he is, there he is,' broke from the mob. And, sure enough, through the clouds of smoke, could be seen the figure of the rescuer, crouching low as he cautiously crept along the roof, with a hand on the parapet to guide his movements. With bated breath we watched as he neared the fainting woman, and then, rising to his full height, tore at the rope which bound her to the stake.

"At last he had released her, and gathered her senseless form in his arms. But a billow of black smoke blotted out the grim scene. A moment of tense silence and sickening uncertainty. Then a great shout from the throng, a shout of pent-up joy and relief, when the hero with his burden came staggering out through the flame-framed doorway of the building.

"I rushed forward with the rest, and received Devaka in my arms. She had swooned. I gazed at her rescuer in admiration, his face blackened, his hair singed, his clothes torn. But could I believe my eyes? The brave man who had sunk to the ground in a heap was not Sheikh Ahmed, but Bimjee, the village barber!

"Hastily consigning Devaka to the care of women standing by, I hurried forward.

"'Sheikh Ahmed is in that house,' I cried, 'probably overpowered by the smoke. We must save him. Who will come with me?'

"All remained silent. Then some one called out:

"'It is no use, Chunda Das. It is impossible, the walls are falling.'

"But at that very instant the Sheikh appeared through the clouds of smoke rolling from the doorway. He tottered forward, bearing in his arms a large bundle wrapped in a cotton quilt. Outstretched hands caught him as he fell, and carried him away from the burning ruins, for the walls had now indeed collapsed.

"Neighbours vied with each other in offers of help. Baji Lal and Devaka were taken to one house. Sheikh Ahmed and myself went to another. The barber had recovered, and had quietly departed for his own home.

"Next day I sent round word that all the villagers were to come to the usual place of public gathering, the widespread pipul tree. No second bidding was required; the open s.p.a.ce was soon crowded, right to the edge of the tank and to the wall of the temple.

"When all were a.s.sembled, with Sheikh Ahmed, Baji Lal and Devaka, also Bimjee the barber, standing by me, I faced the throng.

"'Good people,' I said, 'our worthy friends, Baji Lal and his wife, have been publicly disgraced. They are now to be publicly reinstated as honoured members of the community. Sheikh Ahmed will explain the sobbing and wailing that used to distress them just as much as it mystified you all, and eventually caused suspicion of an abominable crime. Listen to the story Sheikh Ahmed has to tell.'

"As I stepped back a pace, the Sheikh came forward. His handsome countenance beamed goodwill to all, and a murmur of friendly greeting bore testimony to his popularity. In soft, melodious voice, he addressed the eagerly expectant crowd.

"'I am indeed heartily grieved that through any fault of mine my kind host and his wife Devaka should have suffered so severely. I may now inform you that when I tarried in your midst some time ago, I was on my way to the court of Akbar on an important mission. I was, as you know, accompanied by a servant. I had in my possession a most valuable harp, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones. It had formerly belonged to the Maharanee of Kholtan, and had been looted from her palace during the last war. Our Emperor, the Padishah, had long been desirous of possessing it, for the fame of the instrument, its beauty and value, was widespread. By a fortunate chance I became acquainted with the man who was hiding it in the city of Poona. I promised, in the name of my lord and master, the mighty Akbar, a lac of rupees, and undertook to carry the instrument safely to the Emperor at Fathpur-Sikri. On account of its extreme value we decided to conceal it in a rough packing, and, with a view to avoid attracting attention, that I should be attended on the road by no more than one body servant, a man who had been long in my employment and in whom I placed implicit confidence.

"'Well, all went right until, just as we neared this village I fell sick--as I now believe, through the agency of my faithless attendant, who would have poisoned me so that he might possess himself of the precious harp. Fortunately I was succoured by our good friend, Baji Lal, and nursed back to health by him and his devoted wife Devaka. I had sent my servant on to Punderpur, there to await a summons when I again felt well enough to travel. But one night he returned of his own accord, bringing the news that the Padishah himself was approaching Punderpur, and now would be the time for me to complete my mission.

"'But there was something in the fellow's manner that awakened my distrust. At this time my suspicions were but vague, yet sufficient to prompt me to caution. Without discovering my inmost thoughts, I acquiesced in his proposal, and, disregarding the entreaties of my kind hosts, prepared to take the road without an hour's delay.

"'But first I had to dispose of the bejewelled harp in a place of safety, for I had made up my mind not to carry it any longer with me. At Punderpur it would be possible to get an escort of Akbar's cavalry, and then I could return with them for the treasure. So meanwhile I had to find some sure hiding-place, this in preference to burdening anyone here with my secret.

"'The walls of my room in Baji Lal's house were covered with a thick tent-cloth. While my servant was feeding the horses, I loosened one edge of this, and to my joy found the s.p.a.ce between the inner and the outer covering sufficient to take the harp. I stripped off the bulky wrappings in which the harp had been carried up to this time, leaving only a swathing of fine silk. Then I carefully bestowed the instrument in its place of hiding, tying it securely to a beam high up toward the ceiling, and finally I restored the tent-cloth wall exactly as I had found it.

Thereafter I stuffed a few billets of wood into the empty casing of the harp, and when my servant returned I bade him carry forth the package, and secure it across my saddle-bow, just as I had been wont to travel heretofore. Even though it was yet dark, we rode forth on our way.

"'Next day I noticed that my servant kept watching me in a furtive manner, and I congratulated myself on the precaution I had taken, and inwardly resolved to be more than ever on my guard not to be caught unawares. But, alas! I was still weak, and exhausted nature overcame vigilance, so that one night I slept soundly. I remember nothing of what took place. But when I came to myself some woodcutters were bathing my head. They said I had been beaten and wounded, and had bled profusely. I tried to stand up, but was seized with a great faintness, and would have fallen had not my succourers steadied me. With tender care I was carried to Punderpur, happily not far distant, where I was yet once again kindly bidden to the home of strangers.

"'A munshi named Khyraz was the name of my new benefactor. He was most wishful that I should hunt down my faithless servant, who, I need not say, after leaving me for dead, had disappeared with my horse and the package which was supposed to contain the precious harp. However, as I had still the instrument in safe keeping, and as I did not want the story of its being in my possession to get noised abroad, for this would have robbed me of the pleasure of surprising our King of Kings with the production of the coveted prize, I let the rascal go, for the time being at all events. But his day will come, the son of a pig who betrayed the master whose salt he had eaten for years. May the tombs of his ancestors be defiled!

"'Of course the news that had brought me to Punderpur was false. So far from Akbar being in the vicinity, I now learned that he had gone on a journey to Gwalior, and would not be back to Fathpur-Sikri for several months. Therefore, I took the opportunity of paying a business visit to Benares, resting content in my mind that the harp could be in no safer place than in its snug hiding at the home of Baji Lal, where no robbers would ever dream of prying.

"'However, I was just on the eve of retracing my steps to this village when Chunda Das came to Punderpur in quest of me. We met at the house of Munshi Khyraz, and there I learned of the disaster to my friends here, and the terrible doom that was contemplated for them. Imagine my dismay, too, when I discovered that their house was to be burned. My beautiful harp! It would be destroyed! So we hurried back, sparing neither ourselves nor our beasts.

"'When I saw the tongues of flame actually curling about the home of Baji Lal, I became oblivious of aught else save the rescue of the priceless harp from destruction. Through the blinding smoke I groped my way to my old sleeping room. I nearly succ.u.mbed three or four times before I managed to tear down the tent-cloth. Then, by the flicker of the flames I could see the harp reposing in its hiding place in all its gleaming beauty. I had no time to feel surprised that its silken covering had been blown aside, and indeed was at that very moment fluttering in a current of air.

"'Just as my hand reached forth to seize the precious instrument, I was startled by a subdued plaintive cry. For an instant I paused and wondered. Then I discovered that the wind was blowing through a crevice in the wall just behind the harp, and that it was the breeze rushing through the opening that was causing the strings to vibrate and give forth their weird complaining.

"'And this, good people, is the explanation of the unrestful spirit.

When the wind blew strong, the cries were loud and insistent; when the blast came gently, the sobbing was low and wailing.

"'I am distressed that so simple a thing could have caused such trouble.

But in reparation I will undertake to build for Baji Lal and his wife a new home. I hereby give to their good friend, Chunda Das, an undertaking to that effect'--he pa.s.sed a paper to me as he spoke--'whereby I make myself liable for all moneys expended. And to Devaka I give this chain, which I hope she will always wear in remembrance of her good deed in nursing Sheikh Ahmed back to health.'

"And, throwing a long gold chain around the neck of Devaka, the Sheikh bowed to the company, and, with salaams of farewell, pa.s.sed through the throng, toward his escort waiting for him all ready mounted at a little distance. Soon there was the clatter of hoofs, and they were riding away across the plain. I had noticed that at Sheikh Ahmed's saddle-bow was a bulky package, undoubtedly the precious harp in its wrappings.

"That was all there was to be said, and after a while the crowd began to disperse. On every hand there was loud acclaim for the Sheikh and his n.o.ble generosity, and Devaka's gold chain, which she now held timidly in her hand, was the object of many admiring glances, and drew for her general words of congratulation.

"At last all had gone their several ways, leaving Baji Lal and his wife, Bimjee and myself, alone beneath the pipul tree. A first look into each other's eyes showed that we were all of the same mind. In their excitement of the moment the unthinking throng had approved; but for us there was nothing but bitter disappointment.

"It was Baji Lal who first voiced his feelings.

"'Chunda Das,' he said slowly, 'Sheikh Ahmed has promised to recompense me for my losses; he has given a costly present to my wife. We want neither his gifts nor his promises. They are as dust to us. The little we did for him was not done for gold. Yet we took him into our home, and fought death for him, and won. He left a valuable treasure under our roof without consulting or trusting us. When this act of his brought disaster on our heads, it was no thought for Devaka or for me that brought him back in hot haste. It was the possible loss of the harp that occupied all his thoughts. When he came upon the scene, he saw me tied and ready for the word to die. On the roof he saw my wife with the flames already leaping to devour her. Yet not one finger did he put forth to save either her or me. He just rushed into the smoke-filled house, that he might secure the harp--an instrument of great price, let it be. But you, my dear friend, had ridden night and day to find the man whom our neighbours thought we had murdered. Our faithful friend Bimjee'--Baji Lal stretched out his hand to the barber--'defied fire and smoke to rescue a defenceless woman from an atrocious death. Neither of you had anything to gain by these deeds of bravery and self-sacrifice.

You did them for pure love of us. What do we want with that selfish man's gifts? Chunda Das, give me the paper which binds him to his promise to restore my home, that I may tear it into fragments and scatter it to the winds. Devaka, my wife,'--and his voice fell to a tone of great gentleness--'hand the necklet to Chunda Das, that he may restore it to the giver.'

"Devaka, who, as I have said, had already removed the chain of gold from her neck, looked at it perhaps a little lingeringly, let it slip through her fingers caressingly, then with a sigh placed it in my hands and turned away. But her sigh, I knew, was less for the surrender of the gift than for the unworthiness that had prompted its bestowal.

"Her husband contemplated her compa.s.sionately. 'You have not many trinkets, little wife,' he said, 'but this one would not remind us so much of good deeds done as of base ingrat.i.tude. I have no home to take you to at present, but Bimjee wants us to stay with him until I can build you another.'