At dinner that evening I mentioned to my father the episode of the three Buddhist¹ priests, and found, as I had expected, that he was very much interested by my account of them.

When, however, he heard of the high manner in which Ram² Singh had spoken of him, and the distinguished³ position which he had assigned him among philologists⁴, he became so excited that it was all we could do to prevent him from setting off then and there to make his acquaintance.

Esther and I were relieved and glad when we at last succeeded in abstracting his boots and manoeuvring him to his bedroom, for the exciting events of the last twenty-four hours had been too much for his weak frame and delicate nerves.

I was silting⁵ at the open porch in the gloaming, turning over in my mind the unexpected events which had occurred so rapidly — the gale⁶, the wreck⁷, the rescue, and the strange character of the castaways — when my sister came quietly over to me and put her hand in mine.

“Don’t you think, Jack⁸.” she said, in her low, sweet voice, “that we are forgetting our friends over at Cloomber? Hasn’t all this excitement driven their fears and their danger out of our heads?”

“Out of our heads, but never out of our hearts,” said I, laughing. “However, you are right, little one, for our attention has certainly been distracted from them. I shall walk up in the morning and see if I can see anything of them. By the way, tomorrow is the fateful 5th of October — one more day, and all will be well with us.”

“Or ill,” said my sister gloomily.

“Why, what a little croaker you are, to be sure!” I cried. “What in the world is coming over you?”

“I feel nervous and low-spirited,” she answered, drawing closer to my side and shivering. “I feel as if some great

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