ring his father's absence.
All things, however harsh they may seem at first, work for the best, and during that awful summer of '57 Guy could never feel grateful enough that his mother was safe in America.
But this peaceful digression has lasted long enough. Sterner things demand our attention and we must return to the breaking off point--to the light dog-cart which is bearing Guy and Jewan along the flat bank of the Kalli Nudda.
This stream flows by the city of Meerut, by the palace of the Nawab, by Mr. Mottram's plantation, and then rolls on for two hundred miles or more past palaces and temples and ghauts and hovels until it mingles with the yellow tide of the mighty Ganges, the river of dim tradition.
The Ganges has witnessed many terrible events, but still greater horrors are destined to take place ere long on its historic banks.
But at present no muttering of the storm is seen or heard--unless it be that ill-defined shadow of fear in Guy's heart which he vainly tries t