Isaacs rose slowly to his feet and moved towards the open door.  I followed him, and for a few moments we stood looking out at the scene below us.  It was near midnight, and the ever-decreasing moon was dragging herself up, as if ashamed of her waning beauty and tearful look.

“Griggs,” said my friend, dropping the formal prefix for the first time, “all this is very strange.  I believe I am in love!”

“I have not a doubt of it,” I replied.  “Peace be with you!”

“And with you peace.”

So we parted.

* * * * *

CHAPTER IV.

In Simla people make morning calls in the morning instead of after dark, as in more civilised countries.  Soon after dawn I received a note from Isaacs, saying that he had business with the Maharajah of Baithopoor about some precious stones, but that he would be ready to go with me to call on Mr. Currie Ghyrkins at ten o’clock, or soon after.  I had been thinking a great deal about the events of the previous evening, and I was looking forward to my next meeting with Isaacs with intense interest.  After what had passed, nothing could be such a test of his true feelings as the visit to Miss Westonhaugh, which we proposed to make together, and I promised myself to lose no gesture, no word, no expression, which might throw light on the question that interested me—­whether such a union were practical, possible, and wise.

At the appointed time, therefore, I was ready, and we mounted and sallied forth into the bright autumn day.  All visits are made on horseback in Simla, as the distances are often considerable.  You ride quietly along, and the saice follows you, walking or keeping pace with your gentle trot, as the case may be.  We rode along the bustling mall, crowded with men and women on horseback, with numbers of gorgeously arrayed native servants and chuprassies of the Government offices hurrying on their respective errands, or dawdling for a chat with some shabby-looking acquaintance in private life; we passed by the crowded little shops on the hill below the church, and glanced at the conglomeration of grain-sellers, jewellers, confectioners, and dealers in metal or earthen vessels, every man sitting knee-deep in his wares, smoking the eternal “hubble-bubble;” we noted the keen eyes of the buyers and the hawk’s glance of the sellers, the long snake-like fingers eagerly grasping the passing coin, and seemingly convulsed into serpentine contortion when they relinquished their clutch on a single “pi;” we marked this busy scene, set down, like a Punch and Judy show, in the midst of the trackless waste of the Himalayas, as if for the delectation and pastime of some merry genius loci weary of the solemn silence in his awful mountains, and we chatted carelessly of the sights animate and inanimate before us, laughing at the asseverations of the salesmen, and at the hardened