in which he proved very successful.  They were constantly together, and Ghyrkins was heard to say that Isaacs was “a very fine fellow, and it was a pity he wasn’t English,” to which Kildare assented somewhat mournfully, allowing that it was quite true.  His chance was gone, and he knew it, and bore it like a gentleman, though he still made use of every opportunity he had to make himself acceptable to Miss Westonhaugh.  The girl liked his manly ways, and was always grateful for any little attention from him that attracted her notice, but it was evident that all her interest ceased there.  She liked him in the same way she liked her brother, but rather less, if anything.  She hardly knew, for she had seen so little of John since she was a small child.  I suppose Isaacs must have talked to her about me, for she treated me with a certain consideration, and often referred questions to me, on which I thought she might as well have consulted some one else.  For my part, I served the lovers in every way I could think of.  I would have done anything for Isaacs then as now, and I liked her for the honest good feeling she had shown about him, especially in the matter of the tiger’s ears, for which she could not forgive herself—­though in truth she had been innocent enough.  And they were really lovers, those two.  Any one might have seen it, and but for the wondrous fascination Isaacs exercised over every one who came near him, and the circumstances of his spotless name and reputation for integrity in the large transactions in which he was frequently known to be engaged, it is certain that Mr. Ghyrkins would have looked askance at the whole affair, and very likely would have broken up the party.

In the course of time we became a little blase about tigers, till on the eighth day from the beginning of the hunt, which was a Thursday, I remember, an incident occurred which left a lasting impression on the mind of every one who witnessed it.  It was a very hot morning, the hottest day we had had, and we had just crossed a nullah in the forest, full from the recent rains, wherein the elephants lingered lovingly to splash the water over their heated sides, drowning the swarms of mosquitoes from which they suffer such torments, in spite of their thick skins.  The collector called a halt on the opposite side; our line of march had become somewhat disordered by the passage, and numerous tracks in the pasty black mud showed that the nullah was a favourite resort of tigers—­though at this time of day they might be a long distance off.  I had come next to the collector after we emerged from the stream, the pad elephants having lingered longer in the water, and Mr. Ghyrkins with Miss Westonhaugh was three or four places beyond me.  It was shady and cool under the thick trees, and the light was not good.  The collector bent over his howdah, looking at some tracks.

“Those tracks look suspiciously fresh, Mr. Griggs,” said the collector, scrutinising the holes, not yet filled by the oozing back water of the nullah.  “Don’t you think so?”