“I will not do wonders for bucksheesh,” said the priest, and began to hobble away.  Isaacs stepped lightly to his side and whispered something in his ear.  The ancient Brahmin turned.

“Then I will do a wonder for you, but I want no bucksheesh.  I will do it for the lady with white hair, whose face resembles Chunder.”  He looked long and fixedly at Miss Westonhaugh.  “Let the sahib log come with me a stone’s throw from the well, and let one sahib call his servant and bid him draw water that he may wash his hands.  And I will do this wonder; the man shall not draw any water, though he had the strength of Siva, until I say the word.”  So we moved away under the trees, and I shouted for Kiramat Ali, who came running down, and I told him to send a bhisti, a water-carrier, with his leathern bucket.  Then we waited.  Presently the man came, with bucket and rope.

“Draw water, that I may wash my hands,” said I.

“Achha, sahib,” and he strode to the well and lowered his pail by the rope.  The priest looked intently at him as he shook the rope to turn the bucket over and let it fill; then he began to pull.  The bucket seemed to be caught.  He jerked, and then bent his whole weight back, drawing the rope across the edge of the brickwork.  The thing was immovable.  He seemed astonished and looked down into the well, thinking the pail was caught in a stone.  I could not resist the temptation to go down and inspect the thing.  No.  The bucket was full and lying in the middle of the round sheet of water at the bottom of the well.  The man tugged, while the Brahmin never took his eyes, now bright and fiery, off him.  I went back to where they all stood.  The thing had lasted five minutes.  Then the priest’s lips moved silently.

Instantly the strain was released and the stout water-carrier fell headlong backwards on the grass, his heels in the air, jerking the bucket right over the edge of the well.  He bounded to his feet and ran up the grove, shouting “Bhut, Bhut,” “devils, devils,” at the top of his voice.  His obstinacy had lasted so long as the bucket would not move, but then his terror got the better of him and he fled.

“Did you ever see anything of that kind before, Miss Westonhaugh?” I inquired.

“No indeed; have you?  How is it done?”

“I have seen similar things done, but not often.  There are not many of them that know how.  But I cannot tell you the process any more than I can explain the mango trick, which belongs, distantly, to the same class of phenomena.”

The Brahmin, whose eyes were again dim and filmy, turned to Isaacs.

“I have done a wonder for you.  I will also tell you a saying.  You have done wrong in not taking the advice of your friend.  You should not have come forth to kill the king of game, nor have brought the white-haired lady into the tiger’s jaws.  I have spoken.  Peace be with you.”  And he moved away.

“And with you peace, friend,” answered Isaacs mechanically, but as I looked at him he turned white to the very lips.