before she could speak; he Ud Din's; but what of it? "Give me food, oh mother,' he said, "that I may eat before I go to the house of Chirag Ud Din. All is well, and though I have not the ammunition I can balance the matter with an extra rifle. God has been merciful; my kismet is good. Therefore bring food quickly that no delay may occur.' His mother loved Hafiz Ullah; she shrank from telling him the news that would hurt him. It was hard that it must be her hand that dealt the wound to the creature she loved most in all the world. But it had to be, and she spoke. "She is married to Sher Khan; that son of a burnt father would not wait for thy return. Sher Khan offered him money, and he gave him the girl, laughing at me when I spoke of thee." The old woman wept, and Hafiz Ullah stared at her as though he had not heard. Perhaps half an hour passed in silence, while the woman cried gently, and Hafiz Ullah sat motionless with eyes fixed on the floor, his face void of expression. But in his heart was a furnace, and the temper of a devil held him. Chirag Ud Din had played him a trick; Lala Gul was the wife of Sher Khan; Sher Khan, whom he had always despised in his heart, was the husband of Lala Gul. At length Hafiz Ullah spoke. "It was a jest of Chirag What is a woman to me? And in truth I have the rifles. There are other women besides the daughter of Chirag Ud Din. Enough!" He went out, and his mother rocked herself to and fro, crying bitterly. "Do I not know him? Is he not his father's son, so that when he says least he means most? I, who know his heart, can see the fire that is burning him." She continued muttering to herself, and then habit reasserting itself, she put her trouble from her while she went about her household duties. But her heart was heavy within her, for she knew that trouble was brewing. Hafiz Ullah sat in the house of Chirag Ud Din and talked pleasantly with his host. "So then the girl is married to Sher Khan, and thou didst not wait for my return. Well, thou did'st wisely, for in truth I could get no rifles, and have returned with empty hands." "Ah, I knew it," said Chirag Ud Din ; "when I set thee the task I did but jest, for well I knew that you could not perform it. In truth, I thought not that thou would'st try, and therefore I considered it needless to await thee." "Liar," muttered Hafiz Ullah under his breath; but smiling pleasantly he said, "Of course it was a jest about the rifles. And indeed Sher Khan is a rich man, and doubtless the wedding was a fine one, with much dancing and sing He laughed heartily at the idea. ing. But I warrant Sher Khan he had begun to hold her knew nought of the jest of the responsible for her father's rifles that thou madest with falseness. In his first blaze me. of anger he had been something devilish; but now in the brooding, smouldering, selfish, torturing resentment which fed upon his heart and twisted his bitter, miserable mind, he was something far worse thing snake-like, treacherous, poisonous, a thing that could wait for revenge with patience, that lusted for blood so deeply that it could bide its time and its chance, calculating coldly and calmly the means, the opportunity, the probabilities of success. "No, I had not mentioned it to him, for had I done so he would have thought it strange that you had set eyes on the girl in the first place. No, he knows nought of thee, and as for Lala Gul, what concern was it of hers? That was what Hafiz Ullah had come to find out, and his business was now finishednearly. Ah, it is well then," he said. "And now of thy kindness give me a draught of sherbet, for I am thirsty." Chirag Ud Din rose to get it, and as he turned his back Hafiz Ullah's knife was planted in it, neatly, violently, fatally. Hafiz Ullah went swiftly forth. None had seen him enter, for he had waited to do so till the coast was clear; none saw him leave. Therefore none knew, save perhaps the mother of Hafiz Ullah, who it was that had slain Chirag Ud Din. some But how could he get at Sher Khan? He was a man of means, who had many servants, who went well armed himself and saw that his retainers did likewise. There was little chance of killing him in the open. An ambush would be of little avail; for what could one man do against the eight or ten who generally accompanied Sher Khan when he went abroad? A long shot was too uncertain and too risky. So the devil entered into Hafiz Ullah and whispered to him that the only way was to do it by treachery-to get on terms of friendship with Sher Khan, to become, if possible, his intimate, and thus to find the opportunity that his heart desired. And Hafiz Ullah lent a willing ear to the devil and set himself patiently to work. Weeks passed, and every bitter day brought greater bitter ness to Hafiz Ullah's heart. His smiling face, as he talked, walked, hawked with Sher Khan, was a masque that hid a cruel, treacherous, malicious, devilish mind. Day after day, week after week, till at length it grew to be month after month, he talked with Sher Khan, hunted with him, played with him, rode with him, ate with him, drank with him, almost lived with him; he was ready to do everything and anything with him, save only to forgive him for the wrong towards himself that Sher Khan had not been guilty of. In fact Hafiz Ullah was obsessed: he was a maniac in this one respect, and to it he sacrificed everything-his selfrespect, his honour, his position of trusted friend. He was false to himself, to the love that had turned to gall, to Sher Khan, to the salt that he had eaten. Indeed he had verified Yakub's saying, and had become a son of Satan. And at last one day he felt that his cup of bitterness was full. For an heir was born to Sher Khan, and the brown baby lifted up his voice and wept, as though he realised his own piteous state; for he had hardly entered the world before Lala Gul-The Tulip Rose, the maid drawing water at the well-smiling happily, sighed and died. ing tears of sorrow, self-pity, loneliness, and envy. The child that should have been his was Sher Khan's; the maid that should have been his had been Sher Khan's, and was now dead and beyond his reach to kill or to take as he pleased when he had disposed of her husband. Hafiz Ullah, extrooper, with two good conduct stripes and two medals, wept bitterly. He And still the months went on; for now Hafiz Ullah, a definite plan in his head, could wait in patience. had found a way by which Sher Khan should make him at least partial restitution, and his thoughts dwelt now more upon the future than the past. And little Allah Buksh— "The Gift of God" throve and waxed fat and was merry. He was the joy of his father's house, and the brown fingers that plucked strongly at Hafiz Ullah's beard gripped still more strongly at Hafiz Ullah's heart. Never were seen two such devoted friends as the brown baby that smiled and gurgled and the treacherous Afghan who held him in his muscular, hair - covered arms. In secret Hafiz Ullah addressed him as My Son, and continually he sharpened the knife and passed his thumb along its razor edge. And the months passed rapidly till the child was weaned. When he was eight months old Allah Buksh was a strong And Hafiz Ullah, possessed little boy, and the women of of seven devils, and himself a the household, with holding son of Satan, retired to а up of hands, averred that lonely place and wept scald never had been seen such legs, such arms, such a powerful little body. And one of them, a servant, seeing Hafiz Ullah as usual playing with the child, called to him and said aged, rather haggard, to the adjutant of the cavalry regiment in which he had formerly served. To him he made his petition and told his tale. "Sahib, I have returned to “In truth, Hafiz Ullah, the re-enlist; speak for me to the child is 88 it were thine Colonel Sahib that he may take own son." me back into the regiment. And that speech filled the The reason of this? Now I cup. will tell the truth and hide nothing. In my own country I fell on evil days, for a Sirdar, a great man, cast envious eyes upon my lands; he oppressed me greatly; he seized the land; he took from me my cattle. Thus was I ruined. Finally, my wife died of smallpox after great suffering. Therefore taking my son, who is yet a babe, I filed from that country, where only evil befell me, and lo! I have come again to serve the Government." Sher Khan bent over the little figure which lay beside his own string bedstead. He touched Allah Buksh's head with his hand, then lay down, drew the quilt over his head, and slept the sleep of the man who is content with his lot in life. An hour, perhaps two hours, later a man crept stealthily into the room; crouching, moving with silent, cat-like steps, he approached the sleeping man. Something woke little Allah Buksh and he unourled himself and sat up with a wail. Hafiz Ullah made a spring at the bed, and hurling himself upon Sher Khan, plunged the oft-sharpened knife once, twice, three times into his neck. Then turning to the baby, he lifted him with bloody hands; and the child, knowing his friend, allowed himself to be soothed and hushed till he fell asleep. Hafiz Ullah, covering the child carefully, stole forth. Considering the greatness of the distance to be travelled, it was not long after this that Hafiz Ullah presented himself a little travel-worn, somewhat So Hafiz Ullah was reenlisted; he is now & noncommissioned officer. Some day he will very likely be given a grant of land upon one of the new Canal Colonies. In the meantime he teaches the lance exercise to recruits, and has nearly convinced himself that Allah Buksh is really his own son. Allah Buksh never doubts it, and the two love each other greatly. To quote Yakub once again— "God the All-Merciful painted the rainbow, the flowers, and a woman's eyes with His right hand. But He tied His right hand behind His back when He painted the heart of Yet who shall deny the Wisdom of God?" SEPTIMUS. N ROMANCE IN BIRD LIFE. IF the story that was current when I first visited Auckland is true, it was indeed an ill wind for Australia that brought about the wandering of the little green stranger, the Tauhou or Blight-bird, across the Tasman Sea; but, as events have proved, it blew much good to New Zealand. The summer of 1850-51 was exceptionally hot and dry all over Southern Australia. By the end of January there was scarcely a patch of green grass to be found in Victoria: from the River Murray to Bass Straits the herbage was dry and brown; the eucalyptus forests were charged with resinous matter baked to the verge of conflagration. Then came the North wind, and with it sprang up the fires of Black Thursday, February 6, 1851. There have been terrible bush fires in Victoria since, but no day quite like that. Black covered the smoke clouds Colony from end to end with a pall denser than that of a total eclipse. In Melbourne, where at eleven o'clock the thermometer stood at 117° in the shade, the citizens feared some mysterious convulsion of nature. Evening brought to the city the first news of the disaster that had fallen on the bush settlements and homesteads, but not for many days was its full extent known. By that time the wind had changed, and the strong westerly that in Victoria almost always follows upon two or three days of hot wind had blurred the eastern coast-line with smoke, and rolled vast clouds of it, laden with acrid incense from ruined gullies of musk and sassafras, far out over the Tasman Sea towards New Zealand. With that smoke, so tradition goes, went the Tauhou. It may have been that the little flock of birds was whirled up and away from the blackwoodlined margin of some stream in the ranges, as the tempest drove the flame-tongues through the tops of the tall gums. It may have been from its very breeding-haunts in the sand-dunes of the coast that it was caught and hurried seawards by that fierce and blinding wind. That would be as impossible to ascertain as the origin of the fire, whereof no one knows. But one may imagine that as the smoke-wreaths drifted out and thinned in the salt air over the Pacific, and the tiny birds could once more look about them, they were very, very far from home, and had instinct led them to return those feeble wings could hardly have battled against the gale. They could but hurry helplessly eastwards over the waters, and doubtless many a fleck of still more vivid green had [fallen in the green sea-surge before the great hills of Southland loomed up in their path. A lonely shepherd, looking out at evening from a sea |