listened to the tritest saying that fell from the lips of our
extraordinary companion with devotional rapture, and secretly took down
notes of his conversation. I fancy that the extraordinary man saw this,
and was a little pleased with it.

When the train reached the junction, we assembled in the waiting room
for the connection. It was then 10 P.M., and as the train, we heard,
was likely to be very late, owing to something wrong in the lines, I
spread my bed on the table and was about to lie down for a comfortable
doze, when the extraordinary person deliberately set about spinning the
following yarn. Of course, I could get no sleep that night.

When, owing to a disagreement about some questions of administrative
policy, I threw up my post at Junagarh, and entered the service of the
Nizam of Hydria, they appointed me at once, as a strong young man,
collector of cotton duties at Barich.

Barich is a lovely place. The Susta "chatters over stony ways and
babbles on the pebbles," tripping, like a skilful dancing girl, in
through the woods below the lonely hills. A flight of 150 steps rises
from the river, and above that flight, on the river's brim and at the
foot of the hills, there stands a solitary marble palace. Around it
there is no habitation of man--the village and the cotton mart of Barich
being far off.

About 250 years ago the Emperor Mahmud Shah II. had built this lonely
palace for his pleasure and luxury. In his days jets of rose-water
spurted from its fountains, and on the cold marble floors of its spray-
cooled rooms young Persian damsels would sit, their hair dishevelled
before bathing, and, splashing their soft naked feet in the clear water