object of saving money. In this object he succeeds most remarkably.
Little as we know of the home life of our Hindoo servants, we know
almost less about that of Domingo, for he rarely has his family with
him. Is he a fond husband and an indulgent father? I fancy he is
when his better nature is uppermost, but I am bound to confess that
the cardinal vice of his character is cruelty, not the passive
cruelty of the pure Asiatic, but that ferocious cruelty which
generally marks an infusion of European blood. The infusion in him
has filtered through so many generations that it must be very weak
indeed, but it shows itself. When I see an emaciated crow with the
point of its beak chopped off, so that it cannot pick up its food, or
another with a tin pot fastened with wire to its bleeding nose, I
know whose handiwork is there. Domingo suffers grievously from the
depredations of crows, and when his chance comes he enjoys a savage
retribution. Some allowance must be made for the hardening influence
of his profession; familiarity with murder makes him callous. When
he executes a moorgee he does it in the way of sport, and sits, like
an ancient Roman, verso pollice, enjoying the spectacle of its dying
struggles.

According to his lights Domingo is a religious man; that is to say,
he wears a necklace of red beads, eats fish on Fridays, observes
festivals and holidays, and gives pretty liberally to the church
under pressure. So he maintains a placid condition of conscience
while his monthly remittance to Goa exceeds the amount of his salary.
He rises early on Sunday morning to go to confession, and I would
give something to have the place, just one day, of the good father to
whom he unbosoms himself. But perhaps I am wrong. I daresay he
believes he has nothing to confess.