When ‘To Tum,’ as we irreverently called our venerable butler, brought me my tea and biscuits at six the next morning, I had much to ask him, for E. and H. had gone off without waking me, probably thinking that the sight of them with two rifles in their hands, and a tiger in the bush, would be too exciting and tantalising for me. I found that the Massa Sahibs had departed after a very hasty breakfast, and had taken St John with them, carrying a third gun, in case of accident. A railway coolie reported distant shots, heard about an hour after the Sahibs had left the bungalow; but nothing had since been seen or heard of men or man-eater. ‘You can open that blind, To Tum,’ said I, pointing to one of the windows looking towards the north, for I thought I should probably see the conquering heroes returning that way, covered with glory and thorn scratches. The butler had departed and left me to my meditations, and good intentions of performing my toilet and going to see what was doing on the line. I continued to lie, looking dreamily out of the window, the jalousie of which To Tum had thrown back. It was not much of a view, consisting only of a corner of the compound wall and the jungle beyond; but a soft pinky haze beautified everything; and, fanned by a most delicious cool breeze, I closed my eyes again and dozed for a few minutes, utterly and blissfully ignorant that sudden death had just cleared that compound wall, and was making, stealthily and wearily, straight for my open window. I heard—in a dream as it were, so did not heed—a curious scratching noise, followed by soft limping footsteps across the veranda; then heavy breathing, almost gasping, which seemed so unpleasantly near, that I opened my sleepy, dreamy eyes just in time to see his most Serene Highness the Bengal tiger throw himself in an utterly done-for condition by the side of my bed!