Not long after the Dusserah, the venerable Ahmed Dutt smoked himself peacefully out of this world, and was duly burnt, with every necessary formality. His granddaughter being left forlorn, now took an old woman to live with her in the little stone house under the edge of the Almora road, as you go to Loher Ghât. Durali was in straitened circumstances; the murga crop had failed, three of her lean kine were dead, but she was befriended by Naim Sing, who evinced much sympathy for her desolate condition; and it was a matter of whispered gossip that Johar was also secretly performing acts of kindness--secretly, indeed, for none dared to put themselves into competition with the formidable Naim Sing,--and it was believed that he was the favoured suitor. At harvest-time, Naim Sing was compelled to be absent for ten days, on an urgent mission to the foot of the hills. Immediately on his return, he hastened to Durali’s hut, and found her absent. Wearied by a rapid march of thirty miles, he cast himself down among the long rice stalks at the foot of a choora tree, and there impatiently awaited the reappearance of his divinity. As he lay half dozing in the heat, his practised ear heard steps and voices, and looking through the rice stalks he beheld a couple leisurely approaching. The man was playing on a bone whistle, and the woman carried sheaves of wheat upon her stately head. There was no difficulty in recognizing Durali and Johar. The jealous watcher lay still, listening eagerly with quick-coming breath. It appeared to him that the beguiling Durali by no means discouraged her companion’s advances, which were couched in the usual flowery terms of Oriental flattery. “Oh, woman, thou hast sheaves on thy head, but they appear like clusters of pomegranates on thy shoulders. There is none like thee. The light of thy beauty hath illumined my soul! As for Naim Sing, he is a seller of dog’s flesh! an owl, the son of an owl; he is vain as the sandpiper, who sleeps with his legs up, in order to support the sky at night. Listen, O core of my heart! it hath come to mine ears, that trade and barter have nought to do with his hasty excursions to the plains--he hath a wife at Huldwani--hence his journeys.” This was too much for the endurance of his enraged listener, who, leaping furiously upon Johar, clove his head with his heavy tulwar (sword). Johar staggered, blinded with blood, and defenceless, then, turning, ran for his life; but his infuriated enemy, flinging the shrieking girl to one side, swiftly pursued the wounded wretch to where he had sought refuge in a cowshed, dashed in the frail door, and there despatched him. Presently he returned, fierce-eyed, savage, blood-stained, to confront the horror-stricken and trembling Durali. “Woman,” he cried hoarsely, “I have slain him--thine the sin. His death be on thy head!”