“Yours received, and I answer it within the _hour_. I note all you say about the young lady, and I don’t like the idea _at all_. My boy, you know I have never refused you anything, but I must say _no_ to this. I have only your welfare at heart. I cannot allow you to throw yourself away on an ordinary Indian spin. You are right to tell me all about it; and, as you have not yet proposed for her, _don’t_. You must marry some pretty, well-born girl, who has never been through the Suez Canal. Come home immediately; these idle days in a hill station have had a bad effect on your steady brain. Come home as soon as ever you can. Your father has evidently become naturalized; he does not want you--_I do_. As for the girl, you might give her a pony, or a diamond brooch--anything--everything, but yourself. “Your affectionate uncle, “D. POLLITT.” As Mark looked up from this letter he met the scrutinizing black eyes of Jan Mahomed which were fixed upon his face. “This sahib has been ill,” he said, severely. “Jungle fever getting?” “No, Jan, I am all right. This is the day the English dâk goes out, and I want you to take a letter to the post for me, it will be ready in twenty minutes, and send word to the Captain Sahib, that I have come back.” Then he drew his writing-case towards him and began a letter to his uncle. Evidently this letter was not an easy composition, in fact, he had already written it several times at Ramghur, and then instantly destroyed it, but it must be written somehow, and _now_. The post left within the hour. At length he wrote-- “DEAR UNCLE DAN,