Both my wife and myself were greatly pleased to have such an acquaintance to relieve the monotony that rules even in our best India stations. We had other friends whom we often saw, each excellent in his way. We were happy and time passed rapidly. One of the largest gatherings in the station was at the Birthday Ball, when guests came from outside places. We attended the ball, though I could not dance, yet I was very fond of music, and the social part. My wife excelled in dancing and took great delight in it, so she had plenty of partners, one of whom was our Hon. friend, and he was about the best dancer of them all. I had frequently to be absent for several days, to visit my villages, and to look after my investments. I regretted these absences for my wife’s sake, as she was timid at night, and besides she appeared fond of my company, as I know I was of hers. One day, as I was about to leave, our Hon. friend called, and during our conversation asked me if he could take my wife out driving during my absence. I replied that I would be most pleased to have him do so, and suggested that they should use the phaeton, as it would be more comfortable than a cart, and the horses needed exercise. During my absence I congratulated myself on our happiness and prosperity, and thought with pride of the pleasant reception of my wife in the station. So the months passed with nothing to cloud my happiness. One day when I was in the garden, looking over my trees and flowers, pruning a limb here and there, my head man or durwan, an elderly Hindu, whom I had kept in my service for years, followed me around. I saw by his manner that he had something to say to me, so I asked “What is it, Ram Kishn?” He replied, “I have been with the Sahib for years and have eaten his salt, and I would shed my blood for him.” “I know that, Ram Kishn, but what do you wish to say?” “Sahib!” he said with hesitation, “I have often thought of telling you something, but I was afraid. I have seen something that even we poor ignorant idol worshipers—Kam ackl, bhut parast log, as the Sahibs call us, think is not right.” I quickly asked, “Has somebody been stealing my fruit or flowers, or the bearer been cheating with the grain?” “No, Sahib! nothing of that kind, something worse than that.” I began to be impatient and said, “Out with it then, what is it?” “Sahib, you know I love you, and think much of your izzat, honor. I would let you beat me, or you might put your feet upon me,” and he threw himself upon the ground toward me. I began to be alarmed, thinking there must be something serious, or he would not act in that way, for he was a very reliable, sensible man. I told him to get up, and urged him to tell me what he meant. He said, “I would rather die than say it, but I tell you for the sake of your honor, I must tell you.” ‘Well, then tell it,’ I urged. Said he, “If the sahib will not kill me with the knife in his hand.”