'My friend,' says Tom, holding out his hand, with a winning smile; 'it is impossible for me to say more. Before both of us the future is invisible. God has willed it so. Farewell! I dare not stay. Here or there we shall meet again.' 'May the Gods grant it!' says Gambier Singh. And then he throws himself into his friend's arms, embraces him with tears, mounts his horse, and turns to ride down the hill. Tom meanwhile, with many a backward look at the retreating figure, goes off slowly in the opposite direction. And so the Rajah's Heir entered upon his next important journey. I find, by referring to his diary, which is my chief source of information, that although wearisome and full of perils, it was not without interest, and even enjoyment. He was much calmer, for he had laid out his plans for the near future, and the conflict between the old life and the new, that had helped to aggravate his illness, was over. Whether the fantastic belief of his Eastern friends was true, or whether having, as he now believed, blood of the East in his veins, the life and doctrines of the Indian sages did really, in some strange way, appeal to him, he did not ask himself. The result was the same. He was actually, for the time, an Oriental amongst Orientals. The season was advancing. When he left the hill region and entered upon the plains he found the heat almost insupportable; but the deadly Terai was healthier than it had been a month before, when it was still reeking with the vaporous distilments left behind by the midwinter rains, and they did not experience much discomfort in crossing it. The chief object of his journey being to find out as much as possible of the state of the country, he determined when they touched upon the borders of Oude to turn aside from the direct route and visit Lucknow, the capital of the province. Oude was at that moment in a critical condition, and Lucknow was a perfect hotbed of agitation. The lately installed Commissioner, Sir Henry Lawrence, was indeed struggling manfully with the task of reconcilement and reorganisation, and if a crisis could have been averted, his was the only hand that could have done it. But it was not to be. He had come into his duties too late. Fanatics, suffered to flourish unchecked, had poisoned the minds of the people. Misunderstandings that might have been explained, little grievances that might have been removed, had given weight to their words and fuel to the smouldering fire of disloyalty, and now not even Sir Henry Lawrence, keen and far-seeing as he was, had any idea of the depth and extent of the disaffection. As for Tom, when he crossed the Goomtee, and saw the beautiful city, with its splendid palaces and mosques, lying spread out before him, still and beautiful as a dream, in the evening's golden glow, he could scarcely bring himself to believe that its peace was dangerously threatened.