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between his legs, and precipitated him. He
was killed on the spot.

On the Mall, every evening, was to be seen
a native woman standing by the side of the
road, near a large rock, watching those who
passed by. She was well dressed, and her
face was concealed according to the custom of
persons of her apparent station in life. There
she stood, attracting general attention. She
was a woman of slight, but graceful figure,
and rather tall. Many persons were curious
to know who she was, and to see her face;
but she took care that in this respect none
should be gratified. Sometimes she would go
away early; at other times she would remain
until it was quite dark. Some suspected
and I was amongst the numberthat she
was the native wife of some European officer
who had divorced himself, and visited the
"Hills," whither the woman, to annoy, had
followed him; and there was no small amount
of speculationas to whose wife she could be.
Some of the guesses, if they were seriously
made, were extremely ungenerous, for they
included several elderly officials who could
not by any possibility have been married to
this mysterious lady. I was determined to
know who she was; and one night, when
most people were thronged around the band,
I approached her, and inquired if I could be
of any service to her. She replied, (her face
closely covered) "Yes; by going away." She
had a very sweet voice; and its sorrowful
tones inspired me with pity, when she added,
"I am a poor woman; my heart is crushed;
do not add to my misery by remaining near
me." I obeyed her, after apologising for
having intruded. Several other persons had
attempted to extract some particulars from
the lady, and had received the same sort of
reply as that she had given to me.

The rains were about to commence, and
storms were not unfrequent. The Mall was
less frequented; only a fewthose who cared
little about hearing "heaven's artillery thunder
in the skies," or being pelted by hailstones
as large as marblesventured out; but
amongst that few was the native lady; who,
punctual as the light of day, visited that huge
dismal-looking rock, and gazed upon the road.

I have seen a storm on the heights of Jura
such a storm as Lord Byron describes. I
have seen lightning, and heard thunder in
Australia; I have, off Terra del Fuego, the
Cape of Good Hope, and the coast of Java,
kept watch in thunderstorms which have
drowned in their roaring the human voice,
and made every one deaf and stupified; but
these storms are not to be compared with a
thunderstorm at Mussoorie or Landour.

In one of these storms of thunder, lightning,
wind, and hailat about five o'clock in
the afternoonI laid a wager with a friend
that the native lady would be found as usual
standing near the rock. Something secretly
assured me that she was there at that
moment, looking on unmoved, except by the
passions which had prompted her pilgrimage.
How were we to decide it? "By going to
the spot," I suggested. My friend declined,
but declared that as far as the bet was
concerned, he would be perfectly satisfied with
my word, either one way or the other
namely, whether I had won or lost.

I set off upon my journey. The rock was,
at least, three quarters of a mile distant from
my abode. My curiosity was so much aroused
albeit I felt certain the woman was there
that I walked through the storm without
heeding it. Every now and then I saw the
electric fluid descend into a valley, then heard
that strange noise which huge pieces of rock
make when they bound from one precipice to
another, tearing up trees, and carrying large
stones and the earth along with them in their
headlong careerbut still my mind was
intent on the woman, and nothing else.

Was she there?

Yes; there she sat, drenched to the
skin; but I could not pity her wet and cold
condition, for I could see that she cared
no more about it than I cared about my
own. She drew her garment so closely
over her face that the outline of her features
was plainly discernible. It was decidedly
handsome, but still I longed to see her eyes
to confirm my impression. I sat beside her.
The storm still raged, and presently the lady
said "The heaven is speaking, Sahib." I
answered "Truly: but the lightning, the
parent of that sound which I now hear, I
cannot see." She understood me, and gave
me a glimpse of her eyes. They were not
like the eyes of a native; they were of a
blueish hue, almost grey. I said to her, in
Hindoostanee, "You are not a native; what
do you do here in a native dress ?"

"I would I were an European," she answered
me. "My feelings, perhaps, would be less
acute, and I should be sitting over a bright
fire. Oh! how loudly the heaven is speaking!
Go home, Sahib, you will catch cold!"

"Why do you not go home ?" I asked.
"You will see no one to-day. Nonot even
your beloved. I am the only being who will
venture out in a storm like this; and I do so
only for your sake."

"My heart is as hard as this rock," she
said, flipping her finger against the granite,
"to all except one beinga child. Oh, how
the heaven is speaking, Sahib!"

"Do you not fear the lightning and the
hail ? " I asked her.

"I did once," she replied. "I trembled
whenever it came near; but now, what does
it signify? Bidglee (lightning), come to me,"
she cried, beckoning to a streak of fluid which
entered the ground within a hundred yards.
of us. "Bidglee, come here, and make a
turquoise of my heart."

What pretty feet! She had kicked off her
shoes, which were saturated and spoiled.

"Go home, Sahib" (such was the refrain
of her conversation). "You will catch cold!"