It had been the Marquis of Laidley himself who had suggested getting hold of this most celebrated performer, who had apparently never been in England before. And since the Marquis of Laidley's coming-of-age was the cause of the whole evening's entertainment, his suggestion had been hailed with acclamation. How he had heard about the Indian, and from whom, were points about which he was very vague; but since he was a very vague young man, the fact elicited no comment. The main thing was that here, in the flesh, was a dark, mysterious performer of the occult, and what more could a house party require? And in the general excitement Hugh Drummond crept closer to the open window. It was the Duchess he was concerned with and her pearls, and the arrival of the Indian was not going to put him off his guard…. Then suddenly his jaw tightened: Irma Peterson had entered the room with young Laidley.
"Do you want anything done, Mr. Ram Dar?" asked the Duchess—"the lights down or the window shut?"
"No, I thank you," returned the Indian. "The night is still; there is no wind. And the night is dark—dark with strange thoughts, that thronged upon me as I drew nigh to the house—whispering through the trees." Again he fixed his eyes on the Duke. "What is your pleasure, Protector of the Poor?"
"Mine?" cried that pillar of the House of Lords, hurriedly stifling a yawn. "Any old thing, my dear fellow….You'd much better ask one of the ladies."
"As you will," returned the other gravely; "but
