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MR. ISAACS
[CHAP. XII.

concealed in the dark corner of an ancient crypt, and broken in upon by unsuspecting masons delving a king's grave, might throw up in their dusky faces a dazzling halo of soft radiance—the glory of the saint hovering lovingly by the body wherein the soul's sufferings were perfected.

The moment Isaacs realised what it was, he turned away, his face all gladness, and moved on a few steps with bent head, evidently contemplating his new treasure. Then he snapped the spring, and putting the casket in his vest turned round to me.

"Thank you, Griggs; how are they all?"

"It was worth a two-hundred mile ride to see your face when you opened that box. They are pretty well. I left them swearing that the party was broken up, and that they would all go back to Simla."

"The sooner the better. We shall be there in three days from here, by the help of Ram Lal's wonderful post."

"Between you I managed to get here quite well. How did you do it? I never missed a relay all the way from Julinder."

"Oh, it is very easy," answered Isaacs. "You could have a dâk to the moon from India if you would pay for it; or any other thing in heaven or earth or hell that you might fancy. Money, that is all. But, my dear fellow, you have lost flesh sensibly since we parted. You take your travelling hard."

"Where is Ram Lal?" I asked, curious to learn something of our movements for the night.