down by the avenging and victorious British, unless they could offer sufficient terms to induce the government to forego its just revenge. They thought they held this pledge in me; and so strong is the desire for life in even those who have least to live for, that I found myself ready to listen to their proposals.
"The scheme was to send a messenger to the nearest British territory with a letter from me, saying that they would give me up if assured of their own lives. There was great doubt and hesitation about taking this step; they feared that if my existence and their whereabouts were known, the government would be incited to further efforts in pursuit, and that I might be recovered and themselves caught without making terms. Thus they could not determine what to do. I did not show any eagerness to fall into their plans, for I did not know the history of these men, and how far they might have steeped themselves in crime too deep to be expiated by my ransom; and bitterer than to perish in the wilderness would have been a refusal of the government to rescue me on these terms.
"They wanted me to write in the Persian character that they might know what I said; I refused to write except in English; thus for several days the negotiation made no progress.
"But with the prospect of deliverance, the love of life grew stronger. My senses, so long chilled to the miseries of the life I was leading, were awakening to the desire for escape; and the sort of plan I had in my mind might have been carried out, but for a slight thing that happened one day.
"The palanquin-bearers, by this time, had all died or run away, and the women of their zenanas, whom the fugitives were carrying with them, and myself, were travelling on some miserable ponies, when, on fording a little stream at the foot of the mountains, I got off my pony to drink. The water ran bright and clear, reflecting every object like a mirror; and stooping down on the bank I loosened the bandage from my face, and then I saw — O good God! — I saw for the first time that fate had cut me off forever from all that made life dear."
As Falkland said these words he pushed — whether by design or chance — the large-brimmed hat which he was wearing from off his head, and displayed the ghastly sight which had so far been partially covered, and of which Yorke had caught only a momentary glimpse at the time of their first meeting. The right side of the face was not maimed, but contorted; but the left side was defaced by awful scars, and a deep hollow marked the socket of the sightless eye. Happily he could not see the involuntary shudder of his sorrowing friend.
"From that moment," continued the unhappy man, "I cast away all thought of rescue. To return home seemed then to be worse than any death; and to my poor puzzled brain it seemed as if I must wander a ragged fugitive about these jungles till God should give me a release. Why I did not myself put an end to my wretched existence I hardly know, nor on what grounds I justified myself in prolonging it. It is deemed a noble thing to give up life for one's country — why not, then, to save those whom we hold dearest from pain and sorrow, and perhaps worse? But the narrow groove of sentiment in which we are taught to think restrained me, and the time went by when I could with reason have laid hands upon myself.
"How at last I got away, with the two men who had treated me better than the others, and who wanted to separate from the rest of the party, would be too long to tell. We went always northward, sometime in danger and hard pressed, at others well treated. My condition, I suppose, made me an object of pity; for no European has ever before or since passed through those parts with life. One of the khans especially treated us well. My two companions took service in his army, and he gave me money to pursue my journey. By his help, and that of the good Jesuit missionaries on the road, I made my way at last down the great river to the seaboard. How long the weary journey took I know not; the count of time often failed me.
"Arrived on the coast, I was received by the Catholic bishop, to whose care I had been commended, and with this good man I passed some weeks — or it may have been months — getting the rest I sorely needed. As he was a foreigner, and did not speak English, it was easy to keep the secret of my identity; but to him, I think, I should have made known my name, for I was in need of money, and could at once have procured it from the bankers there on saying who I was; but I wanted — you will understand what I wanted — to know first whether others were still dependent on me whom it might be needful to assist.
"The English merchants at this seaport used to send the bishop the Indian papers; for although he had kept my arrival secret,
