The holy man would not stay though Lispeth pressed him.

The Babu groans heavily, girds up his huge loins, and is off again.

He does not care to travel after dusk; but his days' marches--there is none to enter them in a book--would astonish folk who mock at his race.

Kindly villagers, remembering the Dacca drug-vendor of two months ago, give him shelter against evil spirits of the wood.

He dreams of Bengali Gods, University text-books of education, and the Royal Society, London, England.