the stillness was broken by a voice humming a refrain from an Indian drama:

"Jahan jahan mukam rahe, amne jhulakiram rahe,
Safarse ghar ko to phire, Aman-chaman khuda rakhe."

Which, being interpreted, runs:--"Wheresoever thou mayst halt, may God
protect thee! When thou hast returned, may God give thee His peace!" The
singer was invisible, but around the words of her song one could conjure up
pictures of the sturdy serang asleep in the foc'sle of some westward-flying
steamer, or haply of the bearded trader afare through the passes of the
North-West Frontier, the while his wife in the small upper room waited with
prayers for his home-coming, even as the lady of Ithaca waited for the man
of many wiles.

At length we reached a small doorway which opened into a cavern black as
Erebus. For a moment we paused undecided; and then out of the darkness
crawled an aged Mahomedan bearing a tiny cocoanut-oil lamp. Lifting it
above his head he pointed silently to a rickety staircase in the far
corner, up which we groped our way with the help of a rope pendent from an
upper beam. Up and up we mounted, now round a sharp corner, now down a
narrow passage: the stairs swayed and shook; the air was heavy with a
mixture of frankincense and sullage; until at last we crawled through
a trap-door that opened as by magic, and found ourselves at our journey's
end.

[Illustration: Fateh Muhammad]

Imagine a small attic, some fifteen feet by ten, under the very eaves of
the 'chal,' filled with the smoke of frankincense so pungent that the eyes
at once commenced to water nor ceased until we were once again in the open