will come tamely near us. Tigers will be no more than meek house
cats awaiting our caresses!"

This remark-picturing a prospect I considered entrancing, both
metaphorically and literally-brought an enthusiastic smile from
Amar. But Jatinda averted his gaze, directing it through the window
at the scampering landscape.

"Let the money be divided in three portions." Jatinda broke a long
silence with this suggestion. "Each of us should buy his own ticket
at Burdwan. Thus no one at the station will surmise that we are
running away together."

I unsuspectingly agreed. At dusk our train stopped at Burdwan.
Jatinda entered the ticket office; Amar and I sat on the platform.
We waited fifteen minutes, then made unavailing inquiries. Searching
in all directions, we shouted Jatinda's name with the urgency
of fright. But he had faded into the dark unknown surrounding the
little station.

I was completely unnerved, shocked to a peculiar numbness. That God
would countenance this depressing episode! The romantic occasion
of my first carefully-planned flight after Him was cruelly marred.

"Amar, we must return home." I was weeping like a child. "Jatinda's
callous departure is an ill omen. This trip is doomed to failure."

"Is this your love for the Lord? Can't you stand the little test
of a treacherous companion?"