glance was reproachful. "Brother must have found one there."

My friend sheepishly acknowledged the thrust. We halted briefly
in Bareilly, where Dwarka Prasad awaited us with a telegram from
Ananta. My old friend tried valiantly to detain us; I convinced him
that our flight had not been undertaken lightly. As on a previous
occasion, Dwarka refused my invitation to set forth to the Himalayas.

While our train stood in a station that night, and I was half asleep,
Amar was awakened by another questioning official. He, too, fell a
victim to the hybrid charms of "Thomas" and "Thompson." The train
bore us triumphantly into a dawn arrival at Hardwar. The majestic
mountains loomed invitingly in the distance. We dashed through the
station and entered the freedom of city crowds. Our first act was
to change into native costume, as Ananta had somehow penetrated
our European disguise. A premonition of capture weighed on my mind.

Deeming it advisable to leave Hardwar at once, we bought tickets to
proceed north to Rishikesh, a soil long hallowed by feet of many
masters. I had already boarded the train, while Amar lagged on
the platform. He was brought to an abrupt halt by a shout from a
policeman. Our unwelcome guardian escorted us to a station bungalow
and took charge of our money. He explained courteously that it was
his duty to hold us until my elder brother arrived.

Learning that the truants' destination had been the Himalayas, the
officer related a strange story.

"I see you are crazy about saints! You will never meet a greater
man of God than the one I saw only yesterday. My brother officer