"
"I am rebuked, Atma Singh," said Bertram; "your battlefield is a nobler
one than that on which human effort is rewarded by gain. I pray you
continue."
"Behold the strength that comes from a convert," sneered some of the
company, as with fervent though modest speech Atma spoke of the high
courage and dauntless faith which transform defeat into Immortal
victory.
A silence fell on the gay throng. Some were gloomy because reminded of
their national discomfiture. Others looked coldly on Atma and muttered
with discontent--
"He speaks of life as a thing that is yet to be."
FOOTNOTE:
[2] I have taken the liberty here of altering a well-known fable whose
authorship I do not know.
CHAPTER XI.
Rajah Lal Singh arrived at Jummoo a few weeks later in much pomp and
state. No hidden or hazardous mission was his. His gorgeous train of
armed attendants mounted on richly caparisoned horses traversed the
public roads, winding like a brilliant serpent through the vales of
Kashmir. He brought tidings of the daily increasing quiet and peace now
resting on the torn and war-spent Punjaub. Festivities were heightened
after his arrival, and revelry held sway day and night.
Atma and Bertram in unconscious kinship drew to one another, forsaking
frequently the mirth and glare of the court to converse of things that
are hard to understand. They were one evening in a shady retreat at the
foot of the Rajah's terraced gardens.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58