"That'll do, sonny," said the red-haired man, placing some silver coins with a smart click on the bar. "This settles the shot," and seizing a gla.s.s in each hand he lurched forward to rejoin his friend.

Kavasji tested the coins carefully with his teeth and rang them on a table. Then opening a drawer, he shut them up with sundry companions.

The man sleeping at the table rose, and, after staring vacantly about him for a moment, walked out slowly into the street. As his friend entered the room Dungaree Bill took one of the "monkeys" from his outstretched hand. They, clinked the gla.s.ses together above and below.

"Here's luck," said Bill. The other nodded, and they drained the gla.s.ses.

"Tails curly enough?" asked the red-haired man.

"I guess so," said Dungaree, wiping his mouth with the back of his hairy hand.

"And now," said he, "for the game."

They arranged the cards; Dungaree cut, and the red-haired man dealt.

After a few rounds the effect of the drug began to tell. The giant's head sank upon his breast, and the little man's eyes twinkled with a vicious glee.

"Wake up, Dungaree," he said; "you're asleep, man."

"By G.o.d," said the other, "you've----"

His head dropped once more, and the long, powerful arms hung listlessly by his side.

The red-haired man had started from his seat at Dungaree's words, and in his hand held an open knife, which he had drawn like lightning.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw Dungaree's head sink back.

Then rapidly approaching him, he rifled him with a practised hand. He undid the canvas belt from his waist, and felt it heavy as he raised it and transferred it to his own person.

He then moved toward the door, but a sudden thought struck him, and he returned. He took up Dungaree's knife from the table.

"Might as well ease him of this," he said; "he will do somebody a hurt when he awakens."

Opening the door, he stepped into the barroom, and, reeling up to a table near the door, called for another drink. Kavasji once more turned his back, and with the noiseless rapidity of a cat the robber vanished into the street, which was already beginning to awaken.

He dashed down a small alley, and only stopped after he had run for about half an hour. "I guess," said he, "Steve Lamport, you are born again." Then turning down a broad street, he walked slowly forward in the direction of the nearest railway station.

CHAPTER VIII.

CAST OUT FROM THE FOLD.

A council, of which Galbraith was _ex-officio_ president, controlled the affairs of the tabernacle, and adjudicated on all offences committed by members of the congregation against the rules of the body.

As far as he was able the pastor tempered the decrees of the council with mercy, and there was yet another thing which made this body weak in comparison with similar inst.i.tutions in the West. This was the natural shallowness of the East Indian, and his inability to feel or think deeply. In this manner the gloomy tenets of a religious sect, which called themselves the elect of heaven, and condemned all others to eternal torment, were softened.

The instances were rare in which those terrible mental struggles so often described in the annals of Methodism took place. At the same time the belief in the direct interposition of the Creator in the smallest matters was intensified almost beyond imagination, and meanings were often a.s.signed to the most ordinary actions of everyday life which, if they were not sad, would be laughable to contemplate.

Galbraith was an unconscious doubter, and he was perhaps the only man there whose faith, unknown to himself, was tottering on its foundations. In a dim sort of way he was conscious that there was something wrong with himself, and the impulse to throw off the chains of the cheerless belief to which he was bound was at times almost greater than he could endure. It was his hourly duty to exhort his flock to find Christ. Many of them a.s.serted that they had made the discovery, and looked with complacent satisfaction on the certainty of future salvation.

But while John Galbraith was raising his voice and preaching to his people, there was that within him that told him that he himself was unable to find the haven of rest, and a longing for a warmer belief, one full of love and charity, would come upon him.

Elder Bullin, arrayed in a solemn suit of black, stood, hat in hand, at his doorstep. His brownberry was ready, the lamps flashing brightly in the darkness of the evening.

It was the date of the monthly meeting of the tabernacle, and the elder was determined to put Mr. Sarkies out of the fold, that "tainted wether," whose further touch was contamination. His daughters stood beside him to see him off, and the elder, rapping his stick on the fibre matting, impressed upon the girls the necessity for holding G.o.dly communion among themselves during his absence.

His speech was interrupted by the fact that in slipping his hand into his waistcoat pocket, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten his spectacles.

Hastily stopping his discourse, he walked back to his room, and found the brown leather case lying on a square envelope on his writing-table. He picked up the case, and, pulling out the gla.s.ses, fixed them carefully over his eyes. He then picked up the envelope. It was not addressed, but carefully sealed. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb. There was evidently something inside it. The bright pink colour aroused his suspicions.

"The livery of the scarlet woman," he said, as he tore it open. As he read, the expression of his countenance changed from profound astonishment to anger, and then to utter contempt.

"Verses--poetry--Satan hath lain in wait for this unhappy young man, and his portion shall be of the wrath to come--verses--and to me--pah!"

He recognised the writing and the monogram, and was self-complacent enough to imagine that the verses were addressed to him.

When he returned to the hall his daughters were still dutifully waiting there. He said no word to them, however, but, entering his carriage, closed the door after him with a bang, and was rapidly driven off. The meeting was to be held in the church, and all the members of the council were already expecting the elder. On his arrival there was a solemn scene of handshaking all round, and then the pastor opened the meeting with a short but fervent prayer. At the conclusion of this, a decorous time was allowed for the members to recover a sitting posture, and Mr. Bunny, rising, begged permission to address the a.s.sembly. In a few words he explained that it was above all things desirable that their pastor should be a married man, and went on to say that the Lord had worked this out in his own manner, so that the spirit had moved Galbraith to seek the hand of their beloved sister, Halsa Lamport, in marriage, and that it was proposed to celebrate the ceremony with all the speed consistent with good taste.

Mr. Bunny trusted that the a.s.semblage would rejoice with their beloved guide in his choice.

It was scarcely possible to do otherwise than congratulate Galbraith, and the council did so, but in a half-hearted fashion that showed they doubted his wisdom. Elder Bullin alone raised his voice in protest.

"She walks forth decked in gay colours that are not of the Lord's," he said, "and has not found the perfect peace. Far be it for me to interfere in this matter, but my conscience"--here he smote his breast with his hand--"tells me that it would have been wiser----" Mr. Bunny started up, but Galbraith laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Gently, brother," he said; "let the elder say his say."

But the murmur of discontent that arose told the elder he had gone far enough. "I will say no more on this point," he said; "but as I am now addressing the meeting, desire to bring to its notice the scandalous conduct of our brother, James Sarkies, who, on the Sabbath before last, profaned the Lord's day by cursing within the precincts of the temple. Of what avail is it that such should be of our fold--better is it that we cast out the offending member. Does not the Scripture say, 'If thine eye offend thee, cast it out'?"

"The Scripture also says, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged,'" replied Galbraith. Elder Bullin lifted his eyes in smug satisfaction to the ceiling.

"I," he said, somewhat irrelevantly, "am sure of my salvation; are you of yours? Do you know where your footsteps lead you? Mine lead me to the golden gates."

At that moment the desire to say that he was walking blindly, and needed light more than any there, swept over Galbraith. He controlled himself with an effort, however, and sat still, leaning lightly on the table with his elbow.

"And furthermore," went on the elder, "the misguided youth has so far lost his respect for age that he has addressed me for forgiveness in poetry, and mocked me before my face." He laid the offending verses on the table as he spoke. "This is his writing," he said; "those who wish may read it."

Mr. Bunny stretched forth his hand and handed the paper to the pastor.

Galbraith read it with an amus.e.m.e.nt he could not conceal.

"I think, elder," he said, "this was not meant for you."

Bullin fairly gurgled with rage. "I will read it aloud," he said, "and let the council judge." The paper trembled in his hand as he spoke, and it was with a voice quivering with anger that he read the unfortunate Sarkies's production.

Almost as the first verse was begun, however, a smile appeared on the faces of the members in a.s.sembly, and as the elder went on they burst out into uncontrollable mirth.

Bullin dashed the paper on the table, and made as if he were about to leave the meeting. "I will depart," said he; "the devil has possessed you that you laugh at the mockery to my gray hairs."