The transcontinental express was speeding on its way along the banks of the mighty River Ganges, between Agra and Benares, on a dark night at the beginning of the rainy season. On reaching Allahabad two English officers boarded the train, and on displaying their tickets were shown to their places in one of the three roomy compartments of the luxuriously appointed sleeping-cars.

The lamp was shaded by a green silk blind, and the hermetically closed gauze musquito curtains of one of the upper berths indicated that it was tenanted by a sleeping traveler.

Not having very far to go, the new-comers stretched themselves on their couches without undressing and began to converse in a low tone of voice.

“Have you heard about this terrible business at Baroda?” inquired the taller of the two.

“No,” replied the other. “I am only just down from the hills and have hardly seen a newspaper or spoken to a civilized being since we landed at Bombay.”

“Well,” continued the former, “do you remember that young German Count whom we had on board on our voyage out and who‘rooked’ us so terribly at cards?”

“By Jove, I should think I did! Why, he won a couple of hundred off me. Never saw such infernal luck. Wasn't his name Dalberg or Waldberg, or something of the kind? He was awfully spooney on old Fitzpatrick's pretty daughter, now that I think of it. What's become of the fair Florence?”

“She's dead, poor girl.”

[Pg 73]

“Dead! You don't mean to say so! Why, she looked the very embodiment of health and happiness on board. What on earth did she die of?”

“Well, the story is a sad one, and makes my blood boil whenever I think of it. It appears that old Fitzpatrick invited Waldberg, whose father he had met in Europe, to visit him at Baroda, and had him staying at his house for [Pg 74] quite a number of weeks. The only return which the cursed scoundrel saw fit to make for all the hospitality and kindness lavished on him by the colonel was to betray the latter's daughter under a promise of marriage.

“Unable to conceal her shame any longer, and driven to desperation by the sudden disappearance of her lover from Baroda, the poor girl committed suicide. She was seen by some natives, who were on their way down the river, to throw herself into the stream, but on quickly rowing to the spot they were unable to find any trace of her body, which had evidently been dragged under by the crocodiles which infest the Wishwamitra.
FLORENCE FITZPATRICK'S SUICIDE.

It is said that she left a letter imploring her father's pardon, and stating the reasons which had led her to put an end to her life. The old man's grief, I hear, is something heart-rending, and in the agony of the first moments, he allowed the secret of his daughter's ruin by Count von Waldberg to escape his lips. His frenzy against the latter is beyond all description, and he has sworn to hunt him down, wherever he may have fled to, to bring him to account.”

While Captain Clery—for it was he—was in the act of thus describing the fate of poor Florence Fitzpatrick, the curtains of the upper berth were slightly pushed aside, and the head of a man might have been seen to bend forward as he listened intently to the story. But at the last words thereof he hurriedly closed the curtains again and disappeared from view.

This incident had escape............