raising himself up into a sitting posture,
began a solemn tale in solemn tones.

The story is too long (as long as the
giant in fact) to be more than very closely
condensed here, keeping to the leading lines
only in so far as they relate to Vikram.

It seems that a certain jogi was Vikram's
deadly enemy. He, an oilman's son, and
the king, were all born in this same city of
Ujjayani, in the same lunar mansion, in the
same division of the great circle described
upon the ecliptic, and in the same period
of time. The jogi had already slain the
oilman's son, and his own child; and was
waiting now to compass the death of the
king, in revenge for a practical joke which
had been played on him in the days of
Gandharba-Sena, when a pretty young
woman of doubtful discretion made a
promise to bring him to the court, bearing his
child on his shoulder, he being then a
famous devotee renowned throughout the
universe for his austerities. When the saint
found that he had been simply taken in
by a designing little witch, and made into
a court jest —that he had lost the fruits of
his austerities to create a laugh among
addle-pated courtiers, he cursed them all
with terrible curses; took up his child
again on his shoulder, and went back into
the forest—where he slew him as his first
offering of expiation. He then slew the
oilman's son, suspended him head
downwards from a mimosa tree in a cemetery;
and was now designing to do the same
kind office by Vikram. The oilman's son
he had made into a baital or vampire.
Wherefore said the giant to Vikram, among
other useful counsels, " Distrust them that
dwell amongst the dead, and remember
that it is lawful and right to strike off his
head that would slay thee." Then Prithwi
Pala disappeared; and the king first feeling
his bones to make sure they were all sound,
went into his own again.

By-and-bye, after the coloured powders
had been flung, the feasts made, and the
rejoicings of Ujjayani at the return of the
lawful ruler had become a little moderated,
there came into the city a young merchant,
called Mal Deo, with a train of loaded
camels and elephants, and the reputation
of immense wealth. He came one day
into the palace court, where the king was
sitting dispensing justice, and gave into
his hand a fruit, which he had brought with
him. He then spread a prayer carpet on
the floor, remained a quarter of an hour,
and went away. But the king was wary.
The giant's warning remained in his mind,
and he gave the fruit to his maître d'hôtel,
with orders to preserve it carefully. Every
day the young merchant came to the court
in the same way, and every day brought one
single fruit. One day the king was in the
royal stable when Mal Deo arrived with his
offering; and as Vikram was thoughtfully
tossing it in the air it fell from his fingers to
the ground. Then the monkey, who was
tethered among the horses to draw calamities
from their heads, snatched it up and tore it
open, when a ruby of such size and water
came out as astonished all beholders.

The raja, now thoroughly angry and
suspicious, asked Mal Deo what he meant
by presuming to bring such costly gifts.
On which the merchant demurely quoted
the Shastras, where it is enjoined on men
not to go empty-handed into the presence
of rajas, spiritual teachers, judges, young
maidens, and old women whose daughters
they would marry. Mollified by the glib
religiousness of the young man, and not
displeased at finding that he had in his possession
some half dozen or more of these rubies,
which were of such value that the whole
revenues of the kingdom could not purchase
one, Vikram gave Mal Deo a robe of honour;
then graciously asked him what he could do
in return for such more than regal
generosity? On which Mal Deo replied: that he
was not Mal Deo a merchant, but Shanta-
Shil, the devotee; and that all he asked of the
king in return for the rubies, was to come to
him on a certain moonless night, to a
cemetery where he was going to perform
incantations which would make the Eight
Powers of Nature his. He was to bring
with him his arms, and young Dharma
Dwaj, his son, but no followers.

Vikram at first almost started when he
heard of the cemetery, remembering the
giant's words, but knowing now with whom
he was dealing, composedly answered that
he would come to the accursed place; and
with this promise they parted.

The moonless night indicated by the
jogi came. It was a Monday, and the
king and his son passed out of the palace
gates, and through the sleeping city to
the abode of the dead. Arriving there,
after a most uncomfortable and horrifying
walk, they found Shanta-Shil,
hideously painted, and nearly naked, sitting
by a fire, and surrounded by demons and
every loathsome and terrifying form that
could be summoned from the face of the
earth or the darker regions below, playing
on a skull with two shank bones, and
making a music therefrom as frightful as