"No, missy," replied the servant reassuringly, "no panther to-night—only one gentleman."
Missy lifted her head, and beheld Mayne standing in the doorway. As she rose to her feet, he discovered that the word "little" did not fit Miss Nancy Travers, who was rather tall than otherwise.
"I hope you will pardon this late and audacious intrusion," he began, removing his topee as he spoke. "My name is Mayne—Mr. Fletcher, my uncle's old friend, invited me up here for some shooting. I only discovered a couple of hours ago, that Mr. Fletcher has gone home, and had no time to make other arrangements—but——"
"It is quite all right," she declared with serene composure, "this is Mr. Fletcher's bungalow, and naturally you are welcome. Francis will get you some supper at once."
"I suppose you had no letter—you did not expect me?" he inquired, advancing to the table.
"No, but that makes no difference. We are accustomed to stray visitors, and always glad to see them. Planters, doctors, chaplains, and missionaries, drop in from time to time. Won't you sit down?" indicating a chair; a half-finished game of chess was on the table between them. "Father and I were playing, when he was sent for to see to a sick coolie. He will be back in a few minutes."
"Did I hear you say something about a panther just now?" asked Mayne abruptly.
"Yes, they come down from the rocks above us, and prowl round after dark, and carry off dogs if they can; last week one of them took the dhoby's best goat!"
"Then the shooting about here must be good?"
"I'm afraid father has not left much in the immediate neighbourhood; for real sport, you have to go down the ghât—I mean for bison and tiger—hereabouts, there are only sambur, and wild pig."