"Yes, and they are held in the same superstitious veneration. A small portion of Lewis MacKenzie's estate encroaches on one of these holy places called 'Devera-Rudu,' and he has to pay a heavy indemnity. I believe there is no doubt, that not so very long ago these groves were the scenes of human sacrifices—even now, it is whispered that horrors take place in out-of-the-way holes and corners, under the cloak of fanaticism and secrecy."
"But what about the long arm of the law, and the police?" enquired Mallender.
"Oh, the police cannot have their eyes everywhere, certainly not in the depths of almost impenetrable forests. Some of these sacrifices are mistaken for murder, or even suicide; of course, I may be wrong, and these reserves, spotlessly innocent of anything worse than incantations, devil worship, and black magic."
"I see you have a pretty bad opinion of them!" rejoined Mallender, with a cheerful laugh.
"They look harmless enough, and what a glorious show of forest trees and jungle. I only wish I could get a 'permit' to shoot and I'd face anything, from wild dogs, to black magic!"
Occasionally the riding party was augmented by one or two neighbours, and tiffin or tea was despatched to some favourite rendezvous.
On a certain lovely afternoon, arrangements were made for a meeting at a celebrated spot, known as "The Window in the West," there to admire the prospect, subsequently enjoy a cold repast, and ride home by the light of a full moon. The Window of the West was sixteen miles from Kartairi, through oceans of luxuriant coffee, deep valleys, and dense sholahs, by narrow winding paths, ending in a long precipitous ascent—and then the view!
"It is well worth while," declared Mrs. Bourne, "though I must confess, I have only twice made this excursion; it's such an abominably bad road. When you reach a certain point, you arrive at an abrupt break in the mountains and look sheer down upon the plains, stretching away to the Indian Ocean. Coming out of a tangle of high rocks, ravines, and jungle, this view of the sea—is so sudden and unexpected, that for a moment it takes your breath away! You feel positively startled, and as if it was a sight you had never seen before. Humboldt, the traveller, who visited many lands, considered the prospect from MacCourty's Peak,—which is similar to our 'Window'—the finest in all the Universe, and I believe he is right."
"But what of the Himalayas?" questioned Mallender, "and the glories of the snows?"
"Oh, yes, I know; I've seen them from Darjeeling—the 'Roof of the World.' They are mighty, majestic, and overwhelming; but so aloof, and frozen, you cannot approach within forty miles of their footstool—they are almost as inaccessible as the stars! Here in Old Madras, in the midst of our soft blue mountains, you enter upon a land of sun and enchantment, you take your stand upon a carpet of flowers, and gaze across tropical forests, and rolling plains, to the far-away glittering sea! I remember the first time I looked out of the 'Window,'—I actually cried. Perhaps because the ocean lying within view, drew my thoughts towards home, and England—perhaps, because I seemed to catch a glimpse of Heaven!"