I exclaimed, "even those who are the most
intimate! I had not the least idea there
was a lady in the camp, I assure you."

"How angry with you was I," said she,
"for keeping the Sahib up so late. You
talked together the whole night long. Therefore
I had no remorse when I took your dog.
Well, as you are aware, soon after that, the
Sahib was seized with fever, from which he
recovered; but he was so shattered by the
attack that he was compelled to visit Europe,
where you know"—she paused.

A native woman will never, if she can avoid
it, speak of the death of a person whom she
has loved. I was aware of this, and bowed
my head, touching my forehead with both
hands. The father of her child had died on
his passage to England.

"Before he left me," she continued, "he gave
me all that he possessed—his house and furniture,
his horses, carriage, plate; his shares in
the bank, his watch, his dressing case, his rings
—everything was given to me, and I own all
to this hour. When I heard the sad news I
was heartbroken. Had it not been for the
child I would have starved myself to death;
as it was I took to opium, and smoking bhung
(hemp). While I was in this state, my Sahib's
brother—the Captain Sahib—came, and took
away the boy; not by violence. I gave it to
him. What was the child to me, then? I
did not care. But the old woman whom you
heard me call my mother, who now attends
me, gradually weaned me from the desperation
in which I was indulging; and, by
degrees, my senses returned to me. I then
began to ask about my child, and a longing
to see him came over me. At first they
told me he was dead; but, when they found
I was resolved to destroy myself by
intemperance, they told me the truth—that the
child was living, and at school in these
hills. I have come hither to be near my
child. I see him almost every day, but
it is at a distance. Sometimes he passes
close to where I stand, and I long to spring
upon him and to hug him to my breast
whereon, in infancy, his head reposed. I pray
that I could speak to him, give him a kiss,
and bless him; but he is never alone. He is
always playing with, or talking to, the other
little boys at the same school. It seems hard
that he should be so joyous, while his own
mother is so wretched. Of what use to me
is the property I have, when I cannot touch
or be recognised by my own flesh and blood?
You know the master of the school?"

"Yes."

"Could you not ask him to allow my child
to visit you? And then I could see him once
more and speak to him. You were a friend
of his father, and the request would not
seem strange."

I felt myself placed in a very awkward
position, and would make no promise; but
I told the woman I would consider the
matter, and let her know on the following day,
provided she would stay at home, and not visit
that rock upon the road any more. She
strove hard to extract from me a pledge that I
would yield to her request; but, difficult as it
was to deny her anything—she was still so
beautiful and so interesting—I would not
commit myself, and held to what I had in the
first instance stated.

I paid a visit to the school at which my
friend's child had been placed, by his uncle,
a captain in the East India Company's
service. I saw some thirty scholars, of all
colours, on the play-ground; but I soon
recognized the boy whom I was so curious to
see. He was indeed very like his father, not
only in face and figure, but in manner, gait,
and bearing. I called to the little fellow, and.
he came and took my hand with a frankness
which charmed me. The schoolmaster told
me that the boy was very clever, and that,
although only six years old, there were but few
of his playmates whom he did not excel. "His
father was an old friend of mine," I said.
"Indeed, our acquaintance began when we
were not older than this child. Would you
have any objection to allow the boy to spend
a day with me?"

"I promised his uncle," was the schoolmaster's
reply, "that he should not go out,
and that I would watch him closely; but, of
course, he will be quite safe with you. Any
day that you please to send for him, he shall
be ready.

"Does he know anything of his mother?"
I inquired.

"Nothing," said the schoolmaster. "He
was very young when he came to me. I have
no idea, who, or what, or where the mother
is, for his uncle did not enter into the particulars
of his parentage. The mother must have
been very fair, if she were a native; the boy
is so very slightly touched with the tar-
brush."

I went home, and sent for the mother.
She came; and I entreated her to forego
her request, for the child's sake. I
represented to her that it might unsettle
him and cause him to be discontented. I
assured her that he was now as happy and
as well taken care of as any mother could
desire her offspring to be. On hearing this,
the poor woman became frantic. She knelt
at my feet, and supplicated me to listen to
her entreaty—a sight of her child, a few words
with him, and a kiss from his lips. She said
she did not wish him to know that she
was his mother; that if I would have him
brought into my house, she would dress in the
garb of a servant woman, or syce's (groom's)
wife, and talk to the boy without his being
aware that she was the person who had
brought him into the world.

"And you will not play me false?" said I,
moved by her tears. "You will not, when
you have once got hold of the boy, decline
to relinquish that hold, and defy his friends