"One of Mrs. Fellowes' _protégées_, no doubt," Mark decided, and was about to step into the carriage when the girl said breathlessly, keeping her eye fixed furtively on the white gate evidently in fear lest the master of the house should put in an appearance: "I'm awfulee sorry to trouble you, sir, but I saw you in a lovelee mail-phaeton with Mr. Alf Rayner last night, and when I spied you steppin' in here I thought I should make so bold as to ask where he's livin' now--Alf, I mean?" Mark felt distinctly surprised at this familiar mention of his friend's husband, all the more as he recalled Mr. Rayner's remarks concerning the domiciled community to which this girl evidently belonged. Perceiving his hesitation, the girl hastened to explain: "You see, sir, I've been away in Calcutta for months and months, so I'm a bit behind in news of my friends." "Then Mr. Rayner is your friend?" "He's all thatt," responded the girl, with a giggle which at once decided Mark that he was probably dealing with an impostor who might give trouble to his hostess. "I don't feel at liberty to give you the address you ask. But if you know Mr. Morpeth, or Mrs. Fellowes, they will no doubt see you," added Mark hesitatingly. "Ho, so you think I'm 'a case,' do you? You want to hand me over to them, I see! Don't you trouble! I'll find Mr. Rayner on my own account," said the girl, tossing her head as she went off with rapid steps. CHAPTER VI. Sometimes when Mr. Morpeth felt specially wearied with the labours of the previous evening, he varied his early morning walk by a drive in his little victoria. To-day he had allowed his syce to drive him along the winding roads of the suburbs, heedless whither he was being carried. Rousing himself at length from his reverie, he saw he had now reached the green precincts of Nungumbaukum, and decided to take a stroll. He alighted, and directed his syce to follow while he walked along the road. As he passed one of the houses he overheard sounds of bitter weeping from the other side of the straggling hedge. A gap in the thicket--a mode of exit much favoured by the native servants--permitted him to catch a glimpse of a little native girl. Sobs painful to his kind heart fell on his ear, and pausing in his walk, he asked in Tamil; "What ails you, little one?" The child glanced up with startled air and, peering through the twisted tendrils, caught sight of the speaker. Encouraged by the kind voice and seeing its owner was in European dress, she replied in the best English she could muster, the words broken by sobs: "Please, sah, Missus say I done steal gold ring. I never done no such ting. My heart done break. I not want to live one minute more. I go drown in tank!" "Then you did not touch your Missus' ring, little girl?" "Oh, no, no, I not once touch Missus' ring," wailed the child. "But what I do? Nobody believin' me. Ramaswamy butler hurt werry sore to make me 'fess," and again the dusky head was bent in low weeping.