"This is lost sure enough. Stolen by that imp from my ring-stand on my dressing-table. This very morning when I was at early tea that brat was alone in my room 'tidying up,' forsooth!" Mrs. Harbottle reiterated her accusation while Rosie lay prone on the gravel, a pathetic little bundle of heaving sobs. The telepathic agency, ever at work among the many domestics of an Anglo-Indian household, now brought the old ayah to the spot to hear what had happened to her one ewe-lamb. The nut-brown tint of her face was replaced by a greyish hue, her features seemed suddenly sharpened as she took in the situation. Folding her lean brown arms, she stood a pathetic, statuesque figure as she listened to the denunciations of the angry Englishwoman. Her eyes turned with a gaze of anguish on the little huddled figure, and catching sight of the muffled hand she went forward and made to undo the end of the red saree. A scream of pain from the child caused her to desist. With a groan she covered her face for a moment, then looked piteously towards her mistress, saying with quivering lips: "They done torture my pore chil'. See, Missus, that bleeding han'?" "Torture the child!" exclaimed Hester with dilating eyes. "Yes, Missus, butler poking fingers with sticks making plenty blood come to make me 'fess," said Rosie, looking up with a pitiful air. "How dreadful! This is shocking, Mrs. Harbottle! What have you to say to this?" "A parcel of lies, of course! Nobody laid a finger on the little wretch," cried Mrs. Harbottle excitedly. The ayah on hearing this stepped forward again, and leading Rosie near pointed silently to the mutilated hand. "Who did this to you, Rosie?" asked Hester in gentle tones. "Ramaswamy butler. He do this to make me 'fess--only----" Great tears rolled down her cheeks as she glanced up to Hester's pitying face. "You see this hand, Mrs. Harbottle. This is terrible"; and there was a flash in Hester's grey blue eyes which made Mrs. Harbottle quail. Trying to assume a defensive air, she burst forth: "How can you believe that little liar! Most likely she fell in trying to escape and hurt her hand." All the same she was not feeling easy at the discovery, for had she not at the butler's request given Rosie to him to try to make her confess the theft? Now she began to fear she had gone too far. "I am sorry my husband happens to be out," said Hester. "He has gone driving with a friend who is staying with us. This is a matter that will require looking into." "Oh, if you like to take the word of that native imp in preference to mine, I've nothing more to say," wound up Mrs. Harbottle, with an air of offence. "Perhaps you'll get the creature to confess to you after we've gone," she added, as a parting shot. "I will--I 'fess to my werry own missus only," sobbed Rosie, and sprang forward to cling to Hester's morning gown.