The sound of the name which she had been taught to recognize as her own increased the uneasiness of poor Premi. The letter which had made her bhai so very angry certainly related to herself. A vague fear that suttees might be thought the correct thing in England, and that her white brother might wish to burn her alive, flitted across the poor girl’s mind; however, she was somewhat reassured by the smile on the lips of Alicia. “It seems as if we should never get to the end of this letter,” said Harold, taking the paper from the hand of his wife. “Where were we—oh, here;” and he went on with the reading aloud:— “Or you might make a missionary of her, perhaps. I leave all arrangements to you; I am sure that the best will be made for the poor little waif by you and your husband.” “He wants to wash his hands of the care of his own, his only sister,” muttered Robin. “This Gilbert is unworthy of the name of a brother!” Alicia caught sight of the look of anxious, almost agonizing inquiry in the eyes of Miranda, and hastened to relieve her at once. “We have heard from your brother in England,” she said in reply to the mute appeal. Miranda flushed and visibly trembled; her lips moved, but uttered no sound. “Your white brother wishes you to remain with us in India.” Miranda sprang to her feet with a cry of delight, then sank sobbing into the arms of Alicia, clinging to her as a frightened child might have done. “Then He _did_ hear me!” was her almost inaudible exclamation. “Who heard you, dear Miranda?” asked Alicia. “God,” was the reverently murmured reply. “I did ask Him, I did beseech Him to save me from being sent away from Talwandi.” This was the first indication which Miranda had given of understanding the nature of prayer. “Then you are willing to stay with us, dear one?” said Alicia. Miranda’s reply was a fervent, passionate embrace; then, ashamed of having given such outward expression to her joy in the presence of men, Miranda retreated hastily into the adjoining dwelling. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XX THE WELCOME RAIN. FIERY June had run more than half its course when it came, the longed-for, the prayed-for blessing, the copious welcome rain. The heavens were overshadowed with clouds, veiling completely the dreaded sun. The sound of the heavy, ceaseless downpour was to the almost exhausted dwellers in the plains sweeter than music. It was delightful to watch the brown water streaming from each spout above, rushing along each gutter below. It was pleasant to see the earth first dotted over with big drops, then transformed into pools covered with dancing bubbles, while frogs croaked their monotonous song of joy, and a delicious coolness pervaded the air, which had been like the breath of an oven. “The rain! the blessed rain! God be thanked for the rain!” was the exclamation intuitively uttered.