Robin came out into the veranda of “Paradise” to enjoy the scent of the wet earth, the sight of Nature reviving under the heavy rainfall, and the sound of plashing water. Miranda was there; she had come for the same purpose. The air had slightly blown back the chaddar of the fair girl, and with the rose-tint which the comparative coolness had brought to her cheek, and the brightness which pleasure gave to her eyes, Miranda looked beautiful in the mellowed light from a cloudy sky. The young girl did not retreat when Robin appeared; she was not shy with her bhai and tutor, for during Alicia’s attacks of fever Robin had adopted her pupil. Miranda had under his tuition made great progress, being eager to surprise her beloved sister with her acquirements in English as well as Gurmuki. She could even put short English words together, and read Panjabi with fluent ease. The conversion of his fair pupil was the daily subject of Robin’s prayers, as of those of the other missionaries of Talwandi. As the youth looked now on Miranda’s lovely form and face, his whole heart rose in fervent supplication for her who had been so wonderfully brought to share Alicia’s home. Robin then, advancing towards Miranda, said, “What are you looking at, my little sister?” “The rain—the good rain. See how the thirsty ground is drinking it in!” “Who sends the good rain, little sister?” Miranda folded her hands and looked upwards. “Should we not thank God for the rain?” asked Robin. “All thank God—trees, birds, earth,” was the reply. “But we have more reason to thank God than have the trees, the birds, and the earth. Do you not remember what you have heard so often about the best, the greatest of gifts?” Miranda looked down and did not reply. Robin suddenly changed the conversation, while keeping the one point at which he was aiming in view. “Miranda, I heard from your Kashmiri bhai yesterday.” A slight smile came to the girl’s lips, and she raised her head to listen. “Kripá Dé asked me to tell his sister that he never forgets that she saved his life by her timely warning.” “Premi is glad,” said Miranda softly. “When you called out to Kripá Dé not to drink from the poisoned cup, did you think that your giving such a warning would bring you into trouble and danger?” “I thought that I should be beaten, and I was so,” Miranda replied. “You did a brave and kind action,” said Robin, “and I am sure that Kripá Dé is not ungrateful.” Miranda blushed like a rose at the praise. “But suppose,” continued Robin, “that you could only have saved your bhai by drinking the poison yourself, Miranda, would you have drunk it?” A strange expression flitted over the lovely face. Miranda did not reply at once; then she said, in a hesitating tone, avoiding meeting the questioner’s gaze, “I think that I should have drunk it.” “And you would in dying have expected, and justly expected, to be ever gratefully remembered by him for whom you had sacrificed life?”