“And yet,” said Mr. Hartley very gravely, “were we to bring Premi here, we might bring on a serious riot in the district. She, being Kripá Dé’s sister, must like himself be of Brahmin caste. The Hindus would combine as one man against us, declaring that the sanctity of their homes was invaded. The Government so shrinks from interfering with social matters, that it would probably afford the poor widow no protection. Premi would be dragged back to the fort, probably be never again seen by a European, and possibly be poisoned by her family on suspicion of having broken her caste.” Alicia turned inquiringly towards her husband, but could gain no hope from his looks. “I have known three innocent persons arrested and brought into a European court of justice, on the bare charge of having abetted a Hindu widow’s attempt to escape from the bondage of which she was tired.”[4] “Then can nothing be done for poor Premi?” exclaimed Alicia. “You may do much, my love,” replied Harold; “not by freeing the captive, but by giving her that knowledge which is better even than freedom. You can tell Premi of a home beyond the grave, of a place at the Saviour’s feet, of the joy which far outweighs even the heaviest afflictions of earth.” Alicia sighed deeply, for she was sorely disappointed by the collapse of her scheme. She could not dispute the opinions of those whose benevolence equalled her own, and whose experience was so much greater. “I will do what I can,” she said submissively; “and as a beginning I will learn the translation of ‘Joyful, joyful!’ to sing to poor Premi.” Footnote 4: A fact. The entrance of Kripá Dé, the Kashmiri convert, with Robin gave a new form to the hopes of Alicia. “If we cannot free Premi, surely her own brother can,” cried the young wife. “As Premi seems to be an orphan, he is her natural protector; if Kripá Dé place her under our care, who has a right to object?” Harold in a few sentences explained to the convert the lady’s anxiety to rescue Premi from her present wretched condition. “Would it be impossible for you to bring her here?” he asked in conclusion. Kripá Dé looked astonished at the question. “Perfectly impossible,” was his reply. “I have no power in a matter like this.” Alicia felt provoked at a brother’s tamely acquiescing in what she thought tyranny and injustice. “Harold or Robin would not stand with folded hands,” thought she, “were a sister treated as a slave.” Then she added aloud, “Are you content that poor Premi’s whole life is to be passed in nothing but sorrow?” “She had a happy childhood, Mem Sahiba,” replied the Kashmiri. “Often we played together. She made my kites, and proudly watched them rising higher than those of my companions. Often she laughed for joy when I gave her a share of my sweetmeats. Her life was very different then from what it was after her marriage.” “Did Premi’s marriage grieve you?” asked Robin; “or were you too young to care about it?”