“To-morrow the news of a baptism will probably cause the door to be closed against you.” “Then let me go to-day,” cried Alicia with animation, rising from her seat as she spoke. “I must, I really must, see that sweet fair young Kashmiri again.” “Let her go, Harold, let my brave little sister go!” exclaimed Robin. Kripá Dé had been watching the discussion with eager eyes, as if he could drink in its import through them. Harold briefly explained to him the lady’s wishes, and asked him whether she could safely visit the zenana. “To-day, not to-morrow,” was the reply; “no one in the fort knows that I am here.” “But if the women should question you?” said Harold in English, addressing himself to his wife. “I am not a bit bound to answer them, even if I could do so,” said Alicia playfully; “for my conversational powers in Urdu will not carry me far into any dangerous subject. I do not know the words for _conversion, baptism_, or _breaking caste_. If the women ask me a thousand questions, talking together after _their_ fashion, I shall merely look puzzled after _my_ fashion, and get out of any difficulty by beginning to sing.” “Let her go!” repeated Robin, laughing. “I only wish that I were small enough to be packed into her bag, that I might see the fun.” Harold, after consulting his father, gave a rather reluctant consent. Utterly fearless regarding himself, he was anxious regarding his wife. Alicia again, armed with her bag of books, her fan, and her white-covered umbrella, took her seat in her doli, and started for the fort. She really ran but little risk of annoyance, for, as Kripá Dé had said, his relatives did not know whither he had gone. The Kashmiri’s determination to declare himself openly a Christian was as yet a secret known but to himself and the Hartleys. It would not be at once noised abroad in Talwandi that he had broken his caste; for Mangal, a Mohammedan, and faithful to his salt, was the only native aware of the fact. Alicia proceeded towards the fort without anything occurring to cause her the slightest alarm. She saw in the narrow streets the people engaged in their usual occupations. The mochi glanced up for a moment as the doli was carried along, then went on with his delicate work of making slippers adorned with thread of gold. The clang of the blacksmith’s hammer was not interrupted, and the sweetmeat-seller, behind his little pile of metai, looked as unconcerned as if the passing of a doli were a thing too ordinary to be noticed. Alicia, to her comfort, saw no sign of any approaching tempest; nor did the lady meet with any inconvenience save from the troops of thin, overladen donkeys which sometimes obstructed the way, notwithstanding the loud warning “Bach!” (Save thyself!) with which the kahars tried to clear a passage for the doli.