“Quite right,” answered his wife. “I would never wish to take back anything given for the Lord or His work.” Alicia never knew the fate of that jewel. It was sold ere long with other valuables to purchase the bare necessaries of life for Chand Kor and Darobti, who had to pound their own rice and grind their own corn for themselves. The evening after the conclusion of the trial, which lasted for some days, Alicia said joyfully to her husband, “Now one sheaf at least is gathered home. Premi—I mean Miranda—is our own, quite our own. She has almost recovered now, and will soon, I think, lose all trace of her bruises, and look lovelier than ever.” “You say that Premi is quite our own, my love,” observed Harold; “but are you her nearest relative? I think that you have more than once mentioned that she has a brother in England.” “Oh! Cousin Gilbert, who was at home preparing to go to college in the Mutiny year, and so escaped the fate of his poor parents.” “He is then Premi—Miranda’s natural protector and guardian.” “I should be sorry to trust her to his care,” cried Alicia. “Gilbert is a gay, thoughtless sort of fellow, and has been lately married to a foolish fashionable girl. I should be most unwilling to send our rescued cousin to them. It would not be mercy to her.” “We must think of justice as well as of mercy, my Alicia. A brother has a right to be consulted about the future of an orphan sister. The English mail goes to-day; will you write to your cousin, or would you wish me to do so?” Alicia felt and looked disappointed. She had encountered much difficulty in finding a jewel, and then in drawing it from the dark mine in which it had been buried; and now, was she contentedly to hand it over to one who had given nothing, suffered nothing, and who might place no value on what had cost her so much? It was with rather an ill grace that Alicia sat down to her desk. Everything seemed to combine to make the task distasteful. The wood of the desk was warped by the heat, the ink in the bottle half dried up. Alicia had to throw away one quill pen after another, and her own heated, languid hand moved wearily over the paper, which the pankah (for Robin had contrived a pankah in the new house) was perpetually trying to blow away to the other side of the room. The hot season was beginning, Alicia’s first hot season, and everything that she did was done with an effort. Alicia had other little troubles connected with her newly-found cousin, troubles which she poured forth to Robin in the evening, when sunset had brought some slight relief from the heat. The brother and sister were slowly pacing up and down the veranda, Alicia with rather a melancholy air. “Is anything vexing my fair sister?” asked Robin in that cheerful and kindly tone which invited confidence and usually obtained it. “I do not like to trouble Harold with all my small perplexities,” replied Alicia, wearily fanning herself as she spoke.