It was true that Premi was less painfully bashful with Robin than with either his father or brother. Mr. Hartley was to her the buzurg (elder)—reverenced but feared; Harold was the Padre Sahib, in whose presence the shy young creature always drew her chaddar over her face; but Robin was a privileged person with Premi as with every one else. She knew that he, like herself, had risked life to save Kripá Dé; she looked on him as her old playmate’s bhai, or brother, and even spoke of him by that name. Robin once laughingly observed that Miss Miranda Macfinnis did not regard him as one of the lords of creation at all, but as a big, good-natured, shaggy dog, whom she did not expect to bite her. So, under his tuition, Gurmuki lessons were begun, and Alicia was surprised to find that Premi learned more rapidly than herself, and with keener enjoyment. “Does Miranda know her own early history? is she aware that she has relations in England?” Harold inquired one day of his wife. “She does not know much. You see, dearest, that I am scarcely strong enough yet in Urdu to tell a long, complicated story.” “Robin had better tell her. Miranda does not seem shy with him,” observed Harold. So, on the following morning, before lessons were begun, Robin gave Miranda a short, clear account of those early days of her life which had left no impression on memory. Miranda listened as she might have done to the story of what had happened to some one else many years ago. It was to her a thing of the past. “But all this has to do with the present too,” observed Robin. “Do you know, Premi, that you have a white brother in England?” “And a white sister too,” added Alicia, “the wife of that brother.” There was a soft pleading look of love in Miranda’s dark eyes as she drew Alicia’s hand to her own bosom, then pressed it to her own lips, and murmured, “Premi wants no sister but you.” “But you have a brother,” said Robin: “his name is Gilbert Macfinnis; he is your nearest relation. He may wish to have you beside him in England.” “Across the black sea!” exclaimed Miranda, and such a look of terror passed over her fair young face that in pity the conversation was changed. That it was not forgotten appeared by the thoughtful, mournful expression which Miranda now often wore, and the anxious look with which she watched the opening of any letters. But never in conversation did Miranda allude to her white brother. As for his name, it was to her as yet unpronounceable, and more difficult to remember than the English alphabet. The young girl secretly regarded Robin as her white brother, and she had no wish for any beside.