“Fret not for sheaves, but holy patience keep; Wait for the early and the latter rain; For all that faith hath scattered, love shall reap. _Gladness is sown_; the Lord may let thee weep, But know no tear of thine is shed in vain.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIX THE WHITE BROTHER. THE heat continued to increase; to Alicia it seemed to be terrific. The accommodation in the two bungalows was small. Mr. Hartley and his daughter-in-law had repeated attacks of fever, though not of an alarming nature. Miranda was the most gentle and loving of nurses, and became increasingly dear in the mission circle. “If Gilbert send for his sister, I know not how we shall bear to part with her,” said Alicia. “Miranda is opening out like a flower, and such a lovely sweet one!” Robin Hartley was by far the merriest of the circle, and during the trying season helped to keep every one’s spirits alive. He was naturally of a joyous nature, and he had now found a new fountain of pleasure. Little cared Robin for the heat, even when it shut him up in his little room in semi-darkness with the musquitoes, for he had his pen and paper with him. Robin had taken to composing, and found great delight in the occupation. No one knew whether he was writing a Panjabi vocabulary, a journal, or an epic poem; Robin kept his own secret, like a child bent on giving some one a surprise. He himself carried a thick roll of paper to the post, and he watched as eagerly for a reply as did Alicia for an answer to her letter to her cousin Gilbert. The looked-for mail-day arrived. Harold brought in to his wife three letters bearing the English post-mark. Alicia singled out the one which was _not_ in a familiar hand; these sprawling characters she guessed to be traced by her cousin, from whom she had never before had a letter. Miranda—seated on the ground, her favourite position still, though she had always a chair at meals—watched with anxiety in her fine dark eyes the face of her cousin. She seemed to know, as by instinct, that the letter which Alicia was perusing related to her own fate. The letter, which was read aloud, ran as follows:—