I saddened at the thought that on my return from a Christian country, those fingers that fix my shirt now would not touch _me_. The last words I heard from her mouth were these, “Joguth, do not eat confectionaries on the way: you are sick, and can’t digest those rich things, child. Come right home after the school, and you will find your supper ready.” “Mother,” thought I, “the supper which you so kindly wish to prepare for me will be, I am afraid, a two-edged sword for you. I do not know where I shall take my supper to-night,” etc. Thus equipped with moral courage, taking no money, nor clothing, but a trusting heart, I left home and its inmates never to enter therein again, as my own. I commended my kind mother and other dear friends to the care of Him, the good Father of all. In order to make another effort in relation to that young lady’s ornament, I called at the goldsmith’s house, but with no better success. A dear young Brahmun friend, who is a hearer of Mr. Dall, and to whom I had confided my secrets, informed me that if I would go with him to a public woman’s house, I might possibly find the artist there. As there was no time to lose, and the ornament must be obtained and returned to the owner, I agreed to his suggestion. There, on the Ganges, stood the cottage of sin, and as we knocked at its outer door, a female voice inquired, “Who are you?” “Please let us go in,” said my friend. “No,” she said, “first tell me what you want, and then I’ll see whether I can let you in or not.” “I want to see Ombika for a minute, and that is all.” “Ombika is not here,” she said, and we heard her voice no more. “What is to be done?” I said. “You come with me,” my gallant friend replied; “there is a large opening on the wall which would be a capital approach for us to get into the house.” I hesitated a little, but he said I must do it, under the necessity,--that these cunning girls must be intruded upon that way. Slowly we walked to the opening, which was large enough to admit us both into the house. We found the artist there, and I asked him to return the ornament to me. He began to make excuses, said it was not quite ready, but would take a couple of days to finish it. “Friend,” said I, “I cannot wait a couple of hours for it. I am going to a distant place, so please return it to me just as it is.” He talked and argued about the matter, and wanted to know how long I would be gone. Of course, I could not tell him directly about my plans. He returned the ornament partly done. It would not have been safe _at all_ for me to have returned it to the owner for two reasons: first, that she lives so near my mother that if I went to her my mother would the first person to see me, and her fears and surmises would be doubly confirmed by my untimely return from the school; secondly, the young lady would feel surprised to find her jewelry half finished, and suspect my proceedings, and inform my mother accordingly.