The next thing was to find out the station of the commissioner. I thought first of Mr. Jasper. No, that would not do. I did not want him, now my best friend, to know my secret, my fears or my sorrows. We often prefer to hide such things from our best friends. I went to the magistrate, a stranger to me. I asked him as calmly as I could, the address of Mr. Smith, now commissioner somewhere, formerly magistrate and collector in our station, that I had some important business with him, and hadn’t I? He at once gave me the name of the place. I thanked him and left. I took the first train for Jalalpur, the headquarters of the commissioner, where I arrived the next morning. Another fearful night. I cannot describe it, as the very remembrance of it now makes my old heart ache. I thought of those of whom I had read, going to the guillotine, the awful journey, and the dread of its end. What would be at the end of my journey? I shuddered at the thought of it, and felt as if I was going to my doom, to a hell of some kind, and something which I could not resist, compelled me to go on, go on. The station was at length reached, and reason took possession of me, and I thought I heard a voice saying, “Be a man, Charles, be a man.” Ah! Mr. Percy, would to God you were here now to help me! The thought of his words braced me up. I had a bath at the station rooms, the colder the better, I thought, and then a breakfast by force of my will, and then out on my search. If ever a criminal went limp to the scaffold I could sympathize with him that morning. Going along the road I met a government chuprassi, as shown by his clothes and badge, and I made inquiries of him, one of which was, if he knew of a young woman, an Eurasian, under the protection of the Commissioner Sahib? Protection! God forgive me for that lie! But how else could I ask? He looked me over, again and again, and hesitated. I waited. He then said, “Sahib, I am one of the Commissioner Sahib’s servants. If he knew I told you anything about this woman he would send me to Jehannam before the sun went down.” I replied that I had some news for her, that he should have no fear, and need only tell me the direction to her place. Before telling, he exacted a promise that I would never mention him in any way, or his head would have to say salaam to his shoulders. I went on and came to the place. How much it reminded me of that small wretched court where my little mama once was. I hurried in through the narrow door or gate, as I did not wish to be seen by any one. There she sat on the veranda of a small house with a little boy at her knees. She was very much disturbed at my appearance. I saw at the first glance our mother’s large lustrous eyes. Why do we always speak of the eyes of a person? Is it because they are the windows of the soul through which we look as through windows into a house? I now saw the well remembered features of the face. I could not be mistaken. It was she, the long lost sister.