My reveries always ended with thoughts of the sister, and one day my desire about her became so intense that I felt I must see her. I had often been told that some day I would be taken to see her, and this kept me quiet, but now it seemed the time had come. I went to the sahib and begged him to let me go at once. He said that the next morning early he would send a munshi with me. I scarcely slept at all that night. I arose a number of times and went out to see if morning had not come. At the first glimpse of it I aroused the munshi and we departed, for a number of miles on a bullock cart and then by what he called the rehl. This was a wonderful experience to me, but I was thinking only of the little sister, wondering if she had grown, how she would look, what she would say and a thousand things about her and what I should say to her. The munshi on the way had bought some little ornaments, playthings and sweets for me to give to her, as he said we must not go khali hath, and it was very good of him to think of it, as no one ever should go with an empty hand. How happy was I when the rehl stopped and I caught sight of the orphanage. I was trembling with joy and could scarcely walk. We soon reached the door and were shown into a room where there was a mem sahib. The munshi told her our errand. “O,” said she in Hindustani, “the little one has gone. A sahib and mem sahib came and said they would take her to be their little girl.” “Who are they and where have they gone?” asked the munshi. I heard nothing but the word, gayi, gone. It was the same word that I heard when the mama went away. My intense anxiety, kept on the stretch for so many hours, at the mention of that fatal word, was so suddenly checked, that it seemed that I was not dying but was dead. I remembered nothing more, but it must have been hours after that I found myself lying upon a cot and some one bathing my head.