Mrs. Hulver was busy cleaning and folding an old uniform. The door of her room was closed and locked whilst she was thus occupied. With many sighs she passed the brush over the well-worn cloth and smoothed out the creases. "An iron would do it good; but it must go for the present as it is. It won't do for the uniform to be seen just now. To think what the master would say if he knew that the poor young man was in the house all the time! He would give me a month's notice as sure as my name is Maria Hulver! But there, as William used to say"--the William in her mind was the wearer of the uniform in the old days--"'What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve for.' God forgive me for loading up young William's shoulders with that canteen racket, and him as innocent as a new-born babe! But as William--that was my third--used to say: 'If the dhoby donkey were shown half the load that was meant for its back, it would die of terror.' Young William shall never know if I can help it that he was the hero of a canteen fight." She wrapped the uniform in an old linen towel, tucking in bits of camphor on every side, and laid the relic of by-gone days in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe. A knock at the door startled her. She closed the drawer hastily, put away the brush and went to see who called her. "Miss Eola! Come in, miss. Were you wanting to speak to me?" It was the day after Alderbury's departure. The car had come back bringing a letter for Eola, the first she had received since his love had been declared. She read it in the privacy of her room, lingering over the closely-written sheets as Mrs. Hulver had lingered over the folding and putting away of the uniform that had belonged to the father of her boy. The housekeeper was still in ignorance of what had passed between Eola and the guest. Her mind had been too full of anxiety over Ananda's welfare to admit of any curiosity concerning the behaviour of other people. She knew that she ran a risk in extending the helping hand to the persecuted 'vert; but she had carried it through without faltering. Without any explanations she had ordered his luggage to be placed in the missionary's cart and told the driver that he was to start that evening, a command that was gladly obeyed. While the dinner was still proceeding Mrs. Hulver and her scarlet-coated companion left the house presumably for a walk. A jutka was picked up outside, and directed to take the same road as that followed by the cart. The pony went much faster than the slowly moving cattle, and soon overtook and passed them. Half an hour later the missionary's servant was roused, and to his intense astonishment confronted by the Principal's housekeeper. By her side stood a native gentleman dressed in European clothes and wearing a neat turban. As Alderbury's servant had never seen Ananda he did not recognise Mrs. Hulver's companion.