“Yes, giving money; but too much trouble to get morphia and cocaine and to keep people from talk. One or two times she took too big dose, and then nearly die—but missis will have it all the same—die or no die!” “Well, now, if I promise you one thing will you promise me another? I will not say a word to Mr. Krauss if you will agree to buy no more cocaine.” “I will promise not to give so much; but no more cocaine taking at all, missis would shrivel up and go out like one bit of paper in a candle! I will do what I can, missy, but missis always taking plenty—two grains is nothing.” “I am astonished,” said Sophy, “that my aunt has never been suspected of taking drugs.” “Missy, you never suspect it yourself, and yet you have lived in same house for fifteen months. It was hard to keep it dark, but all the servants know. Of course, that is no matter, and as for the big mem-sahibs, they do not come here _now_.” “It seems so strange,” said Sophy, “that my aunt should have sunk into this state—all through one little dose of morphia.” “Well, you see, missy, she was ill; it was in the rains; she was awfullee melancholy and depressed, and she had not much to fill her mind. She did not sew or ride or make music, like you do. Mr. Krauss was away, she was sick and lonely, and so she got the doctor’s prescription made up over and over again. If she could have gone to Europe two years ago she might have cured herself of taking the stuff. Two—three times she has begun to stop it, but it was no good. I have talked to her and given her wise words and tried to help her—and _cheat_ her, but she always found me out; so all I can do or have done is to stand between her and the other mem-sahibs and hide her—trouble.” The sound of light footsteps stealing across the veranda caused Lily to pause—then she added under her breath: “It is that Moti ayah, missy; she very cunning, same like little snake and we had better go. I will keep my promise, though it will be plenty bother; I am glad that you know—for it will make business more easy for me now there is one less to hide it from.” Thus the conspirators parted, Sophy having maintained from first to last her mastery of the situation. It was not long before Mrs. Krauss became aware, more by instinct than actual knowledge, that her niece had discovered the real cause of her illness. One evening as Sophy bent over to kiss her and say good night, she took her hand in both of hers and, with tears trickling down her face, whispered: “Sophy darling, I’ve tried—it’s no use; whatever happens, keep it from _him_!” And this was the sole occasion on which Aunt Flora ever alluded to her failing. CHAPTER XXXII ON DUTY