I therefore told the woman, with as much gentleness as I could summon, that it was impossible for me to aid her, and almost as much as my life was worth to become the bearer of her letter to any prisoner in the palace. "It is not for my own personal safety I fear so much, but for my son's, whose young life depends on mine." As I was speaking, the woman's face grew still and cold, her features became rigid and fixed as stone, large, dewy drops of perspiration broke out on her forehead, and there fell upon her face such an expression of blankness and utter desolation that I thought she was absolutely dying from the pain of her disappointment. This produced such a revulsion of feeling in me that I started from my seat in terror, and, taking her chilled, moist hands in mine, said, anxiously: "Does what I have said distress you so much? Why won't you speak? If there is any way by which I can help or comfort you, tell me. Please tell me, and I'll try to do my best for you." The effect of this promise was immediate, but it was some time before the woman could recover her voice; then, laying her hand upon my arm, she spoke hurriedly, but in the same soft, low tones and fervent manner. "You have not asked me my name and who I am," she said. "But I'll tell you; I am sure you will not betray me, and it may be this is the last opportunity I shall have of serving my dear foster-sister." As she uttered these words the hope and courage which had evidently been revived by the sympathy she saw in my face now seemed to forsake her; tears and sobs burst from her afresh, and she crouched at my feet as if utterly overwhelmed with her grief. At last, by a strong effort, she turned to me, and said: "My name is May-Peâh; my home is in the city of Zienmai, i.e. Chiengmai; my father, Manetho, is one of the most trusted councillors and friends, though a slave, of the Prince P'hra Chow Soorwang. My mother was a household slave in the family of the prince when my father obtained her for his wife, and I was only a month old when she was asked to be the wet-nurse and mother of the little infant daughter of the prince, whose wife had died in child-birth; and thus it was that I became the life-long companion and friend and foster-sister of the young Princess Sunartha Vismita. But alas! dear lady, she is now, and has been ever since the death of her husband, the second king, a prisoner in the palace of the supreme king, and neither does her brother nor any one else know whether she is alive or dead.