'Nay! I knew--I knew from the first. Oh, child! I have killed her--I, Khôjee--hush! wail not! None must know. And touch her not, Noormahal; that is for me--for her sister who killed her. Lo! child, sole hope of the house! stand further--I can do all--I will do all.--O Khâdjee! Khâdjee! canst thou forgive? And I knew--I knew in my heart all was not right. I knew none would rightly sell such green satin trousers'--here she broke into sobbing laughter--'yet wert thou happy, sister, and I took the blame of theft, if it was theft--and it was--theft of thy life--O Khâdjee! Khâdjee!' Noormahal, pressed back by frantic clinging arms into a corner of the dark room--for Khôjee, declaring the illness to be a chill, had insisted on keeping the patient inside--caught in her breath fearfully. 'Peace, Khôjee! let me go, auntie!--Lo! thou art not well thyself--the fever hath thee--thou art distraught with grief, as I was. Come, let us go into the light, and I myself will call----' Khôjee rose to her feet, and laid a quick hand on Noormahal's mouth. 'Nay! none must call,' she said sternly, her self-control brought back by dread. 'Yea! come into the light, and leave her. Come, and I will tell thee there--in the light.' 'How dost thou know?' asked Noormahal, gone grey to her very lips. 'It is not that--lo! folk die of other things. I have seen them. Remember our cousin--it was just so----' Khôjee's mask of despair showed no wavering. 'Nay, it is the plague. They talked of it at the wailing. It hath been here and there in the city this week past. Mittun held it blasphemy that it should be aught but God's will, and I cried yea! to him; but cannot God send it in the clothes?' Her face, drawn, haggard, almost awful in its questioning, settled after a second into decision. 'Yea! it is the plague--the swellings they speak of are there. It was the trousers. I killed her. And none must know, or they will come and poison thee in hospital, lest it spread. That is why I called no one. The courtyard is wide. I can dig a grave----' Noormahal gave a sharp cry of horrified dissent. 'Yea! I can--my hands are not as thine, sweetheart, soft and fine. Old Khôjee's ugliness can do more than thy beauty--the beauty of King's Daughters which none may see! Remember that, child, remember that'--her voice rang clear of sobs for those words; she rose from where she had crouched to tell her tale, and looked round her with dull, yet steady, eyes. 'There is no hurry. If folk come, none need know she is dead. I will say she sleeps. And at night I can dig. Yea! I knew it from the first. But there is no fear, heart's darling! Thou hast scarce been nigh her. That is why I kept her close. And to-night I will carry her to the outer courtyard--there is a padlock to the _nanbut khana_ stairs, and room for--room for _her_ beside them. I have thought--yea! thought while I watched. There is no fear, Noormahal! All will go well. Thou wilt have patience, as wives should, and Jehân will return to