“I did not know that,” pityingly.  “Perhaps—­I wonder if something might not be done:  I must talk to my husband.”

Ameerah seemed to develop an odd fancy for the society of Jane Cupp, which Jane was obliged to confess to her mistress had a tendency to produce in her system “the creeps.”

“You must try to overcome it, Jane,” Lady Walderhurst said.  “I’m afraid it’s because of her colour.  I’ve felt a little silly and shy about her myself, but it isn’t nice of us.  You ought to read ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ and all about that poor religious Uncle Tom, and Legree, and Eliza crossing the river on the blocks of ice.”

“I have read it twice, your ladyship,” was Jane’s earnestly regretful response, “and most awful it is, and made me and mother cry beyond words.  And I suppose it is the poor creature’s colour that’s against her, and I’m trying to be kind to her, but I must own that she makes me nervous.  She asks me such a lot of questions in her queer way, and stares at me so quiet.  She actually asked me quite sudden the other day if I loved the big Mem Sahib.  I didn’t know what she could mean at first, but after a while I found out it was her Indian way of meaning your ladyship, and she didn’t intend disrespect, because she spoke of you most humble afterwards, and called his lordship the Heaven born.”

“Be as kind as you can to her, Jane,” instructed her mistress.  “And take her a nice walk occasionally.  I daresay she feels very homesick here.”

What Ameerah said to her mistress was that these English servant women were pigs and devils, and could conceal nothing from those who chose to find out things from them.  If Jane had known that the Ayah could have told her of every movement she made during the day or night, of her up-gettings and down-lyings, of the hour and moment of every service done for the big Mem Sahib, of why and how and when and where each thing was done, she would have been frightened indeed.

One day, it is true, she came into Lady Walderhurst’s sleeping apartment to find Ameerah standing in the middle of it looking round its contents with restless, timid, bewildered eyes.  She wore, indeed, the manner of an alarmed creature who did not know how she had got there.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Jane.  “You have no right in this part of the house.  You’re taking a great liberty, and your mistress will be angry.”

“My Mem Sahib asked for a book,” the Ayah quite shivered in her alarmed confusion.  “Your Mem Sahib said it was here.  They did not order me, but I thought I would come to you.  I did not know it was forbidden.”

“What was the book?” inquired Jane severely.  “I will take it to her ladyship.”

But Ameerah was so frightened that she had forgotten the name, and when Jane knocked at the door of Mrs. Osborn’s boudoir, it was empty, both the ladies having gone into the garden.

But Ameerah’s story was quite true, Lady Walderhurst said in the evening when Jane spoke of the matter as she dressed her for dinner.  They had been speaking of a book containing records of certain historical Walderhursts.  It was one Emily had taken from the library to read in her bedroom.