from the box three gold bangles, two broken armlets, enamelled in red and blue, and a necklace of pearls with green enamelled pendants.  Last, he drew out a little sword with rubies set in the hilt.  For an instant Sunni hesitated; the ornaments were nothing, but the sword was his chief possession and his pride.  It would be so easy to carry away!  He looked at it lovingly for a minute, and laid it with the rest.  All these things were his very own, but something told him that he must not take them away.  Then he took the long coarse white turban cloth from his head, and wrapped everything skilfully in it.  Nothing jangled, and when the parcel was made up it was flat and even.  Then Sunni, with his English pen, printed in Urdu: 

[Urdu text]

which in English letters would have been spelled ’Maharajah ka wasti,’ and which meant simply, ‘For the Maharajah,’ upon one side of it.  Upon the other he wrote in the large round hand that Dr. Roberts had taught him—­

’To your Honner, the Maharajah of Chita.  Sunni will take your Honner in his hart to his oun country, but the gifs are too heavie.’

Sunni had certainly learned politeness at last among the Rajputs.  Then he put the parcel back into the box, softly locked it, and laid the key on the cover.

Still nobody came his way.  Sunni took another turban cloth from its nail in the wall, a finely-woven turban cloth, with blue and gold stripes, nine yards long, for festivals.  He twisted it carelessly round his neck, and blew out the chirag.  Then he slipped softly into the passage, and from that into the close, dark, high-walled corridors that led into the outer courts.  He stepped quickly, but carefully; the corridors were full of sleeping servants.  Twice he passed a sentinel.  The first was stupid with opium, and did not notice him.  Mar Singh, the second, was very wide awake.

‘Where go you, Sunni-ji?’ he asked, inquisitively.

’I go to speak with Tooni about a matter which troubles me so that I cannot sleep,’ answered Sunni; ’and afterwards I return to the little south balcony that overlooks the river; it will be cooler there if the wind blows.’

As Sunni went on, the thoughts of the sentinel became immediately fixed upon the necessity of being awake when the sahib’s son should pass in again—­the sahib’s son had the ear of the Maharajah.

The ayah’s hut was in the very farthest corner of the courtyard she had begged for, somewhat apart from the others.  It was quite dark inside when Sunni pushed open the door, but the old woman, slumbering light, started up from her charpoy with a little cry.

‘Choop!’ said he in a low, quick tone; and Tooni, recognising his voice, was instantly silent.

Sunni made his way to the side of the bed, and took one of her hands.

‘Listen, Tooni,’ said he, in the same tone, ’I am come for what is mine.  Give it to me.’