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 'Oh yes,' I said cheerfully; 'but that was long ago in the Mutiny. Everything has changed since then. All the natives are quite friendly now.' But Ermyntrude always does see the gloomy side of things. 'Don't you trust them, miss,' Ermyntrude warned me solemnly as she helped me into a dressing-gown. 'Take my word, and don't you trust them, the Begums least of all, miss.' 'The Begums!' Ermyntrude's unsuspected acquaintance with those ladies and the depth of personal feeling she put into her condemnation of them surprised the query out of me. 'Yes, miss; if it hadn't been for the wicked perfidy of one of those Begums, I might have been a lady, driving about in a carriage and pair like you, miss.' Ermyntrude paused impressively midway between the wardrobe and the bed, my dinner dress poised aloft in her hands. Now, it isn't often that I encourage Ermyntrude. But the connection between a Begum of the Purple East and my good plain English maid was irresistible. I let her tell me the story as her deft fingers rearranged my hair.

'Uncle Ebby—you have heard me speak of him, miss—he was a man that everybody trusted. You'd trust him with everything you had, miss, as soon as look at him. Well, one of those Begums had got to hear of him and his noble character, and being frightened like, with so many mutineers about, she sends for him, and when she sees him she takes to him at once.' Ermyntrude paused effectively to