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 am sure he liked me, he wasn't always talking sentimentally about himself—he wasn't a spoon in short. If papa could only know him, I am sure he would give up his absurd prejudice about the army. I can understand Mr. Smallweed not liking soldiers, because, though a ruler, he is—if not quite an ooloo ka batcha—a muff.

—Ah! there's Nubbee Baksh come about his prisoner's breakfast. But what is he looking so mysterious about?

—Want to speak to Miss Sahib very particularly.

—Well, speak.

—That prisoner says he must see Miss Sahib himself. Miss Sahib will do great mihrbáni to talk to that poor man.

—Now what's mihrbáni? I've heard it before somewhere. But why does he want to see me? I'm not his judge.

(eagerly).—That prisoner says Miss Sahib is his judge, his jury, his sudder adáwlut, his gurib purwar,—everything!

—All that! Well, he is an Englishman. I don't see why I should be afraid after all. Perhaps he has some explanation to offer, and I may be able to say a word for the poor fellow with papa. Let him come in.

(with enthusiasm).—Bahut achcha! (Exit.)

—I wonder whether I ought to speak to him after all. Perhaps it's illegal to talk to prisoners. I don't think I am afraid.

—Ax your pardon, Miss, for intruding; but I thought perhaps you might be inclined to say a word for me to Mr. Bulthrop. I hear he's very hard on old soldiers who have played the fool and got into trouble.

(Aside: I must have heard his voice before somewhere).—I am afraid I cannot be of much use. Papa is very angry; he says it was very wicked of you to beat the poor bunnia and to knock the constables down; it is such a pity that you drank more than you ought to have done. I will give you a tract, if you will read it.