gazed at her.

"Why, Soyera," he exclaimed, "is it you? It is more than ten years
since I saw you!

"It is my cousin," he said to some of his companions who were
standing round, "my mother's sister's child."

"Don't be alarmed," he went on, to the woman, "no one will harm
you. I am one of the captains of this party."

"I must speak to you alone, Sufder."

She went outside the tent with him.

"You have nothing to fear," he said. "You shall go back with us to
Jooneer. I have a house there, and you can stay with my wife.
Besides, there are many of your people still alive."

"But that is not all, Sufder. I was ayah to the major and his
wife--whom your people have just killed, and whom I loved
dearly--and in my charge is their child. He is but a few months
old, and I must take him with me."

"It is impossible," Sufder replied. "No white man, woman, or child
would be safe in the Deccan, at present."

"No one would see his face," the woman said. "I would wrap him up,
and will give out that he is my own child. As soon as we get up the
Ghauts I would stain his face and skin, and no one would know that
he was white. If you will not let me do it, tell your men to cut me
down. I should not care to live, if the child were gone as well as
his father and mother. You cannot tell how kind they were to me.
You would not have me ungrateful, would you, Sufder?"

"Well, well," the man said good naturedly, though somewhat
impatiently, "do as you like; but if any harm comes of it, mind it
is not my fault."

Thankful for the permission, Soyera hurried round to the back of
the tent, picked up the child and wrapped it in her robe; and then
when, after firing the place, the Mahrattas retired, she fell in
behind them, and followed them in the toilsome climb up the
mountains, keeping so far behind that none questioned her. Once or
twice Sufder dropped back to speak to her.

"It is a foolish trick of yours," he said, "and I fear that trouble
will come of it."

"I don't see why it should," she replied. "The child will come to
speak Mahratta and, when he is stained, none will guess that he is
English. In time, I may be able to restore him to his own people."

The other shook his head.

"That is not likely," he said, "for before many weeks, we shall
have driven them into the sea."

"Then he must remain a Mahratta," she said, "until he is able to
make his way to join the English in Madras or Calcutta."

"You are an obstinate woma