t first," she said, "I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now----"

"What do you mean by 'at first'?" asked the Indian Gentleman.

"When I was first taken there by my papa."

"Well, what has happened since then?" said the invalid, staring at her
and knitting his brows with a puzzled expression.

"My papa died," said Sara. "He lost all his money, and there was none
left for me--and there was no one to take care of me or pay Miss
Minchin, so----"

"So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into a
half-starved little drudge!" put in the Indian Gentleman. "That is about
it, isn't it?"

The color deepened on Sara's cheeks.

"There was no one to take care of me, and no money," she said. "I belong
to nobody."

"What did your father mean by losing his money?" said the gentleman,
fretfully.

The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on the
yellow face.

"He did not lose it himself," she said. "He had a friend he was fond of,
and it was his friend who took his money. I don't know how. I don't
understand. He trusted his friend too much."

She saw the invalid start--the strangest start--as if he had been
suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly:

"That's an old story," he said. "It happens every day; but sometimes
those who are blamed--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and are
not so bad. It may happen through a mistake--a miscalculation; they may
not be so bad."

"No," said Sara, "but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It
killed my papa."

The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that
covered him.

"Come a little nearer, and let me look at you," he said.

His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone
than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at
her. She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching
his master anxiously over his shoulder.

The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her.

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name."

"His name was Ralph Crewe," said Sara. "Captain Crewe. Perhaps,"--a
sudden thought flashing upon her,--"perhaps you may have heard of him?
He died in India."

The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak,
and seemed out of breath.

"Yes," he said, "I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If he
had only lived he would have known. It t