'Listen, Tooni,' said he, in the same tone, 'I am come for what is
mine. Give it to me.'
'Sonny Sahib!' quavered the old woman hoarsely, 'what have I to
give you? Dil kushi,[1] I have nothing.'
[1] 'Heart's delight.'
'What from fear you have never given up, nor burnt, nor thrown
away,' said Sunni, firmly; 'what you said false words to ee-Wobbis
about, when you told him it had been stolen from you. My little
black book, with my God in it.'
'Hazur! I have it not.'
'Give it to me,' said Sunni.
The old woman raised herself in the bed. 'A sahib's promise is
written in gold,' said she; 'promise that the Maharajah shall never
know.'
'He shall never know,' said Sunni.
Tooni felt her way to the side of the hut; then her hand fumbled
along the top of the wall; it seemed to Sunni for an interminable
time. At a certain place she parted the thatch and put her hand
into it with a little rustling that Sunni thought might be heard in
the very heart of the palace. Then she drew out a small, tight
sewn, oilskin bag, that had taken the shape of the book inside it,
groped across the hut again, and gave it to Sunni. The boy's hand
trembled as he took it, and without a word he slipped into the
darkness outside.
Then he stopped short and went back.
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