“Perhaps seven or eight,” replied Kripá Dé.
Harold translated each question and answer to his eager young wife.
“Did those who brought the child not explain how she came to be in their hands?” inquired Mr. Hartley.
“I cannot recollect; I never heard. It has sometimes been said in the zenana that Premi was brought from Kabul; that she is white as being the child of Pathans. I never considered the matter at all.”
“Ask how the little one was dressed when she arrived,” said Alicia eagerly.
Kripá raised his hand to his brow and reflected. “I think that the child had a shawl wrapped round her, and—yes—yes—one white thing like what the English wear on their feet!” cried Kripá Dé. “I remember that; for the bibis laughed, and fitted it on their hands. We had never seen such a thing before. But why do you question me thus?” the young Brahmin suddenly asked.
“Because we suspect it to be possible that Premi is neither Kashmiri nor Pathan,” said Harold, “but the child of English parents.”
Kripá Dé’s countenance, with various expressions flitting rapidly across it, was a study to those who watched it. Surprise, perplexity, now pleasure, now pain, succeeded each other on it, leaving at the end one look of anxious hope as he asked, “If Premi were English, would she be free?”
“Certainly,” replied every voice; and Harold added, “No English girl could be kept in confinement; the Government would claim her, and heavy punishment would fall on any one who dared to attempt to detain her.”
“But the difficulty would be to prove that she is English,” observed Mr. Hartley. Addressing himself to Kripá Dé, he inquired whether the zenana child had ever talked of other scenes or of other people.