"Oh, Nani—don't!" protested her listener. "I can almost see it too!"
"Well, we will not talk of that time any more, for in my veins I have both the blood of those who killed at Cawnpore, and those who blew them from the guns. My grandfather was an English officer, and we—we will say no more. Let there be peace. Let us try and forget—and for a sick child such talk is not good." Nani paused and remained silent for some time. Then she said abruptly:
"But see, here is the crystal!"
As she uttered the word "crystal," she drew from some mysterious receptacle an article resembling a glass paperweight.
"Now I will tell your fortune!"
"What is the use, Nani? It is told," protested Verona, wearily.
"What nonsense, child!" looking at her sharply; "the best part of your life is to come."
Her granddaughter gave a faint, incredulous laugh.
"No, do not speak one word. I must look and be quiet for an hour. I have to fix my mind."
Verona, thus silenced, summoned Johnny to play with her. He was a pretty little fellow, the ordinary verandah squirrel of India—grey, with a broad brown stripe down his back. He came at once, and sat on the table beside her, and trimmed his whiskers. Presently he crept into his old quarters—her sleeve—where he lay motionless for a long time; perhaps he knew that the fate of his beloved lady was at that particular moment trembling in the balance; perhaps he was merely sleepy, being still a baby.