On this very afternoon, while Sara was out, a strange thing happened in the attic.  Only Melchisedec saw and heard it; and he was so much alarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his hole and hid there, and really quaked and trembled as he peeped out furtively and with great caution to watch what was going on.

The attic had been very still all the day after Sara had left it in the early morning.  The stillness had only been broken by the pattering of the rain upon the slates and the skylight.  Melchisedec had, in fact, found it rather dull; and when the rain ceased to patter and perfect silence reigned, he decided to come out and reconnoiter, though experience taught him that Sara would not return for some time.  He had been rambling and sniffing about, and had just found a totally unexpected and unexplained crumb left from his last meal, when his attention was attracted by a sound on the roof.  He stopped to listen with a palpitating heart.  The sound suggested that something was moving on the roof.  It was approaching the skylight; it reached the skylight.  The skylight was being mysteriously opened.  A dark face peered into the attic; then another face appeared behind it, and both looked in with signs of caution and interest.  Two men were outside on the roof, and were making silent preparations to enter through the skylight itself.  One was Ram Dass and the other was a young man who was the Indian gentleman's secretary; but of course Melchisedec did not know this.  He only knew that the men were invading the silence and privacy of the attic; and as the one with the dark face let himself down through the aperture with such lightness and dexterity that he did not make the slightest sound, Melchisedec turned tail and fled precipitately back to his hole.  He was frightened to death.  He had ceased to be timid with Sara, and knew she would never throw anything but crumbs, and would never make any sound other than the soft, low, coaxing whistling; but strange men were dangerous things to remain near.  He lay close and flat near the entrance of his home, just managing to peep through the crack with a bright, alarmed eye.  How much he understood of the talk he heard I am not in the least able to say; but, even if he had understood it all, he would probably have remained greatly mystified.

The secretary, who was light and young, slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as Ram Dass had done; and he caught a last glimpse of Melchisedec's vanishing tail.

"Was that a rat?" he asked Ram Dass in a whisper.

"Yes; a rat, Sahib," answered Ram Dass, also whispering.  "There are many in the walls."

"Ugh!" exclaimed the young man.  "It is a wonder the child is not terrified of them."

Ram Dass made a gesture with his hands.  He also smiled respectfully.  He was in this place as the intimate exponent of Sara, though she had only spoken to him once.

"The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib," he answered.  "She is not as other children.  I see her when she does not see me.  I slip across the slates and look at her many nights to see that she is safe.  I watch her from my window when she does not know I am near.  She stands on the table there and looks out at the sky as if it spoke to her.  The sparrows come at her call.  The rat she has fed and tamed in her loneliness.  The poor slave of the house comes to her for comfort.  There is a little child who comes to her in secret; there is one older who worships her and would listen to her forever if she might.  This I have seen when I have crept across the roof.  By the mistress of the house--who is an evil woman--she is treated like a pariah; but she has the bearing of a child who is of the blood of kings!"

"You seem to know a great deal about her," the secretary said.

"All her life each day I know," answered Ram Dass.  "Her going out I know, and her coming in; her sadness and her poor joys; her coldness and her hunger.  I know when she is alone until midnight, learning from her books; I know when her secret friends steal to her and she is happier--as children can be, even in the midst of poverty-- because they come and she may laugh and talk with them in whispers.  If she were ill I should know, and I would come and serve her if it might be done."

"You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, and that she will not return and surprise us.  She would be frightened if she found us here, and the Sahib Carrisford's plan would be spoiled."

Ram Dass crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close to it.

"None mount here but herself, Sahib," he said.  "She has gone out with her basket and may be gone for hours.  If I st............