The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but
he was evidently very faithful to his master.

"Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion," she
thought. "They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I
wish I could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani."

And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of
his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was
waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was
going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a
special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make
herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke
to him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her
curiously. And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of
the most profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few
words. She learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich--that
he was ill--and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England
did not agree with the monkey.

"He must be as lonely as I am," thought Sara. "Being rich does not seem
to make him happy."

That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the
shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a
bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting
before it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and
looked delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his
head resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever.