"He did not lose it himself," she said. "He had a friend he was fond
of, and it was his friend, who took his money. I don't know how. I don't
understand. He trusted his friend too much."

She saw the invalid start--the strangest start--as if he had been
suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly:

"That's an old story," he said. "It happens every day; but sometimes
those who are blamed--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and are
not so bad. It may happen through a mistake--a miscalculation; they may
not be so bad."

"No," said Sara, "but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It
killed my papa."

The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that
covered him.

"Come a little nearer, and let me look at you," he said.

His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone
than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at
her. She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching
his master anxiously over his shoulder.

The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her.

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name."