had no time to spare for trivialities and sunsets.

"So when I came to three-and-twenty," she said slowly, "I felt I
must break away from our narrow life. I had a call to India
stronger than anything on earth. You would not understand but
that was so, and I had spent every spare moment in teaching
myself India - its history, legends, religions, everything! And I
was not wanted at home, and I had grown afraid."

I could divine years of patience and repression under this plain
tale, but also a power that would be dynamic when the authentic
voice called. That was her charm - gentleness in strength - a
sweet serenity.

"What were you afraid of?"

"Of growing old and missing what was waiting for me out here. But
I could not get away like other people. No money, you see. So I
thought I would come out here and teach. Dare I? Would they let
me? I knew I was fighting life and chances and risks if I did it;
but it was death if I stayed there. And then- Do you really care
to hear?"

"Of course. Tell me how you broke your chain."

"I spare you the family quarrels. I can never go back. But I was
spurred - spurred to take some wild leap; and I took it. Six
years ago I came out. First I went to a doctor and his wife at
Cawnpore. They had a wonderful knowledge of the Indian peoples,
and there I learned Hindustani and much else. Then he died. But