survey her handiwork, and became discursive. 'You see, Uncle Ebby was a very handsome man, miss. I always grudged that I didn't take more after him myself; you'd never take me for kin of his, miss. It's my sister Beatrice what takes after him—you've never seen my sister Beatrice, have you, miss?' Ermyntrude paused again, as if to recover the thread of her story. 'Well, as I was saying, the Begum takes a great fancy to my Uncle Ebby, and after a bit she tells him that she will marry him, and tell him where all her treasure is, if he can manage to get her away to a holy place close by, where she thought she would be safe. You see, miss, this was quite right and proper. Uncle Ebby wouldn't have done anything that wasn't. The Begum was a widow, though her husband, it's true, had only been killed a few days before by some of the mutineers who had a spite against him. Well, by great efforts Uncle Ebby managed to get her away to her holy place, and she most faithfully promises to marry him next day and tell him where her treasure is. But what do you think, miss?' Ermyntrude dramatically put the finishing touches to my coiffure and drew back. 'Why, when he wakes up next morning, there she was a-burning of 'erself on a 'eap of wood.'
Ermyntrude's aspirates always will go when she gets excited.
'Dear me, Ermyntrude,' I said, surprised at this sudden and unexpected ending to the story. 'Why did she do that?'
'Well, you see, miss,' Ermyntrude explained, re-
