Mar Singh, the second, was very wide awake.
'Where go you, Sunni-ji ?' he asked, inquisitively.
'I go to speak with Tooni about a matter which troubles me so that I cannot sleep,' answered Sunni; 'and afterwards I return to the little south balcony that overlooks the river; it will be cooler there if the wind blows.' As Sunni went on, the thoughts of the sentinel became immediately fixed upon the necessity of being awake when the sahib's son should pass in again--the sahib's son had the ear of the Maharajah.
The ayah's hut was in the very farthest corner of the courtyard she had begged for, somewhat apart from the others.

It was quite dark inside when Sunni pushed open the door, but the old woman, slumbering light, started up from her charpoy with a little cry.
'Choop!' said he in a low, quick tone; and Tooni, recognising his voice, was instantly silent.
Sunni made his way to the side of the bed, and took one of her hands.
'Listen, Tooni,' said he, in the same tone, 'I am come for what is mine.

Give it to me.' 'Sonny Sahib!' quavered the old woman hoarsely, 'what have I to give you?
Dil kushi,[8] I have nothing.' [8] 'Heart's delight.' 'What from fear you have never given up, nor burnt, nor thrown away,' said Sunni, firmly; 'what you said false words to ee-Wobbis about, when you told him it had been stolen from you.

My little black book, with my God in it.' 'Hazur! I have it not.' 'Give it to me,' said Sunni.
The old woman raised herself in the bed.

'A sahib's promise is written in gold,' said she; 'promise that the Maharajah shall never know.' 'He shall never know,' said Sunni.
Tooni felt her way to the side of the hut; then her hand fumbled along the top of the wall; it seemed to Sunni for an interminable time.