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There lay the bracelet, folded inside her quaint, childish note; the 'ribbin' from her 'petticote' and the gleaming strands of her hair. The sight of it brought tears of which he felt not the least ashamed.
Roy gazed at it a moment, lost in admiration, still wondering; then he glanced at Tara's letter not scrawled, but written with laboured neatness and precision. "DEAR ROY, It was splendid. You are Prithvi Raj. I am sending you the bangel like Aunt Lila told us. It can't be gold or jewels. But I pulled the ribbin out of my petticote and put in sum of my hair to make it spangly.
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