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Captain Desmond, V.C.

MAUD DIVER

AUTHOR OF
'THE GREAT AMULET,' 'CANDLES IN THE WIND,' ETC.

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

MY SON CYRIL,

AND TO

Mrs ALAN BATTEN

IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF ALL THAT IT OWES

TO HER GENEROUS HELP AND INTEREST.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

In revising and partially rewriting my novel, 'CaptainDesmond, V.C.,' I have been glad to make good theopportunity afforded me of bringing the Aftermath nearer tomy original conception than it was in its first form. Thethree short chapters now substituted for the one final sceneare therefore, in essence, no innovation. They representmore or less what I conceived at the time, but suppressedthrough fear of making my book too long; and thereby riskedupsetting the balance of sympathy, which I hope the freshchapters may tend to restore.

CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

Captain Desmond, V.C.

CHAPTER I.

JUDGE FOR YOURSELF.

Honor Meredith folded her arms upon the window-ledge of thecarriage and looked out into the night: a night of strange,unearthly beauty.

The full moon hung low in the west like a lamp. A chequeredmantle of light and shadow lay over the mountain-barrier ofIndia's north-western frontier, and over the desolate levelsthrough which the train, with its solitary Englishpassenger, sauntered at the rate of seven miles an hour.Even this degree of speed was clearly something of anachievement, attainable only by incessant halting to takebreath—for ten or fifteen minutes—at embryo stations: aplatform, a shelter, and a few unhappy-looking out-buildingsset down in a land of death and silence—a profitlessdesert, hard as the nether millstone and unfruitful as thegrave.

During these pauses the fret and jar of the labouring traingave place to a babel of voices—shouting, expostulating,denunciating in every conceivable key. For the third-classpassenger in the East is nothing if not vociferous, and theitch of travel has penetrated even to these outskirts ofempire.

Sleep, except in broken snatches, was a blessing pastpraying for, and as the moon swung downward to the hills,Honor Meredith had settled herself at the open window, towatch the lifeless wastes glide silently past, and await thecoming of dawn.

She had been journeying thus, with only moon and stars, andunfamiliar scenes of earth for company, since eight o'clock;and morning was near at hand. The informal civilisation ofRawal Pindi lay fifty miles behind her; and five miles aheadlay Kushalghur, a handful of buildings on the south bank ofthe Indus, where the narrow line of railway came abruptly toan end. Beyond the Indus a lone wide cart-road stretched,through thirty miles of boulder-strewn desert, to the littlefrontier station of Kohat.

For six years it had been Honor's dream to cross the Indusand join her favourite brother, the second-in-command of aPunjab cavalry regiment; to come into touch with an Indiaother than the light-hearted India of luxury and smoothsailing, which she had enjoyed as only daughter of GeneralSir John Meredith, K.C.B., and now, with the completion ofher father's term of service, her dream had become an almostincredible reality.

It was not without secret qualms of heart and consciencethat the General had yielded to her wish. For frontier lifein those earlier times still preserved its distinctiveflavour of isolation and hazard, which has been the makingof its men, and the making or marring of its women; andwhich the northward trend of the "fire-carriage" has almostconverted into a thing of the past. But sympathy with hermettlesome spirit, which was of his own bestowing, hadoutweighed Sir John's anxiety. On the eve of sailing he haddespatched her with his blessing and, by way of practicalaccessory, a handsome revolver, which he had taught her touse as accurately as a man.

And now, while she sat alone in the mellow moonlight ofearly morning, within a few miles of the greatest river ofthe Punjab, not even the pain of recent parting could lessenthe thrill of independence and adventure, that quickened herpulses, and stirred the deep waters of her soul.

At five-and-twenty this girl still remained heart-whole, asat nineteen: still looked confidently forward to the bestthat life has to give. For, despite a strong practicalstrain in her nature, she was an idealist at the core. Shecould not understand that temper of mind which sets out tobuy a gold watch, and declines upon a silver one because theother is not instantly attainable. She would have the bestor none: and, with the enviable assurance of youth, shenever doubted but that the best would be forthcoming in goodtime.

For this cause, no doubt, she had failed to make thebrilliant match tacitly expected of her by a large circle offriends ever since her arrival in the country. None theless, she had gone cheerfully on her way, untrammelled bycriticism, quite unaware of failure, and eternallyinterested in the manifold drama of Indian and Anglo-Indianlife. Her father and four soldier brothers had set herstandard of manhood, and had set it high; and although inthe past eight years many men had been passionatelyconvinced of their ability to satisfy her needs of heart andbrain, not one among them had succeeded in convincing SirJohn Meredith's clear-sighted daughter.

But thought of all these things was far from her as shewatched the moon dip to the jagged peaks that shouldered thestars along the western horizon. The present held her; thefuture beckoned with an encouraging finger; and she had noquarrel with the past.

By now the moon's last rim formed a golden sickle behind ablunt shoulder of rock; while over the eastward levels thetopaz-yellow of an Indian dawn rushed at one stride to thezenith of heaven. In the clear light the girl's beauty tookon a new distinctness, a new living charm. Theupward-sweeping mass of her hair showed the softness ofbronze, save where the sun burnished it to copper. Breadthof brow, and the strong moulding of her nose and chin,suggested powers rather befitting a man than a woman. But inthe eyes and lips the woman triumphed—eyes blue-grey undervery straight brows, and lips that even in repose preserveda rebellious tendency to lift at the corners. From herfather, and a long line of fighting ancestors, Honor hadgotten the large build of a large nature; the notable liftof her head; and the hot blood, coupled with endurance, thatstamps the race current coin across the world.

A jolt of unusual violence, flinging her against thecarriage door, announced conclusively her arrival at thelast of the embryo stations, and straightway the stillnessof dawn was affronted by a riot of life and sound. Men,women, and children, cooking-pots and bundles, overflowed onto the sunlit platform; and through their midst, with adignified aloofness that only flowers to perfection in theEast, Honor Meredith's tallchuprassee [1]made his way to her carriage window. Beside him, in a scarlet coatover full white skirts, cowered the distressed figure of an old ayah,who for twenty years had been a pillar of the household of Meredith.

"Hai, hai, Miss Sahib!" she broke out, lifting wrinkledhands in protest. "How was it possible to sleep in such anight of strange noises, and of many devils let loose; therailgharri [2]itself being the worst devil of them all! Behold, your Honour hathbrought us to an evil country, without water and without food. Acountry of murderers and barefaced women. Not once, since the leavingof Pindi, have I dared close an eyelid lest some unknown evil befallme."

A statement which set her companion smiling under theshelter of his moustache and beard, at thought of the manytimes he had saved her slumbering form from collisionagainst the woodwork of the train. But, with the courtesy ofhis kind, he forebore to discomfort her by mention of suchtrifling details.

"It is necessary to cross the river on foot, Miss Sahib," hesaid: and without more ado Honor fared forth into theuntempered sunlight, closely followed by her two attendants,and a string of half-naked coolies bearing her luggage.

From the dreary little terminus a cart-track sloped to theriver, which at this point sweeps southward with a strongrush of water, its steep banks forming a plateau on eitherhand. The narrow gorge was spanned by a rough bridge ofboats lashed firmly together; and on the farther side Honorfound a lone dak bungalow, its homely dovecot and wheelingpigeons striking a friendly note amid the callousness of thesurrounding country.

An armed orderly, who had been taking his ease in theverandah, sprang smartly to his feet and saluted; and behindhim, on the threshold, a red-bearded khansamah, who mighthave walked straight out of an Old Testament picture-book,proffered obsequious welcome to theMajor Sahib's Miss.Honor bestowed a glance of approval upon her new protector,whose natural endowments were enhanced by the picturesqueuniform of the Punjab Cavalry. A khaki tunic, reachingalmost to his knees, was relieved by heavy steelshoulder-chains and a broad kummerband of red and blue.These colours were repeated in the peaked cap and voluminousturban, while over the kummerband was buckled the severeleathern sword-belt of the West.

The man held out a letter; and Honor, summarily dismissingthe khansamah,—who thrust himself upon her notice with theinsistent meekness of his kind,—passed on into the onesitting-room, with its bare table and half-dozen dilapidatedchairs. Balancing herself on the former, she broke the sealwith impatient fingers, for the sight of her brother'shandwriting gladdened her like a hand-clasp across thirtymiles of space.

Honor read the short letter through twice, then, with lessof elasticity in her step, sought refreshment of mind andbody in the hot water awaiting her in the next room.

An hour later the tonga was well on its way, speeding at ahand-gallop over the dead level of road, with never anincident of shade, or a spear-point of green, to soften theforbidding face of it; with never a sound to shatter thesunlit stillness, save the three-fold sound of theirgoing—the clatter of hoofs, the clank and rattle of thetonga-bar rising and falling to a tune of its own making,and the brazen-throated twang of the horn, which thetonga-drivers of Upper India have elevated to a fine art.

And on either hand, to the utmost limit of vision, lay theemptiness of the desert, bounded by unfriendly hills. Apitiless country, where the line of duty smites the eye atevery turn; the line of beauty being conspicuous only by itsabsence. A country that straightens the back, and strings upnerve and muscle; where men learn to endure hardness, andcarry their lives in their hands with cheerful unconcern,expecting and receiving small credit for either from thosewhose safety they ensure, and who know little, and careless, about matters so scantly relevant to their immediatecomfort or concern.

Honor had elected to sit in front by the strapping Pathandriver; while Parbutti, ayah, her flow of speech frozen atits source by the near neighbourhood of a sword and loadedcarbine, put as much space between the orderly and her ownsmall person as the narrow back-seat of the tonga wouldpermit.

The English girl's eyes had in them now less of dreaminess,and more of thought. The abrupt change in her outlookbrought Evelyn Desmond's pretty, effective figure to theforefront of her mind. For ten years,—the period of Honor'seducation in England,—the two girls had lived and learnedtogether as sisters; and, despite natures radically opposed,a very real love had sprung up between them. They had notmet, however, since Evelyn Dacre's somewhat hasty marriageto Captain Desmond, V.C., a brother officer of JohnMeredith; a soldier of no little promise and distinction,and a true frontiersman, both by heritage and inclination,since every Desmond who came to India went straight to theBorder as a matter of course. Honor knew the man by hearsayonly, but she knew every inch of her friend's character, andthe knowledge gave her food for much interested speculation.There are few things more puzzling than the marriages of ourfriends, unless it be our own.

But after the first stoppage to change horses, Honor flungmeditation to the winds, and turned her eyes and mind uponthe life of the road. For, as day took completer possessionof the heavens, it became evident that life, of a leisurely,intermittent sort, flourished even upon this highway to theother end of nowhere.

A line of camels, strung together like a grotesque livingnecklace, sauntered past, led by a loose-robed Pathan, assupercilious of aspect as the shuffling brutes who bobbedand gurgled in his wake. Or it might be a group ofbullock-carts going down to Kushalghur, to meet consignmentsof stores and all the minor necessaries of life,—for inthose days Kohat was innocent of shops. At rare intervals,colourless mud hamlets—each with its warlikewatch-tower—huddled close to the road as if for company andprotection. Here the monotonous round of life was alreadyastir. Women of a remarkable height and grace, in dark-bluedraperies peculiar to the Frontier, went about their workwith superb movement of untrammelled limbs, and groups ofshiny bronze babies shrilled to the heartsome notes of thetonga-horn. There were also whitewashed policechokhis,[3]where blue-coated, yellow-trousered policemen squatted, andsmoked, and spat, in glorious idleness, from dawn to dusk,and exchanged full-flavoured compliments with the Pathandriver in passing. For the rest there was always thepassionless serenity of the desert, with its crop ofthriftless thorn-bushes, whose berries showed likeblood-drops pricked from the hard heart of the land; andbeyond the desert, looming steadily nearer with every mileof progress, the rugged majesty of the hills.

As the third hour of their journeying drew to an end, asudden vision of green, like an emerald dropped on the drabface of the plain, brought a flush to Honor's cheeks, alight into her eyes.

"It is Kohat, Miss Sahib," the driver announced with acomprehensive wave of his hand.

A breath of ice-cool air came to her from an openwatercourse at the roadside, and the fragrance of a hundredroses from the one beautiful garden in the station thatsurrounded the Deputy-Commissioner's house. They passed fora while between overarching trees, but the glimpse of Edenwas short-lived. At the avenue's end they came abruptly intothe cantonment itself: stony, barren, unlovely, the deadlevel broken here and there by rounded hummocks unworthy tobe called hills. On the east, behind a protective mud-wall,lay the native city; on the north and west, the bungalows ofthe little garrison—flat-roofed, square-shoulderedbuildings, with lizard-haunted slits of windows fifteen feetabove the ground, set in the midst of bare, pebble-strewncompounds; though here and there some fortunate boasted athirsty-looking tree, or a handful of rose-bushes bloomingbravely in this, the Indian month of roses.

At the foot of the highest hummock, crowned with buildingsof uniform ugliness, the tonga-driver drew rein andindicated a steep pathway.

"The bungalow of the Major Sahib is above," he said, "andthe Presence must needs walk."

The Presence did more than walk. In the verandah at thepath's end a tall figure stood awaiting her; and beforeParbutti and the orderly had collected her belongings, shewas in John Meredith's arms.

The remarkable likeness between the two was very apparent asthey stood together thus; though the man's face was marredby ill-health, and by the distressing prominence of hiseye-bones and strongly-marked jaw. He led her into thedining-room with more of lover-like than brother-liketenderness; for despite his forty years no woman had yetdethroned this beautiful sister of his from the foremostplace in his heart.

He set her down at the breakfast-table, himself poured outher tea, and dismissed the kitmutgar as soon as might be,Honor watching him the while with troubled solicitude in hereyes.

"Well, my dear girl, is it likely I'd desert the regiment,and forfeit a year of your good company unless devils withinwere pretty imperative?"

"But you ought to have told us about it sooner, ... me, atany rate. When did you know the decision of the Board?"

"Yesterday. Desmond was with me at the time. I didn't writebefore that about things being uncertain, for fear the goodold man should take fright and whisk you off home. And Ithought that even if I couldn't square the Board, you'd findwaiting out here for me the lesser evil."

"Very much the lesser evil. What a barbarian people at homewould think me if they knew it! And you must go, ... when?"

"Well, ... partially. But when your heavy luggage cameyesterday, it seemed simpler to send it straight to theDesmonds, and that you should settle in and sleep overthere. We're all sitting in one another's pockets here, andyou and I can be together all day, never fear. Will thatarrangement suit your Royal Highness?"

"My Royal Highness is as wax in your hands," she answered,with a swift softening of face and voice. "I won't startbeing autocratic till I get you back again. Only—sit downat once, please. You don't look fit to stand."

"Still, I think we must spare her an hour to-day. Thelittle woman's keen to see you, and I'd like Desmond to feelthat we appreciate his prompt kindness. He'll be down at theLines all the afternoon. It's our day for tent-pegging. Youmight ride down with Mrs Desmond, and bring me news of whatmy men are doing. I'm mad at not being able to be theremyself."

"Dear man! Of course I'll go and find out all about it fromCaptain Desmond. I needn't stay long to do that."

"Ah, that's quite another matter." And he laid a hand uponthe soft abundance of her hair. "Mine is only a two years'contract. And, in any case,I would never allow myself tobe handicapped by a woman—not even by you. But I don't feelso certain about Desmond."

"Poor little Evelyn! Do you mean, ... is there any questionof her really hampering him, ... seriously?"

"As I'm strongly against the whole affair, and have hardlyforgiven him yet for marrying at all, it is fairer for me tosay nothing about her one way or the other. You must judgefor yourself."

CHAPTER II.

I WANT TO BE FIRST.

Sixteen months earlier, Evelyn Dacre—having come out toIndia with a party of tourist friends—had chanced to spendChristmas week at Lahore: a week which brings half thePunjab together for purposes of festivity and sport. Here,by some mysterious process, which no science will ever beable to fathom or explain, she had cast an instantaneous andunaccountable spell over a man of rare singleness ofpurpose, whose heart was set to court action, danger,hardship in every conceivable form: a man for whom agirl-wife fresh out from "Home" seemed as hazardous aninvestment as could well be imagined.

But with all his fine qualities of head and heart, TheoDesmond was little given to cool deliberation in thecritical moments of life. This chance-met girl, fragile as aflower and delicately tinted as a piece of porcelain, fullof enthusiasm for her new surroundings and of a delight halfshy, half spontaneous in the companionship of a man sounlike theblasé, self-centred youths of her limitedexperience, had, for the time being, swept him off his feet.And men are apt to do unaccountable things during thosehot-headed moments when the feet are actually off theground.

A moonlight picnic; an hour of isolated wandering in agarden of tombs; the witchery of the moment; the word toomuch; the glance that lingered to a look;—and theirrevocable was upon them. Desmond had returned to theFrontier, to a circle of silently amazed brother officers;and in less than three months from their time of meeting thetwo had become man and wife.

Honor, having been away in England at the time, had had buta second-hand hearing of the whole affair; and for all thekeenness of her present disappointment, a natural spark ofinterest was aroused in her at the prospect of spending ayear with this unequally yoked husband and wife.

She found her friend awaiting her in the verandah: a mereslip of womanhood, in a grey habit.

"Oh,there you are at last, Honor!" she cried eagerly."It's grand to see you again! I'm dreadfully sorry aboutMajor Meredith—I am, truly. But it's just lovely gettingyou on a long visit like this. Come in and have tea beforewe start."

And taking possession of the girl with both hands, she ledher into the house, talking ceaselessly as she went.

"It's really very charming of you two to be so pleased tohave me," Honor said quietly, as she settled herself,nothing loth, in the spaciousness of Captain Desmond'sfavourite chair. Then, because her head still hummed withthe clatter of travel, she fell silent; following with hereyes the movements of this graceful girl-wife, whoseengaging air of frankness and simplicity was discounted, attimes, by an odd lack of both dimly shadowed in theblue-green eyes.

Evelyn Desmond's eyes were, not without reason, her dearestbit of vanity. The tint of the clear iris suggested seashallows on a day of light cloud—more green than blue; yetwith just enough of the sky's own colour to lend the charmof a constant variability, that harmonised admirably withher iridescent changes of mood.

Honor Meredith, who understood her curious mingling of charmand unsatisfactoriness better than any one else in theworld, noted her afresh, inwardly and outwardly, with theresult that she desired more than ever to know the man whohad been hardy enough to place his life's happiness in thehollow of Evelyn's clinging, incompetent hands.

At this juncture Mrs Desmond sank on to a low stool besideher, set her own cup and plate unceremoniously on thecarpet, and laid a caressing hand upon her knee.

"Itdoes feel like old times," she said. "And I so badlywant to show you to Theo."

"I promised John I would go down just in order to be 'shownto Theo,'" she answered smiling. "But you must put offshowing me to the rest till another day. I'm a little tired:and I can't keep my mind off John for very long just now."

"The very greatest proof imaginable!" Mrs Desmond flung outher hands with a pretty, characteristic gesture. "I'm onlywondering if you know what you've let yourself in for? Ithought India was a lovely placedtill I came here. Theowarned me it wouldn't be a bit like Pindi or Lahore. Butthat didn't seem to matter, so long as I had him. Only I amso seldomable to have him! The regiment swampseverything. The men are always in uniform, and always atit; and the aggravating part is that they actually like thatbetter than anything."

Honor laid her hand over the one that rested on her knee.She saw both sides of the picture with equal vividness.

"What a dire calamity!" she said gently. "I am afraid thaton the Frontier, if a man is keen, his wife is bound tostand second; and if only she will accept the fact, it mustsurely be happier for both in the long-run."

"But I don'twant to accept the fact. I want to be firstalways: and I ought to be. It's easy enough foryou totalk, because you haven't a notion how nice Theo is! Whenyou've married a man like that, and buried yourself in ahowling wilderness because of him, he ought to belong moreto you than to his sacred Frontier Force! But Theo seems tobe the private property of half the regiment! There's hischief friend Major Wyndham, and the Boy, his subaltern, hethinks the world of them; and they seem to live in thehouse. Then there's a tiresome old Ressaldar always comingover to do Persian with him for his Higher Proficiency exam;and I don't find it half amusing to be one of a mixed crowdlike that!"

Her whimsical air of woe disarmed all save the mildestdisapproval. It was one of Evelyn Desmond's unfairadvantages that she always did manage to disarm disapproval,even in her least admirable moments; and the smile deepenedin Honor's eyes.

"It seems to me, Evelyn," she said quietly, "that yourhusband must be a very large-hearted man."

"Yes, I do see; and I am woman enough to sympathise. But itwill do you no harm, dear, to be one of a crowd, and to getout of the glass case you have been kept under ever sinceyou were born. Show me this wonderful Theo now. People'sfaces tell me a great deal, you know; and you have roused mycuriosity."

There were some half-dozen photographs of men, in uniformand out of it, set about the incongruous room; but thegirl's eyes were speedily caught and riveted by afull-length presentment of a Punjab cavalryman, which stood,solitary and conspicuous, on the upright piano. She rose andwent quickly towards it.

"I choose here," she said decisively. "Am I right?" Andseeing that Evelyn nodded, she went on: "What a veryremarkable picture. So extraordinarily alive! One can seehow he hates standing still inside that frame!"

Then she fell into a long silence: for she was a practisedobserver of men and things, and the face before hercompelled attention. The keynote of the whole was vigour:not mere impetuosity, though that was present also, but asustained, indwelling vigour, that keeps endeavour bright.

From the bungalows crowning the mound a bare road slopednorthward to the cavalry lines. Along it the two women rodeat a foot's pace; for Evelyn still had much to say, and thegirl was a notable listener. But even so the parade-groundbelow them came rapidly into view—a level expanse of brownearth, hard as a usurer's heart, varied only by lines offeatureless mud huts, and backed by the dragon's teeth ofthe hills, brown also, save where sharply defined shadowsbroke the prevailing monotony of hue.

But the foreground of this toneless setting vibrated withlife, movement, colour.

Groups of native troopers, in blue belted tunics and turbansof blue and gold, occupied the central space. Englishofficers, in undress uniform, rode to and fro among them,criticising, encouraging, and generally directing the courseof events. In an openshamianah,[4] eight or ten mendivided their attention between a table at the back of thetent and the four ladies of the station, who perforceconverted military events into those friendly gatheringswhich are the mainstay of Anglo-Indian life. Nativeonlookers, of all races and ranks, formed a mosaic border tothe central theme; and a jumble of rollicking Irish airsfrom the Sikh band set Honor's foot tapping the air withbrisk precision.

"Wait, Evelyn," she said. "I would like to see those fourPathans take the pegs from here. One gets the effect betterfrom rising ground."

And Evelyn, whose knowledge of effects was limited to hatsand hairdressing, drew rein obediently, her eyes probing thecrowd for the one figure, to whom the rest were mereaccessories, and rather troublesome accessories at that.

But Honor's eyes and mind were set upon the four Pathansdrawn up in line at the starting-point, the sunlightflashing from their lance-heads, and from every link ofeight steel shoulder-chains; their faces inscrutable; theireyes points of living fire. A pathway of straw softened theground for galloping, and in the midst of it four pegsawaited the furious onset.

The horses, all eagerness to be off, tossed impatient heads,straining impotently at the tightened rein. On a given wordthey sprang forward with a thundering rush of hoofs,swooping down upon the pegs at lightning speed, the men'sfaces level with the flying manes, their lance-headsskimming the ground. Followed the stirring moment of impact,the long-drawn shout, steadily rising to a yell of triumph,as four lances whirled aloft, each bearing the covetedmorsel of wood spiked through the centre.

The girl drew a deep breath, and her face glowed with thatpagan exultation in bodily strength and prowess, which allthe refining fires of civilisation will never burn out ofthe human heart. But as she turned with praise on her lips,Evelyn leaned eagerly towards her.

A man on a superb bay "waler" had detached himself from thecrowd, and was coming towards them at a swinging trot,sitting the horse as though he were part of the animal.Honor realised at a glance that here was that stimulatingthing, a positive personality alive to the finger-tips,realised also with what success the photographer had caughtand rendered the living essence of the man. Desmond was darkas his wife was fair, though a hint of chestnut in hismoustache, and a peculiar light in the hazel-grey eyes,suggested fire not far below the surface. The whole face wasstamped with that sovereign quality of sympathy which, evenin a world of failure, never fails of its reward.

His wife effected an introduction in her own ingenuousfashion. "There, Theo, ... this is Honor, that you haveheard so much about."

"I'm uncommonly glad to meet you, Miss Meredith," he said;but before Honor could reply Evelyn made haste to interpose.

"Theo, ... I can't have you calling her Miss Meredith!She's just like my sister, and you must simply be Honor andTheo, ... d'you see?"

"Perhaps you'll allow us to shake hands first," hesuggested, and the friendliness of his grasp dispelled thesense of isolation that weighed upon the girl at thought ofher brother's departure.

"They were your brother's men. Wish he could have seen them.He's so tremendously keen. They've tied with my Sikhs, sothere'll be an exciting finish. Won't you come down and seeit out?"

"I think not, thanks, if it doesn't seem unfriendly. Ireally only came because John and Evelyn wished it, just tomake your acquaintance and see how things were going, and Iwould honestly like to go straight back to him now, ... if Imay. He said you would understand."

"He was right. I'll see you to the gate myself. Go on downto theshamianah, Ladybird, the Boy is looking out foryou. I'll not be gone long."

"I am afraid the Major's news must have been rather a shockto you, Miss Meredith," Desmond went on, as their horsesmounted the slope. "But we've all been expecting it thislong while. He takes too little leave and steadily overworkshimself, ... that's the truth. But then, ... you should seewhat he's done for the regiment in the last ten years!"

The spark of enthusiasm in the man's tone struck ananswering spark from his companion.

"That's the true way to look at it," she declared warmly."So many people simply call him a fool. It's the fashion tosneer at enthusiasm in these days."

"We don't sneer at it in this part of the world," Desmondreplied with quiet emphasis. "I see now why the Major said Ishould find you the right sort for the Frontier and a helpto ... my Evelyn. I have transplanted her to a very roughsoil, I only hope she's fit to stand it."

"I think so. She has been too carefully sheltered tillnow; and it's just a matter of adapting herself to freshconditions. You may count on me to do all I can for herwhile I am here."

"Your name is sufficient guarantee for that!" he answeredsimply; and the implied compliment to her brother quickenedevery pulse in her body.

They parted at Major Meredith's gate, Desmond promising toreport the result of the final contest on his way home; andthe girl sat watching him thoughtfully till a dip in theroad hid him from view.

CHAPTER III.

THE BIG CHAPS.

Honor woke early, springing from dreamless sleep to alertwakefulness, as is the way of vivid natures, and the firstsight that greeted her was the huddled form of Parbutti, herchin between her knees, her dark eyes bright and watchful.

Honor's smile was answered by a flash of light across theold woman's face as she arose and salaamed to the ground.

"Behold, while the Miss Sahib slept like a little child, Ihave laid out the riding-gear as of custom, and now I go toprepare theterail [5] forchota hazri.[6]They are not ill folk in this compound, Hazúr; and there goes but oneword among them, that our Sahib is a diamond fit for a king's turban,understanding the heart of black men, giving no shame words, neithersmiting with his foot as do many officer-sahibs. It is well for us,who come strangers to a country of murderers, to be of the householdof such a Sahib. Nay, then, child of my heart, I will cease from idletalk, ... it is an order. Doth not my pearl and the light of my lifeawait her chota hazri?"

And the old woman, whose garrulity was as dust in thebalance when weighed against twenty years of faithfulservice, shuffled out of the room.

Half an hour later Honor was in the saddle—a gallant figurein well-cut brown habit and white helmet, the sunlightfinding out gleams of bronze in her abundant hair, while allabout her shone the uncompromising blue and gold of amid-March morning—fresh without sharpness, and fragrantwith the ethereal fragrance of dawn.

She followed the downward road, noting a landmark here andthere for guidance. Her delight was in the rhythm ofmovement; in the waiting stillness of earth and sky; themomentous pause between all that has been, and all thatshall be, which gives a dramatic sense of responsibility tothe day's first hours.

Her eyes rejoiced in the least detail of form and light andcolour; in the signs of reviving life; the alert ubiquitoussentries, the sharp alternations of sun and shadow on hillsnaked and unpromising as the harsh face of poverty; hillsthat for all time have had but one gift for the giving—"notpeace, but a sword." From the cavalry Lines behind her thetrumpet call to "stables" set the blood stirring in herveins, with that peculiar thrill which no other instrumentcan produce. The very spirit of battle breathes in thesound.

An expectant interest glowed within her like a star. It washer great good-fortune to be blessed with that poeticunderstanding which is neither deceived by custom nor dulledby repetition, which sees all things—even the mostfamiliar—virginally fresh, as on the morning of creation.

Her random wanderings brought her to a stretch ofun-metalled road, and at the road's edge, some few hundredyards away a man on a white horse had drawn rein at sight ofher. Instantly her thought alighted on Evelyn's husband, butnearer view revealed a different type of man—taller, andequally erect, yet lacking in the suggestion of force andvirility that emanated from Captain Desmond, even in repose.With a rapidity born of much practice Honor took stock ofhim, from his helmet to his boots, as he sat awaiting her,with a coolness which at once amused her and piqued herinterest. A slim square chin, indeterminate colouring, andeyes of a remarkable thoughtfulness under very level brows,went to make up a satisfying, if not very striking whole.

"A modest, understanding sort of man," was Honor's mentalverdict. "A student every inch of him. I wonder how in theworld he comes to be a soldier."

By this time Dilkusha had been drawn up, and the man whoought not to have been a soldier was saluting her with asingularly charming smile, that began in the eyes, and brokeup the gravity of the face as sunshine breaks up a cloud.

"You must be Miss Meredith," he said. "One doesn't meet anew face haphazard in Kohat, and ... you are wonderfullylike your brother. I am Major Wyndham. You may have heardthe name?"

"You couldn't give a completer description of me! I hear youare to put up with them till Meredith comes back."

"Yes. They have been quite charming about it, and I am soglad not to be driven away from the Frontier at once. I havebeen longing to get to it for years."

He watched her while she spoke, his quietly observant eyesmissing no detail of her face.

"And now you have got here, I wonder how it will strike youafter the imposing official circles of Simla and Lahore.You'll find none of the 'beer and skittles' of the countryup here. But the Frontier has its own fascination all thesame; especially when a man has the spirit of it in hisblood. Desmond, for instance, wouldn't give a brass farthingfor life out of sight of those hard-featured hills. Do youknow him and his wife at all?"

"I never saw him till yesterday, except in the distance atpolo matches. But I have known her since she was quite achild."

"And I have known Desmond since he was thirteen. Rather odd!You can't fail to be good friends withhim Miss Meredith."

"Are you as rabid as my brother and the Colonel because thepoor man has dared to marry?" she asked, with an incurabledirectness which to some natures was a stumbling-block, andto others her chiefest charm. "It seems to be a part of theregimental creed."

"It is. And I subscribe to it ...as a creed. But mybelief has not yet been tried in the fire. Desmond is thekeenest soldier I know; yet he has seen fit to marry. I havean immense faith in him, and, whatever others may think, Iprefer to reserve my judgment."

"If only a few more of us had the wisdom to do that," thegirl said softly. "How much easier life would be for everyone!"

"I have a notion that life isn't meant to be easy," he said."And the fact remains that Meredith and the Colonel areright in principle. Few men are strong enough to stand thestrain of being pulled two ways at once, and marriage isbound to be a grave risk for a man whose heart is set onsoldiering—Frontier soldiering above all. But then Desmondloves a risk better than anything else in life."

"I must be going on now," he added. "But no doubt we shallmeet again soon. I am constantly over at the bungalow."

His thoughts as he went hovered about the girl. The merepicture she left upon his brain was not one to be lightlyset aside by a man with an ardent eye for the beautiful, anda spirit swift to discern those hidden elements which gaveto Honor Meredith's beauty its distinctive quality andcharm.

Some men are born with a genius for looking on at life, aform of genius not to be despised. They are of the type fromwhich great naturalists, great philosophers are made; menquick to perceive, slow to assert; men whose large patiencerests upon freedom from the fret of personal desire. Of suchwas Paul Wyndham, and in his accepted rôle of onlooker hefell to pondering upon the new element in his own immediatedrama.

If only Desmond had chosen for his helpmate such a girl asMiss Meredith, how different might have been the regiment'sfeelings in regard to the unwelcome fact of his marriage.Yet Wyndham was aware of an instant recoil from the idea,aware that he personally preferred matters as they stood.With which conclusion he spurred his horse to a canter, asthough he could thus outrun the quickened current of thoughtand feeling which this unlooked-for meeting had set stirringin his brain.

Meantime Honor Meredith had fallen in with another member ofher newly-adopted family:—a big, raw-boned Irishwoman, whowore her curling reddish hair cropped short, answered to thename of "Frank," and dressed chronically in a serviceableskirt and covert coat, and a man's shikarri helmet. Whenriding, the skirt was replaced by that of a country-madehabit; and in the simplest evening gown this large-featured,large-hearted woman stood a martyr confessed. For ten yearsshe had been the only woman in a regiment of swornbachelors; had nursed her "brother officers" whenever needarose; had shared their interests, their hardships, theiramusements; till,—in the symbolism of the India sheloved,—they and the regiment had become "her father and hermother, her people and her God."

At sight of Honor she hurried her grey country-bred acrossthe road, and held out a square, loosely-gloved hand.

"It's bound to be Miss Meredith!" she exclaimed, in apronounced brogue, with a flash of white even teeth—hersole claim to beauty. "It's very welcome you are to Kohatand to the regiment. I'm Frank Olliver, ... CaptainOlliver's wife. I'll turn now and ride back a bit of the waywith you. Then we can talk as we go. 'Tis the worst of badluck about your brother. When'll he be leaving?"

"In four or five days. He moves across into our bungalowthis morning. It was splendid of Captain Desmond to think ofit."

"Ah, Theo's just made that way!" Then, noting a glimmer ofsurprise in Honor's face, her wide smile shone out oncemore. "Is it shocked you are because I speak of him so?Well, ... truth is, I'm a privileged person since I pulledhim through typhoid seven years ago, when by rights heshould have died. I'm a rare hand, anyway, at dropping theformalities with them that suit me taste. Though, by thesame token, I've taken no liberties with little Mrs Desmondyet. It's queer. We don't seem to get much further with her;though we'd be glad enough to do it for Theo's sake. Youmustn't mind straight speech from me, Miss Meredith. Sure Imust have been born with the whole truth in me mouth, for asfast as I open me lips a bit of it slips out. I'll befinding she's your half-sister, or first cousin, or somesuch thing!"

Honor laughed outright. It would clearly be impossible totake amiss anything that this woman might choose to say. Thekindliness of her soul shone through her plain face, likesunlight through a window-pane.

"Her mother is a distant connection of ours," the girladmitted frankly. "And we were brought up for a time likesisters. It must have been rather a startling change for herfrom a country town at home to a Border station; and she isvery young still, and very devoted to her husband."

"She is that, ... after a queer fashion of her own. ButTheo's bound to make his mark on the Frontier, like hisfather before him; and you know the proverb, 'He travels thefastest who travels alone.' Tis hardly meself, though, thatshould be upholding such a saying as that!"

"No, indeed! No woman ought to uphold it. And, after all,"Honor added, with a very becoming touch of seriousness,"there may be better things for a man than to travel fast.He may learn more by travelling slowly, don't you think? AndI should imagine that fast or slow, Captain Desmond is boundto arrive in the end—Now I must turn in here, and see ifJohn is awake. I'll come and see you when he is gone. I canspare no time for any one else till then!"

"You're just a brick, Miss Meredith," she declared withready Irish warmth. "An' 'twas a fine wind indeed thatcarried you up to Kohat."

Honor found her hand enclosed in a grasp as strong as aman's; and three minutes later Mrs Olliver—whose seat on ahorse was as ungainly as her hand on its mouth wasperfect—had become a mere speck on the wide sunlit road.

Honor entered the hall of her new home pondering manythings. She laid aside her sun helmet, and in obedience tothe promptings of her interested soul turned her stepstoward the drawing-room.

The door was ajar, and passing between the looped gold andwhitephulkaris, she came to a standstill; for the roomwas not empty.

Captain Desmond, in undress uniform, sat at the piano withhis back towards her. His white helmet lay, spike downward,on the carpet; and an Aberdeen terrier—ears rigidly erect,head tilted at a critical angle—sat close beside it,watching his master with intent eyes, in which all thewisdom and sorrow of the ages seemed writ.

While the girl hesitated on the threshold, Desmond struck asuccession of soft chords in a minor key; and she stoodspellbound, determined to hear more. Music was no mereaccomplishment to her, but a simple necessity of life; andthis man possessed that rare gift of touch, which no masterin the world can impart, because it is a produce neither ofhand nor brain, but of the player's individual soul.Desmond's fingers were unpractised, but he gave every noteits true value; and he played slowly, as though composingeach chord as it came, or building it up from memory. It wasalmost as if he were thinking aloud; and Honor had justdecided that she really had no business to be overhearinghis thoughts, when an apprehensive "woof" from the Aberdeenbrought them suddenly to an end.

Desmond swung round upon the music-stool, and at sight ofher sprang up hastily, a dull flush showing through his tan.

"So I was. I only came in this minute. Won't you let me heara little more, please?"

"I never play to any one ... except Rob, who, being a ScotsCovenanter, disapproves on principle."

"I call that selfish. It's such a rare treat to hear a manplay well. I was delighted when you began. I thought pianoswere unheard of up here."

"Well, ... they are hardly a legitimate item in a Frontierofficer's equipment! This one was ... my mother's," he laida hand on the instrument, as though it had been the shoulderof a friend. "The fellows sat upon me, I assure you, when Ibrought it out. Told me it was worse than a wife. But I'vecarried my point, ... wife and all. And now, perhaps youwill reward me,—if I haven't been too ungracious to deserveit?"

"How do you know I play?" she asked, smiling. She liked hisimpetuosity of movement and speech.

"No need to put it that way here, Miss Meredith. A sonata,please. The Pathetic."

She sat down to the piano with a little quickening of thebreath and let her fingers rest a moment on the keyboard.Then—sudden, crisp, and vigorous came the crash of theopening chord.

Honor Meredith's playing was of a piece with her ownnature—vivid, wholesome, impassioned. Her supple fingersdrew the heart out of each wire. Yet she did not find itnecessary to sway her body to and fro; but sat square andupright, her head a little lifted, as though evolving themusic from her soul.

Desmond listened motionless to the opening bars; then, witha long breath of satisfaction, moved away, and fell topacing the room.

The Scots Covenanter, scenting the joyful possibility ofescape, trotted hopefully to heel: but, being a dog ofdiscernment, speedily detected the fraud, and retired to thehearth-rug in disgust. Thence he scrutinised his master'sirrational method of taking exercise, unfeigned contempt inevery line of him, from nose-tip to tail.

The sonata ended, Honor let her hands fall into her lap,and sat very still. She had lost all thought of hercompanion in the joy of interpretation; but Desmond's voiceat her side recalled her to reality.

"Thank you," he said. "I haven't heard it played likethat... for five years. If you can do much of this sort of thingyou'll find me insatiable. We're bound to be good friends atthis rate, and I see no reason why we should not comply withLadybird's request to us. Do you, ... Honor?"

She started and flushed at the sound of her name; thenturned her clear eyes full upon him, the shadow of a smilelifting the rebellious corners of her mouth.

"No. Only to ... 'go slow,' if you'll forgive the expressiveslang. It's so much wiser in the long-run."

"Is it? Bad luck for me. I've never managed it yet, and Idoubt if I ever shall. The men of my squadron call meBijli-wallah Sahib,[7] and I didn't earn the name by goingslow, ... Miss Meredith. If I have been overbold, your musicwas to blame. But Ladybird seemed to wish it; and, believeme, I didnot mean it to seem like impertinence. Why,there she is herself, bless her; and we're neither of usready for breakfast!"

CHAPTER IV.

ESPECIALLY WOMEN.

The afternoon sunlight flung lengthening shadows across thecavalry Lines, where men and native officers alike werehoused in mud-plastered huts, innocent of windows; and wherelife was beginning to stir anew after the noontidetranquillity of the East.

The eighty horses of each troop stood, picketed with amplelengths of head and heel rope, between the lines of hutsoccupied by their sowars; while at the permanently opendoorways squatted the men themselves,—Sikhs,Punjabi-Mahomedans, Pathans, each troop composed entirely ofone or the other,—smoking, gambling, or putting finaltouches to their toilet in the broad light of day. Thenative officers alone aspired to a certain degree ofprivacy. Their huts were detached a little space from thosethat guarded the horses; and flimsy walls of grass matting,set around them, imparted a suggestion of dignity andaloofness from the common herd.

The hut of Jemadar Alla Dad Khan, of the Pathan troop ofDesmond's squadron, boasted just such a matting wall, with agateless gateway, even as in the bungalows of Sahibs; andwithinsides all was very particularly set in order. Therewas an air of festivity in the open courtyard, on eitherside of which lay two smoke-grimed rooms, that made up theentire house.

For this was a red-letter day in the eyes of the Jemadar,and of Fatma Bibi, his wife, who had spent a full hour inadorning her plump person, and emphasising its charmsaccording to the peculiar methods of the East. That done,she came forth into the sunlight, attired as becomes aMahomedan woman who is expecting a visit of ceremony. Aboveher mysteriously draped trousers she wore a sleeveless coat,adorned with crescent-shaped pockets and a narrow goldbraid. Asari [8] of gold-flecked muslin was draped overher head and shoulders, and beneath it her heavily oiledhair made a wide triangle of her forehead. The scarlet ofbetel-nut was upon her lips; the duskiness of kol shadowedher lashes. Ornaments of glass and silver encircled her neckand arms, and were lavishly festooned around her delicateears.

Her entire bearing exhaled satisfied vanity like a perfume,as she sat at ease upon a barecharpoy [9] watching herhusband's preparations for the expected guests.

He was arrayed in full-dress uniform, even to the twocherished medals on his chest; and his appearance sortedstrangely with the peaceful nature of his occupation.

In the midst of the courtyard he had set forth—not withouta secret glow of pride—as exact an imitation of the Sahibs'"afternoon tea" as his limited knowledge and resources wouldpermit. From the mess khansamah he had borrowed a japannedtea-tray that had seen much service, a Rockingham teapot,chipped at the spout, two blue-rimmed cups and saucers, andhalf a dozen plates, which last he had set round the tableat precisely equal distances from each other. Two of themwere left empty for the use of his guests, and the otherfour were piled with dainties suitable for so high anoccasion—sugar-topped biscuits (beloved of nativesthroughout the land), raw pistachio nuts, Cabul grapes andoranges. Then, because the central space had a barrenaspect, the sugar-bowl was promoted to the place of honourfor lack of a more suitable adornment.

The only two chairs the courtyard contained were setopposite to one another, and it was uplifting to reflectthat in a short time they would be occupied by his captain'sown Memsahib and the Generailly Sahib's Miss, they having,of their great condescension accepted his hospitality by thegracious favour of the Captain Sahib himself.

"According to this fashion, are all things made ready, OFatma Bibi, when there is a tea-drinking in the bungalows ofSahibs," he announced, for the enlightenment of his wife,who had seen little of the world beyond the four mud wallsroofed by her private patch of sky, and therefore could notbe expected to have accurate acquaintance with themysterious ways of Sahibs.

Fatma Bibi acknowledged the information with just such a nodas a mother might bestow on a contented child. Despite herlimited experience of the outer world, she knew herself manydegrees wiser than her husband in matters of far greatermoment than the setting out of a few plates and cups afterthe manner of the Sahib-log, who, in respect of food andfeeding are completely and comprehensively "without sense,"as all India knows.

"Bear in mind also," the man went on, sublimely unconsciousof his wife's indulgent attitude, "that the Memsahib knoweththe simplest words of Hindostani only; but Meredith MissSahib will render our speech unto her, making all thingsclear. Behold—they come."

The sound of hoofs, and the thud of a "dandy" set downoutside confirmed his words; and not many minutes later theJemadar ushered two Englishwomen into the presence of hiswife,—Evelyn, looking more flower-like than usual, in amany-frilled gown of creamy muslin and a big simple hat tomatch.

"By the goodness of the Captain Sahib's heart my house ishonoured beyond deserving," the man gave them greeting asthey crossed the threshold, while Fatma Bibi's eyes restedin frank curiosity upon the exceeding whiteness andsimplicity of the English "Mem," whose appearance was sodirect a contrast to her own.

"Without doubt these women ofBelait [10]possess no true beauty," she assured herself, with a nod ofsatisfaction, as she resumed her seat and the new-comers acceptedtheir appointed chairs.

It was a strange meal, and Evelyn Desmond was, in allrespects, the least happy of the oddly assorted quartette.She made a conscientious, if not very successful, effort todrink the pale block tea, and eat the strange mixture offoods pressed upon her by the Jemadar, who would obviouslyfeel disheartened if his guests did not empty all fourplates at a sitting. Nor was this the least of her troubles.Fatma Bibi's valiant attempts at conversation filled herwith a bewilderment and discomfort, bordering on irritation.In an impulse of childish wickedness, she caught herselfwishing heartily that Theo had never seen fit to distinguishhimself by saving the Jemadar's life.

She looked enviously across the table at Honor, who, by afew spontaneous questions, set both at their ease. She spokeof her father, and the man's face glowed.

"How should men forget the Generailly Sahib, who have beheldhim, as did we of theRissalar,[11] in war time, leadingmen and horses and guns through the terrible mountaincountry beyond Peshawur? We that serve the British Raj, MissSahib, are not men of ready tongue; but our hearts are slowto forget."

In proof thereof, the good Jemadar—his tongue effectuallyunloosed for the moment—regaled his guests with tale upontale of bygone raids and murders and of swift retributionmeted out by those watch-dogs of the Border, the PunjabFrontier Force; tales set forth with the Oriental touch ofexaggeration which lent colour to a narrative alreadysufficiently inspiring.

"These things have I seen, Miss Sahib," he concluded, witha sudden deepening of his voice, "and these things have Idone, through the godlike courage of my Captain SahibBahadur"—the man saluted on the words—"who, in thebeginning of my service, when I lay wounded almost to thedeath, amid bullets that fell like hail, bore me to safetyon his own shoulders, earning thereby the Victoria Crossthat he weareth even now. True talk, Hazúr. Among all theofficer Sahibs of Hind, and I have seen more than a few,there be none like unto my Captain Sahib for courage andgreatness of heart."

"Do come away, Honor. I've eaten queer things enough to giveme indigestion for a week; and I can't understand a word anyone is saying. What was he getting so excited about justnow?"

"Something that must make you feel a very proud woman,Evelyn," the girl answered; and with a thrill in her lowvoice she translated the man's last words.

Mrs Desmond flushed softly; praise of her husband being onlya few degrees less acceptable than praise of herself.

"It sounds very magnificent," she agreed, withoutenthusiasm, "but I daresay he doesn't really mean half ofit. These natives never do. Anyway, please say the politeand proper things and let's get home as soon as possible.I'm sure we've done enough to satisfy even Theo by thistime."

And Honor, who would fain have listened to their host foranother half-hour, had no choice but to obey.

"Why, Evelyn," she said, as they left the striped sun andshadow of the lines, "you never told me that Captain Desmondwon his V.C. by saving the Jemadar's life. I want to hearall about it, please."

"You probably know as much as I do. Theo neverwill tellabout himself. Besides, in my own heart, I think he wasrather foolish to risk getting killed several times overjust for the sake of anative." The scorn that some fewAnglo-Indians never lose lurked in her tone. "Of course it'svery nice for him to have the V.C., and I suppose he thoughtit was worth while just for that. But I hope he won't go infor anymore things of that sort. There'sme to beconsidered now."

Such peculiar views on the subject of heroism smote Honor tosilence, and with a hurried murmur that Dilkusha seemedimpatient to get home she set the mare into a trot.

Arrived in the cool dimness of her own drawing-room, EvelynDesmond sank gratefully into a chair, her skirts billowingsoftly about her.

"How refreshing it is here, after that glaring courtyard!This place is getting too hot already. Ido wish Theowould let me go to Simla again this year. Last season theWalters asked him to let me join them; and it was simplylovely. Though I didn't half like leaving him behind; and Isuppose I shan't like it much this year either."

"Then why go at all?" suggested practical Honor. "You're notobliged to. Surely Mrs Olliver stays?"

"Mrs Olliver! She's not a woman! She's a RegimentalInstitution. I can't thinkwhat the men see in her to makesuch a fuss about! A plain, badly-made Irishwoman, whodresses abominably. And she's much too casual with all ofthem—especially with Theo, even if shedid save his lifefrom typhoid fever."

Honor made no immediate reply. It was only charitable tosuppose that an overdose of sunshine and block tea wasresponsible for the note of irritation in Evelyn's tone.

"I suppose you think I ought to imitate her," Mrs Desmondwent on, after an expectant pause. "Kohat is hateful enoughin the cold weather, and with heat and cholera, and fliesadded, it would kill me outright! Besides, I don't believe aman loves one any better for that sort of thing in the end.He probably gets horribly bored, and doesn't like to say so.Besides—Theoprefers me to go, hesaid so; and thatsettles everything quite comfortably for us both. By theway, I've been planning a sort of introduction picnic foryou, only that stupid tea-party put it out of my head. I'llmake out a list of people at once and send the invitationsout this evening."

She crossed over to her bureau, which, apart from the piano,was the only piece of furniture the room contained that inEngland would be considered worthy of the name.

While she sat absorbed in her congenial task, Desmondentered equipped for polo, and after a few words with Honorwent over to his wife.

He ran his eye down the list of guests—twelve in all. Atsight of the last two names—Mr Kresney, Miss Kresney—hefrowned sharply, and taking up his wife's discarded pencilran a broad black line through both.

"What did you dothat for?" she demanded, a ring ofdefiance in her voice. "I want to ask the Kresneys; and Iwill—all the same."

"Why? What's wrong with them, Theo? They're quite decentpeople, as far as I can see."

"Which doesn't prove that you can see very far! You mustjust take my word for it, that whatever else they may be,the Kresneys are not our sort at all."

"I suppose you really mean they're not up toFrontierCavalry form!" she retorted, not without a thrill of fearat her own daring; for the pride of the Frontier Force is adeeply-rooted pride; and, considering its records, notunjustifiable after all.

Desmond's eyes flashed fire, and a sharp retort rose to hislips. But, after a brief silence, he answered his wife witha restraint that spoke volumes to the girl at the tea-tablebehind him.

"Your taunt is unjust and untrue. In a general way we acceptmost people for what they are, out here. But one has to drawthe line somewhere, even in India. If I wereDeputy-Commissioner, the Kresneys would be asked along withthe rest. But, in my position, I am free to makedistinctions. And I have very good reasons for not askingKresney to an informal picnic of my particular friends. Onneutral ground, such as the club, or the tennis-courts, Ihave nothing to say; though I should naturally feel pleasedif you considered my wishes a little in this matter."

"Well, then, why can't you considermine a little too? Itold Miss Kresney about it, and she's expecting to come."

"I'm sorry for that; I don't want to hurt the girl'sfeelings. But you can't take people up just for once andignore them afterwards. The truth is, they both see plainlyenough that you haven't quite got the hang of things outhere yet, and they are naturally taking full advantage ofthe fact."

"They'renot!" she protested wrathfully. "And it's horridof you to say such things! They like me, I don't see why Ishouldn't be nice to them. Besides, this ismy picnic—Iplanned it—and ifI'm the hostess I can ask who Iplease." The touch of young importance that sounded throughthe petulance of her tone dispelled the last shadow ofDesmond's annoyance and set him smiling.

"Why, of course, Ladybird—within reasonable limits. Butafter all, the hospitality offered is mine; and what's more,the hostess is mine into the bargain!"

He laid his hand lightly against the rose-flush of hercheek, but she jerked it impatiently aside.

"Oh, well, if you will take it that way," he said, in a toneof resigned weariness, and turning abruptly on his heel cameacross to Honor, whose cheeks were almost as hot as Evelyn'sown.

"I'm glad Alla Dad Khan made himself interesting thisafternoon," he remarked conversationally. "RessaldarRajinder Singh, who commands my Sikh troop, is very anxiousto come and pay his respects some day soon. You see, as yourfather's daughter and the Major's sister you are a ratherspecial person for us all. But I must be off now. Thefellows will be waiting. I'll arrange about the Sirdarto-morrow."

On the threshold he paused and looked towards his wife, whostill sat with her back to the room, her head supported onher hand.

She acknowledged the words with a scarcely perceptiblemovement, and a few minutes later the rattle of hoofs on theroad came sharply to their ears.

Still no answer; only, after a short silence, Evelyn roseand faced her friend. Then Honor saw that her cheeks werewet and her eyes brimming with tears.

It is to be feared that her first sensation was one of pureannoyance. Evelyn thoroughly deserved a scolding: and hereshe was, as usual, disarming rebuke by her genuine distress.

"My dear child, what nonsense! He'll come back safe enough.You don't deserve that he should be so patient with you—youdon't indeed!"

Evelyn looked up at her with piteous drowned eyes, whoseexpression had the effect of making Honor feel altogether inthe wrong.

"He shouldn't have made such disagreeable remarks about meand the Kresneys, then," she said brokenly. "All the same, Iwanted to speak to him. But—I was crying, and I couldn'tmake a scene—withyou there. And now—if anything happensto him, and—I never see him again,—it'll be allyourfault!"

With that finely illogical conclusion she swept out of theroom, leaving Honor serenely unimpressed by her own share inthe impending tragedy, yet not a little troubled at thoughtof the man who, for the rest of his natural life, lay at themercy of such bewildering methods of reasoning.

CHAPTER V.

AN EXPURGATED EDITION.

The Kresneys looked in vain for the coveted invitation, andthe trifling circumstance loomed largely on their narrowhorizon.

Owen Kresney possessed in a high degree that talent fordiscovering or inventing slights which is pride of race runcrooked, and reveals the taint of mixed blood in a man'sveins. As District Superintendent of Police he had relievedhis predecessor in the middle of the hot weather. His sisterbeing at Mussoorie, he had arrived alone; and, in accordancewith the friendly spirit of the Frontier, had been made anhonorary member of the station Mess, where he had foundhimself very much a stranger in a strange land.

The man's self-conceit was unlimited; his sense of humournil; and in less than a month he had been unanimouslyvoted a "pukka[12] bounder" by that isolated community of Englishmen, who played ashard as they worked, and invariably "played the game"; a code ofmorals which had apparently been left out of Kresney's desultoryeducation. The fact revealed itself in a hundred infinitesimal ways,and each revelation added a fresh stone to the wall that sprang upapace between himself and his companions.

Among them all Desmond and Wyndham represented, in thehighest degree, those unattainable attributes which Kresneywas secretly disposed to envy; and his narrow soul solaceditself by heartily detesting their possessors. This abilityto recognise the highest without the least desire to reachit, breeds more than half the pangs of envy, hatred, andmalice that corrode the lesser natures of earth. But therewere also, in Kresney's case, personal and particularreasons which served to nourish these microbes of the soul.

Toward the close of the hot weather the man's growingunpopularity had been established by an incident at Mess,which brought him into such sharp contact with Desmond as hewas not likely to forget.

There had been a very small party at dinner. Several of theolder men were absent on leave, and three were on the sicklist, no uncommon occurrence in Frontier stations. Thus ithad chanced that Desmond was the senior officer present.

The wine had already been round twice when the sound of alady's name, spoken in passing, had diverted Kresney'sattention from his own dissatisfied thoughts.

It chanced that he had met this same lady at Murree a yearago, and that she had roundly snubbed his advances towardsintimacy. The unexpected mention of her name revived thatsense of injury which smoulders in such natures like a livecoal; and on the same instant awoke the desire to hit backwith the readiest weapon available.

Forgetful of the restriction imposed by the rigid code ofthe mess-table, he launched the first disparaging commentthat sprang to his mind.

Directly the sentence was out, he could have bitten his owntongue for pure vexation.

It fell crisp and clear into a chasm of silence, as adropped pebble plashes into a well.

The stillness lasted nearly a minute, and while it lastedKresney felt the fire of Desmond's glance through hislowered lids. Then some one hazarded a remark, and theincident was submerged in a renewed tide of talk.

When dinner broke up, with a general movement towards theante-room, Kresney became aware that Desmond was at hisside.

"You will be good enough to come into the verandah withme," he had said in a tone of command; and Kresney, feelingignominiously like a chidden schoolboy, had had no choicebut to obey.

Before that brief interview was ended, the man had heard thetruth about himself for the first time in his life, with thesole result that he registered in his heart an unquenchablehatred of the speaker.

But Desmond had been in no mood just then to reckon withafter-results. All the inborn chivalry of the man was up inarms, less against the spoken words than against the pettyspite underlying them—the cowardly hit at a woman powerlessto defend herself. In an unguarded moment he gave full ventto the scorn and disgust that consumed him, and lashed theman without mercy.

Then—realising the utter inability to alter the other'speculiar point of view—natural magnanimity checked hisimpetuous outburst:

"I don't know whether you are aware," he said, "that afterto-night I should be justified in asking the Mess Presidentto remove your name from the list of Honorary Members. Butthat is rather a strong measure, and I decided instead tospeak a few straight words to you myself. If they've been atrifle too straight, I am sorry. But remarks of the kind youmade this evening are inadmissible at a mess-table; or, forthat matter, at any other table where—gentlemen arepresent. Now, if you give me your word to keep the rules ofthe Mess strictly in future, I will give you mine that thisincident shall never be mentioned to any one by me, or byany one of the fellows here to-night."

Kresney had given the required promise none too graciously.But his effort at perfunctory thanks stuck in his throat;nor did Desmond appear to expect them. With a briefreassurance in respect of his own silence he turned backinto the Mess; and there, so far as externals went, theincident had ended.

Yet, on this still March evening, as Kresney strolled backand forth on his narrow verandah, enjoying an after-dinnercigar, every detail of that detested interview darted acrosshis memory for the hundredth time, like a lightning-streakacross a cloud. Wounded, in the most susceptible part of hisnature, Kresney saw no reason to deny himself thesatisfaction of hitting back. Whatever may have been hisprinciples in regard to debts in general, he wasscrupulously punctilious in settling debts ofmalice,—indirectly, if possible; and in this instancepersonal antipathy added zest to the mere duty of repayment.

Very early in the cold weather Kresney had become aware thatan effective weapon lay ready to his hand, and had taken itup without scruple or reluctance. Evelyn Desmond's naturallack of discernment, her blindness to the subtleimpertinence of flattery, and her zeal for tennis—a gameseldom patronised by cavalrymen,—had worked all togetherfor good; and Kresney had gone forward accordingly, nothingloth.

He had looked to the riding picnic to mark a definite stepin advance, and Mrs Desmond's intention of inviting them wasbeyond doubt. Remained the inference that Desmond had usedeither authority or persuasion to prevent it.

The idea stirred up all the dregs of the man's soul. Asudden bitterness overwhelmed him—a sense of the futilityof attempting to strike at a man so obviously favoured bythe gods; a man who held his head so resolutely above theminor trivialities of life.

But the will to strike would soon or late evolve a way.There were other means of achieving intimacy with a woman asinexperienced as little Mrs Desmond, and he would get Lindato help him. Linda was a good girl, if a trifle stupid. Atleast she had the merit of believing in him and obeying hiswishes with unquestioning fidelity—a very creditable meritin the eyes of the average man.

These reflections brought him to a standstill by one of thedoors that opened into the drawing-room. It was a longnarrow room of an aggressively Anglo-Indiantype—overcrowded with aimless tables, painted stools andchairs in crumpled bazaar muslins, or glossy with Aspinall'senamel. The dingy walls were peppered with Japanese fans,China plates, liliputian brackets, and photographs in plushframes. Had Miss Kresney taken her stand on each door-sillin turn and flung her possessions, without aim or design, atthe whitewashed spaces around her, she could not haveproduced a more admired disorder. This she recognised with athrill of pride; for she aspired to be artistic, and somemisguided friend had assured her that the one thing needfulwas to avoid symmetry or regularity in any form.

Her own appearance harmonised admirably with hersurroundings. She wore the shapeless tea-gown beloved of herkind—made in the verandah, and finished with dingy lace atthe neck and wrists, and even at this hour a suggestion ofstraw slippers showed beneath the limp silk of her gown.Yet, as Evelyn Desmond saw her on the tennis-courts, she wasa neatly clad, angular girl of eight-and-twenty, with asuppressed, furtive air that was an unconscious reflectionupon her brother's character. In her heart she cherished alurking admiration for Desmond, and aspired to become thewife of a cavalry officer—Harry Denvil being the temporaryhero of her dreams.

When her brother entered the room she was fitfully engagedin perpetrating a crewel-work atrocity for one of her manychairs.

He did not speak his thought at once, but stood looking downat her critically through the smoke-wreaths of his cigar.The major share of good looks certainly rested with himself;but for eyes set too near together, and the relentless linesthat envy and ill-humour pencil about a man's mouth, theface was attractive enough, in its limited fashion. He hadthe same air of being "off duty" which pervaded his sister,and his Japanese smoking-suit showed signs of being a veryold friend indeed.

"Look here, Linda," he began at last, "when are we playingtennis again with little Mrs Desmond?"

"Oh, my! D'you think she would reallee come? It was nasteeof her to leave us out of her picnic like that, after shetold me all about it, too."

Miss Kresney's insistence on the consonants and the finalvowels was more marked than her brother's; for althoughthree-fourths of the blood in her veins was English, veryfew of her intimate associates could make so proud a boastwithout perjuring their souls: and there are few things moreinfectious than tricks of speech.

"Yes, of course," he acquiesced readily. "But I'm jolly wellcertain that was not her doing. She'll come, right enough,if you ask her nicely. At all events it is worth trying, ifonly on the chance of annoying her insufferable husband."

"If you wish it, certainlee. I would like to be betterfriends with Mrs Desmond. Only, I do not quite see why youdislikehim so much more than the others."

Kresney hesitated before replying. It was not often thatLinda aspired to question either his motives or decisions;and he had begun to suspect that her loyalty wavered, by ahair's-breadth, where Desmond was concerned. After all, whynot tell her an expurgated edition of the truth. The ideacommended itself to him for many reasons, and even as shewas beginning to wonder at his silence he sat down besideher and spoke; the sting of humiliation stimulating hisinventive faculty as he went on.

Desmond himself would scarce have recognised the incident,but Miss Kresney was clearly impressed.

"You see, Linda," her brother concluded, "a fellow can't beexpected to stand that sort of thing without hitting back,and I am trying to hit back a bit now. It is only fair.These Frontier Force chaps need a lot of setting down, I cantell you. They fancy they hold all India in their hands. Andwhat is it they do after all, except play polo like maniacs,and play all manner of foolish pranks at Mess? They make agod out of this Desmond, here; and the fellow is as proud asthe devil. He will be jolly well mad if his wife gets reallyfriendly with me. As he will not ask us there, we will askher here—you see? And you must be as nice as you can. Saypretty things to her—that pleases her more than anything:and make yourself useful, if you get the chance. She's nothalf a bad little woman; and if you help me, Linda, I shallget in with her yet in spite of her conceited prig of ahusband."

The smile that accompanied the words was not a pleasantone, but the girl returned it with an uncritical fervour ofaffection.

"You know I am always glad to please you, Owen. I am onleesorree you did not tell me all about it sooner."

Her ready championship put him in high good-humour withhimself and the world at large.

"You reallyare no end of a good girl, Linda," he said,as he rose to his feet. "I shall ask Denvil to tea for youon Tuesday; and you shall have a new frock as soon as ever Iget next month's pay. Not a thing made in the verandah; buta good style of frock from Mussoorie or Lahore, whicheveryou please; and you can ask Mrs Desmond to help you chooseit. Her dresses are always first class, and she isinterested in such things."

CHAPTER VI.

GENIUS OF CHARACTER.

Evelyn Desmond's picnic was an accomplished fact. At fouro'clock, in the full glare of a late March sun, abusiness-like detachment of twenty horses, and onedisdainful camel, proceeded at a brisk trot along thelifeless desolation of the Bunnoo Road. The party kept inclose formation, straggling of any sort being inadmissiblewhen the bounds of the station have been left behind. Ten ofthe riders were English, and an armed escort guarded them infront and rear; the camel, in gala trappings of red andblue, being responsible for provisions, enamelled irontea-things, and the men's guns.

Notwithstanding the absence of the Kresneys, Evelyn Desmondwas in a mood of unusual effervescence. Harry Denvil rode ather side, and the two kept up a perpetual flow of suchaimless, happy nonsense as is apt to engender vague regretin the hearts of those who have arrived at greater wisdom.

Three miles of riding brought them to the welcomerefreshment of a river running crystal clear over a bed ofpebbles. Beside the river rose an isolated plateau—abrupt,inconsequent, and, like all things else in the tawnylandscape, unsoftened by a blade of living green.

The face of the rock was riddled with rough, irregularholes, as though Titans had been using it for a target.Around and above it a bevy of blue rock-pigeons—circling,dipping, and darting with a strong rush of wings—shone likeiridescent jewels, green and blue and grey, against theunstained turquoise of the sky, whose intensity of colourmade generous atonement for the lack of it on earth. At thefoot of the cliff a deep pool mirrored the calm wonder ofthe sky.

Here the camel was brought to his knees, and the escort,dismounting, formed a wide circle of sentries round thelittle party, the undernote of danger suggested by theirpresence giving a distinct flavour to the childishly simpleaffair. The white man's craze for carrying his food manymiles from home, in order to eat it on the ground, remains aperpetual bewilderment to the natives, who express theiropinion on the matter in all frankness and simplicity bychristening it the "dinner of fools."

Pigeon-shooting was the established amusement of afternoonsspent under the cliff; and, the meal being over, sport wassoon in full progress, Frank Olliver and Mrs Jim Conollyhandling their guns as skilfully as any man present.

While Honor stood watching them, Wyndham drew near andremained by her for a few seconds without a word. Then:"Shall we go and sit over by the river, Miss Meredith, andleave them to their sport?" he asked suddenly, his eyes andvoice more urgent than he knew.

"Yes; I'd far rather watch the birds than shoot them. Theyare too beautiful to be killed for the sake of passing thetime. But you probably don't see it that way—men seldomdo."

"I must be the eternal exception, then!" he answered, asthey turned away. "It's not a creditable confession for aright-minded man: but I shrink from taking life, even in theexigencies of my profession."

At that she turned upon him with a spontaneous frankness ofinterest, which had lured many men to their undoing.

"Will you think me very ill-mannered if I ask how you evercame to choose such a profession at all? I wondered about itthe first time I saw you."

"I only meant—I see a good deal in faces, and—yours gaveme a strong impression that you would prefer reading andthinking to acting and striving."

"You were not far out there. Let us sit down on this rockfor a bit. I would like to answer your question. May I lighta cigarette?"

He took his time over the simple operation. His impulsetowards unreserve puzzled him, and several seconds ofsilence passed before he spoke again; silence, emphasised bybroken snatches of talk and laughter; by the sharp crack ofguns; and the whirring of a hundred wings, like the restlessmurmuring in the heart of a shell.

"It may sound strange to you," he began, not without aneffort, "but the truth is that my choice of a profession wassimply the result of my friendship with Desmond. I think Itold you we were at school together.His future was aforegone conclusion, and when it came to the point—I chosejust to throw in my lot with his. I am quite aware that manypeople thought me a fool. But we have had twelve years of ittogether here, he and I; and it has certainly been goodenough for me."

He spoke in a tone of great quietness, his eyes set upon theshining reaches of the river which, by now, ran molten goldin the westering sunlight.

"Thank you for telling me," she said; and the simple wordsset his pulses travelling at an unreasonable rate of speed."I had no idea friendship could ever mean quite so much."

"It doesn't in nine cases out of ten. But I think that'senough about myself. It isn't my habit to entertain ladieswith egotistical monologues!"

"But then, properly behaved ladies don't ask you directpersonal questions, do they?"

And they exchanged one of those smiles that ripen intimacymore speedily than a month of talk.

"I'm quite unrepentant, all the same!" she said. "And I'mrather wanting to ask you another. It's about CaptainDesmond this time. May I?"

"Well, I want to know more of how he won his V.C. Evelyncould give me no details when I asked her; and it struck mejust now that you were probably there at the time."

"Yes, indeed, Iwas," he said, with a new ring in hisvoice. "There were a few bad minutes when we in the valleyfelt morally certain we had seen the last of him."

"I verily believe you are! And, since you wish it, youshall have it in full. It happened during a rising of theGhilzais six years ago. They had given us rather a stifftime of it for some weeks, and on this occasion a strongbody of them had to be dislodged from a height where theywere safely entrenched behind one of their stone sangars,ready to pick off any of us who should attempt the ascent.But the thing had to be done, like many otherhopeless-looking things, and a party of infantry and cavalrywere detailed for the duty,—a company of Sikhs, andtwenty-five dismounted men of Desmond's squadron, led byhimself. Our main force was stationed in the valley, youunderstand, and the advance was covered by three mountainguns. The men were deployed in an extended line at the footof the hill, and began a careful ascent, taking advantage ofevery scrap of cover available, the Ghilzais picking themoff with deadly certainty whenever they got the smallestchance. About two-thirds of the way up Alla Dad Khan wasbowled over and lay out in the open dangerously wounded,under the full brunt of the enemy's fire. In a flash Desmondwas out from under the rock he had just reached. He crossedthat open space under a rain of bullets it made one sick tosee, and got the poor fellow up in his arms. It seemed asheer impossibility for him to get back under cover alive,hampered as he was by the wounded man, who—as you know—isa much bigger fellow than himself. I gave up every shred ofhope as I watched, and one or two of the sowars near mebroke down and cried like children. But if ever I beheld amiracle it was during those few astounding minutes—theworst I've ever known. His clothes were riddled withbullets; two of them passed clean through his helmet; yetexcept for a flesh wound in the left arm, he was untouched."

"Well, the hill was successfully cleared, and you mayimagine the welcome we gave Theo, when at last he got backto camp, with his uniform in ribbons and his helmet gone. Idon't know when I've heard such cheering from natives.Besides saving the Jemadar, the success of the whole affairhad been due to his leadership and example. He wouldn't hearof it, of course; but when the account came out in the'Gazette,' he found himself belauded from start to finish,with a V.C. conferred on him to crown all. One couldn't saymuch to him even then. He's not the sort."

Honor's cheeks were on fire, her eyes like stars; and it ischaracteristic of Paul Wyndham that he noted these factswithout a shadow of envy.

"The genuine modesty of genius," she said; and Paul bent hishead in acquiescence.

"Theo's genius is of the best kind," he added; "it isgenius of character, of a wide sympathetic understanding ofmen and things. And on the Frontier, Miss Meredith, thatsort of understanding counts for more than anywhere else inthe country. We control our fellows here as much by love andrespect as by mere discipline. Get a native to love you, andbelieve in you, and you are sure of him for good. That iswhy officers like Theo and your brother, who hold theirmen's hearts in their hands, are, without exaggeration, thepillars on which the safety of India rests. It is when thecry of 'Jehad' runs like fire along the Border, and thefidelity of our troops is being tampered with, that we getthe clearest proof of this. At such times pay, pension, andOrders of Merit have no more power to restrain a Pathan thana thread of cotton round his ankle. But there's just onething he willnot do—he will not desert, in his hour ofneed, an officer whom he has found to be just, upright, andfearless, and whom he has praised as a hero to his ownpeople."

Wyndham's unwonted eloquence, and the glow of feelingunderlying it, lifted the girl to fresh heights ofenthusiasm.

"Oh, how glad I am to have come here!" she said with suddenfervour. "Captain Desmond was talking in much the samestrain just before we started; and one cannot listen to himwithout catching the fire of his enthusiasm, which is surelythe best kind of fire that ever came down from heaven!"

"I say, Paul, old man," he remonstrated, "isn't it some oneelse's turn for an innings by this time? Mrs Conolly is keento have a talk with Miss Meredith before we start. You bothlooked so absorbed that she begged me not to interrupt! Iought to have introduced her to you before starting, MissMeredith. She's the wife of our acting Civil Surgeon andquite an old friend of yours, it seems. Will you come?"

The girl rose and turned to Wyndham with a friendly smile."You and I can have our talk out another time, can't we?"

He sat watching her as she left him, with a tenderconcentration of gaze, his brain stunned by a glimpse intoundreamed-of possibilities; into a region of life whereof heknew nothing, and had believed himself content to knownothing all his days.

Mrs Jim Conolly was a large woman, nearer forty thanthirty. Twenty years of India, of hot weathers resolutelyendured, of stretching small means to the utmost limit andbeyond it, had left their mark, in sallowness of skin, inbroken lines of thought between her brows, and of restrainedendurance about her firmly-closed lips. She had the air of awoman who has never allowed herself to be worsted by theminor miseries of life; and in India the minor miseriesmultiply exceedingly. Unthinking observers stigmatised herface as harsh and unprepossessing; but it was softened andillumined by a glow of genuine welcome as she greeted HonorMeredith.

"I wonder if you have the smallest recollection of me?" shesaid. "My last glimpse of you was in a dak gharri at Pindi,when you were first starting for home nineteen years ago,and the sight of what you have grown into makes me feel avery old woman indeed! Do you remember those Pindi days atall?"

"Bits, here and there, quite vividly. I had been wonderingalready why I seemed to know your face. It was you who hadthe two nice babies I loved so dearly. Haven't you any forme to play with now?"

"Yes, my two youngest are still with me. But they are ratherbig babies by this time. You must come over and see themsoon, and we will pick up the threads of our droppedfriendship, Honor. Your father and mother were very good tome in the old days, but you were my chief friend from thestart. You have grown into a very beautiful woman, dear,"she added, in a lower tone; "and if you ever want help oradvice while you are here alone, I hope you will turn to mefor it as readily as you would to your own mother. I haven'tseen Lady Meredith for years. Sit down under the cliff withme, and give me some news of them all."

By the time dusk had set in the little party was back againin Desmond's compound, the escort deserting them at thegate; and as Honor Meredith prepared to dismount, PaulWyndham came forward, a certain restrained eagerness in hiseyes.

For an instant of time his hands supported her—an instantof such keen sensation that, when it was passed, he pulledhimself up sharply—called himself a fool, and in the samebreath wished that she had been a few degrees less skilfulin springing lightly to the ground.

Ready-made talk was, for the moment, beyond him; and hedeparted something hastily, leaving Honor and his friendalone together in the darkening verandah.

Voices and laughter came out to them from the drawing-room,where Evelyn and Denvil were carrying on their youngfoolishness with undiminished zeal; and Desmond turned uponthe girl the irresistible friendliness of his eyes.

"Aren't we good friends enough now to drop the formality?"he asked. And at the question a lightning vision came to herof the scene on the hillside, so vividly described by hisfriend.

"I seem to have made quite an advance in that direction thisafternoon," she added, in no little surprise at her ownboldness.

"Oh! so that was the engrossing subject. I might have knownPaul wasn't likely to be expatiating on himself."

"He gave me a stirring account of a certain day in October,six years ago," she went on, with an unconscious softeningof her voice.

"Did he? That was superfluous of him. The good fellow wouldhave done no less himself in the circumstances. Listen tothose two children in there! How finely they're enjoyingthemselves! I say, Harry!" he shouted to the invisibleDenvil, who came forth straightway;—a squarely built,chestnut-haired boy, his sea-blue eyes still full oflaughter; "have you quite decided to invite yourself todinner?"

And as the boy vanished in the darkness Desmond turned tofind his wife's figure in the open doorway, its purity ofoutline thrown into strong relief by the light within.

She stood on the threshold balancing herself on the tips ofher toes in a light-hearted ecstasy of unrest, and flung outboth hands towards her husband.

She came and nestled close to him with the confidingsimplicity of a child; and Honor, under cover of the dusk,slipped round by the back of the house to her own room.

CHAPTER VII.

BRIGHT EYES OF DANGER.

By mid-April, life in the blue bungalow had undergone anunmistakable change for the better; and Theo Desmond,sitting alone in the congenial quietness of his study, anafter-dinner pipe between his teeth, a volume of Persianopen before him, and Rob's slumbering body pressed closeagainst his ankles, told himself that he and his wife, inbefriending Honor Meredith at a moment of difficulty, hadwithout question entertained an angel unawares. Evelyn hadblossomed visibly in the pleasure of her companionship;while he himself found her good to talk with, and undeniablygood to look at.

There was also a third point in her favour, and that by nomeans the least. Her sympathetic rendering of the greatmasters of music had renewed a pleasure linked with memoriessacred beyond all others. Althea Desmond bid fair to retainundivided supremacy over the strong son, who had been thecrown and glory of her life. Death itself seemed powerlessto affect their essential unity. Her spirit—vivid andvigorous as his own—still shared and dominated his everythought; and her photograph, set in a silver frame ofmassive simplicity, stood close at his elbow, while hereviewed the changes wrought in the past few weeks by theunobtrusive influence of John Meredith's sister.

The mere lessening of strain and friction in regard to thecountless details of an Indian household was, in itself, anunspeakable relief. During the first few months of hismarriage he had persevered steadily in the thankless task ofinstructing his cheerfully incompetent bride in the languageand household mysteries of her adopted country. But the morepatiently he helped her the more she leaned upon his help;till the futility of his task had threatened to wear histemper threadbare, and to put a severe strain on arelationship more complex than he had imagined possible.

Now, however, the tyranny of trifles was overpast. The man'selastic nature righted itself, with the spring of afinely-tempered blade released from pressure, and as thepassing weeks revealed his wife's progress under Honor'stuition, he readily attributed her earlier failures to hisown lack of skill.

As a matter of fact, her power to cope with AmarSingh—Desmond's devoted Hindu bearer—and the eternalenigmas of charcoal,jharrons,[13] and thedhobie,[14]had not increased one whit: and she knew it. But the welcomesound of praise from her husband's lips convinced her thatshe must have done something to deserve it. She accepted it,therefore, in all complacency, without any acknowledgment ofthe guiding hand upon the reins.

Great peace dwelt also in the compound, where a colony ofservants and their families lived their unknown lives apart;and great pride in the heart of Parbutti, since Amar Singhhad so far unbent as to prophesy that the Miss Sahib wouldwithout doubt become a Burra Mem before the end of her days.

While Desmond sat alone in this warm April evening, studyingthe fantastic Persian characters with something less thanhis wonted concentration, the sound of the piano came to himthrough the half-open door.

For a few moments he listened, motionless, to the firstweird whispering bars of Grieg's Folkscene, "Auf denBergen," then the book was pushed hastily aside and the lampblown out. Rob—rudely awakened from a delectable dream ofcats and the naked calves of unsuspecting coolies—foundhimself plunged in darkness, and his master vanishingthrough the curtains into the detested drawing-room.

Evelyn was installed on the fender-stool of dull red velvet,her hands clasped about her knees, her head raised inexpectation. A dress of softly flowing white silk, and asingle row of pearls at her throat, intensified her fragilefreshness, as of a lily of the field, a creature out oftouch with the sterner elements of life. It was at suchmoments that her husband was apt to suffer a contraction ofheart, lest, in an impulse of infatuation, he had undertakenmore than he would be able to perform.

She patted his favourite chair; then, impulsively desertingher seat, crouched on the hearth-rug beside him and nestledher head against his knee.

"I told her to play it! I knew it would bring you at once,"she whispered, caressing him lightly with a long slim hand.

"You shall sing to me afterwards yourself," he said, "a songin keeping with your appearance to-night. You look like somesort of elf-maiden in that simple gown and my pearls. Onlyone touch wanted to complete the effect!"

With smiling deliberation he drew out four tortoise-shellpins that upheld the silken lightness of her hair, so thatit fell in a fair soft cloud about her neck and shoulders.

And as she turned her face up to him, in laughingremonstrance, he was struck anew by the childishness of itscontour, in spite of the pallor, which had become almosthabitual of late. Taking it between his hands he lookedsteadfastly into the limpid shallows of her eyes, as thoughsearching for a hidden something which he had little hope tofind.

"Ladybird, what a baby you are still!" he murmured, "Iwonderwhen you mean to grow into a woman?"

Then with a start he became aware that Amar Singh, havingentered noiselessly through the door behind him, stood athis side in a pose of imperturbable reverence and dignity.

"Olliver Memsahibghora per argya,"[15] he announced withdiscreetly lowered lids; while Evelyn, springing up withrose-petal cheeks and a small sound of dismay, must needstry and look as if ladies in evening dress habitually woretheir hair hanging loose about their shoulders.

Honor swung round upon the music-stool as Frank Olliver, inevening skirt and light drill jacket strode into the room.

Before she could bring out her news, a blare of trumpets,sounding the alarm, startled the quiet of the night, andDesmond leapt to his feet.

"There you are, Theo, man," she said. "You can hear foryourself. It's a fire in the Lines. Geoff and I caught sightof the flare just now from our back verandah. He's gone onahead; but I said I'd look in here for you."

As Desmond prepared to follow her, his wife's fingers closedfirmly on the edge of his dinner-jacket.

She was sitting now in the chair he had left; and turned upto him a face half beseeching, half resentful in its frameof soft hair.

"Don't be a little fool, child!" he broke out in spite ofhimself. Then gently, decisively, he disengaged her fingersfrom his coat; but their clinging grasp checked hisimpatience to be gone.

He bent down, and spoke in a softened tone. "I've no timefor arguments, Evelyn. I am simply doing my duty."

He was gone—and she remained as he had left her, with handslying listlessly in her lap, and a frown between her finelypencilled brows,—mollified, but by no means convinced.

Honor had hurried into the hall, where Frank Olliver greetedher with impulsive invitation.

"I only wish I could! I'd love to go! But Imust stay withEvelyn. She is upset and nervous about Theo as it is."

"Saints alive! Howcan you put up with her at all—atall!" muttered irrepressible Frank. "But hush, now, here'sthe blessed fellow himself!"

Theo Desmond strode rapidly down the square hall, hung withtrophies of the chase and implements of war—an incongruousfigure enough, in forage cap and long brown boots withgleaming spurs, his sword buckled on over his eveningclothes. He snatched a long clasp-knife from the wall inpassing, and the Irishwoman, with an nod of approval,hurried out into the verandah, where the impatient horsescould be heard champing their bits.

"Pity you can't come too. Be good to Ladybird. Don't let herwork herself into a fever about nothing."

For eight breathless minutes the grey and the dun spedthrough the warm night air, under a rising moon, theirshadows fleeing before them, long and black,—two perspiringsaïses following zealously in their wake;—till their ridersdrew rein before a pandemonium of scurrying men and horses,silhouetted against a background of fire.

The great pile of sun-dried bedding burnt merrily: sendingup fierce tongues of flame, that shamed the moonlight, asdawn shames the lamp. A brisk wind from the hills caught upshreds and flakes from the burning mass, driving them hitherand thither, to the sore distraction of man and beast.

Lithe forms of grass-cutters and water-carriers, in thescantiest remnants of clothing, leaped and pranced on theoutskirts of the fire, like demons in a realistic hell.

In valiant spurts and jerks, alternating with ignominiousflight, they were combating that column of flame and smokewith thimblefuls of water, flung out of stable buckets, orsquirted from mussacks. They were beating it also withstript branches, making night radiant with a thousandsparks.

But the soaring flames jeered at their pigmy efforts;twinkled derisively on their glistening bodies; and assailedthe vast composure of the skies with leaping blades oflight.

To the bewildering confusion of movement was added a noless bewildering tumult of sound, whose most heart-piercingnote was the maddened scream of horses; and whose lesserelements included shouts of officers and sowars;high-pitched lamentations from the audience of natives; thebarking of dogs; and the drumming of a hundred hoofs uponthe iron-hard ground.

During the first alarm of the fire, which had broken outperilously close to the quarters occupied by Desmond'ssquadron, the terrified animals in their frenzied efforts tobreak away from the ropes, had reduced the Lines to a stateof chaos. Those of them, and they were many, who succeededin wrenching out their pegs, had instinctively headed forthe parade-ground beyond the huts; their flight complicatedby wandering lengths of rope that trailed behind them,whirled in mid-air, or imprisoned their legs in treacherouscoils; while sowars and officers risked life and limb inattempting to free them from their dilemma.

The restless brilliance gave to all things a strangenightmare grotesqueness: and a blinding, stifling shroud ofsmoke whirled and billowed over all.

As the riders drew up, there was a momentary lull, andbefore dismounting Desmond flung a ringing shout across thestillness.

"Shahbash,[16] men,shahbash! Have no fear! Give morewater—water without ceasing!"

"Wah!Wah! Desmin Sahibargya!"[17] the sowars of hissquadron called to one another through the curling smoke;and the new arrivals were speedily surrounded by a littlecrowd of officers and men: Wyndham, Denvil, Alla Dad Khan,and Ressaldar Rajinder Singh, in the spotless tunic and vastsilken turban of private life.

The Jemadar took possession of the Demon's bridle, andDesmond, leaping lightly to the ground, hurried straightwayto the relief of a distressed grass-cut. The man had beenrash enough to attempt the capture of two horses at once,and now stood in imminent danger of being kicked to death byhis ungrateful charges.

Desmond took both horses in hand, holding them at arm'slength, and soothing them with his voice alone.

"Here you are, Harry!" he said, as Denvil came to hisassistance. "This poor fellow will go with you now, quietlyenough."

Handing over his second horse to the grass-cut, he vanishedinto the darkness; where, betwixt stampeding horses and theincredible swiftness of fire, he found more than sufficientscope for action.

He came to a standstill, at length, for a second's breathingspace;—and lo, Rajinder Singh emerging suddenly from theheart of pandemonium, breathless with haste, a greatdistress in his eyes.

"The knife, Sahib! Give me your knife! It isSher Dil,[18]fallen amongst his ropes. He is like to strangle——"

The great black charger, the glory of the squadron and ofhis owner's heart, was in a perilous case. So securely hadhe entangled himself in the head-rope that, despite thefreedom of his heels, and spasmodic efforts to regain hisfeet, he remained pinned to earth, not many yards from wherethe fire was raging,—his fear and misery increased bywind-blown fragments of lighted straw, by the roar andcrackle of the burning pile.

Desmond saw at a glance that his rescue might prove adangerous business, but Rajinder Singh was beside him now,still hopeful of turning him from his purpose.

He plunged forthwith into the stinging, blinding smoke;dexterously avoiding the hoofs of Sher Dil, subduing histerror with hand and voice, though himself half choked, andconstantly forced to close his eyes at the most criticalmoments; while the task of avoiding the burning fragmentsthat fell about him seemed in itself to demand undividedattention.

Rajinder Singh, stationed at the nearest possible point,anxiously watched his Captain's progress; and here PaulWyndham joined him hurriedly.

"To my shame, your honour speaks truth," the old man madeanswer humbly. "His heart was set to do this thinghimself——"

"Have no fear," Wyndham reassured him kindly; and, with asharp contraction of heart, ran to his friend's assistance.

Desmond had already stooped to slit the rope that pressed socruelly against the charger's throat; and, as Wyndhamreached him, the animal gave a last convulsive plunge; threwout his forelegs in an ecstasy of freedom; and struck hisdeliverer full on the shoulder.

"Damnation!" Desmond muttered, as he fell to the ground, andSher Dil staggered, panting, to his feet.

Rajinder Singh sprang forward with a smothered cry. But,quick as lightning, Desmond was up again, and had securedthe morsel of rope dangling by the horse's head. Only hisleft arm hung limp and helpless, the droop of the shouldertelling its own tale.

"Collar-bone," he said laconically, in reply to the muteanxiety of Paul's face. "Same old spot again!"

"It might just as well have been—your head," Paul answered,with a twist of his sensitive mouth. He had not quite gotover his few moments of acute suspense.

"So it might, you old pessimist! But it wasn't! Here youare, Ressaldar Sahib! Never have I seen a horse so set onkilling himself. But it was needful to disappoint him onyour account."

Rajinder Singh, who had come forward, plucking the muslinscarf from his shoulders for a bandage, saluted inacknowledgment of the words.

"No need of thanks," said he. "This fine fellow hath alreadythanked me in his own rough fashion, clapping me on theshoulder,—forgetful of his great strength,—because he hadno power to say 'Shahbash!'"

"Such is the gracious heart of the Captain Sahib, putting agood face even upon that which is evil. Permit, at least,that we make some manner of bandage till it be possible tofind the Doctor Sahib."

It was permitted; and the useless arm having been strappedinto place, Wyndham insisted upon his friend's departure; afiat against which Desmond's impetuous protests werelaunched in vain. For, like many men of habitually gentlebearing, Paul Wyndham's firmness was apt to be singularlyeffective on the rare occasions when he thought it worthwhile to give proof of its existence.

"I'll ride back with you myself," he announced, in a tone offinality, "and go on to the Mess for Mackay afterwards. Theworst is over now, and you'll only let yourself in for ademonstration if your men find out that any harm has come toyou." The diplomatic suggestion had the desired effect; andthey rode leisurely back to the bungalow, under a moon nolonger robbed of its radiance.

Few words passed between them as they went; but on arrivingat the squat, blue gate-posts Wyndham drew rein and spoke.

"Good-night, dear old chap. Take a stiff 'peg' the minuteyou get in. I'm in need of one myself."

"Sorry if I gave you a bit of a shock, old man," Desmondanswered smiling, and rode at a foot's pace toward thehouse.

"Here I am, Ladybird!" he announced, on entering thedrawing-room; and Evelyn, springing from the depths of hischair, made an eager movement towards him.

But at sight of his bandaged arm and damp dishevelledappearance she halted with lips apart. A curious coldnesscrept into her eyes and entirely banished the young lookfrom her face.

"Well, and if I have?" he answered laughing. "It's a merenothing. Only a collar-bone."

"Your collar-bone isn't nothing. And I can'tbear to seeyou all hideous and bandaged up like that. I knew somethingwould happen! I was sure it would!"

"Well, well, if you knew it all beforehand, no need to makeso many words about it now. Let me sit down. It's beenstifling work and—I'm tired."

He sank into the chair and closed his eyes, his face grownsuddenly weary. His wife drew near to him slowly, with moreof pained curiosity than of solicitude in her face, and laida half-reluctant hand on the arm of his chair.

"There's not much to tell, Ladybird. Rajinder Singh'scharger kicked me while I was cutting his head-rope—that'sall. The good old chap was quite upset because I wouldn'tlet him do it himself."

"Well, I think youought to have let him. It wouldn't havemattered half so much ifhe——"

"That's enough, Evelyn!" the man broke out in a flash ofgenuine anger. "If you're only going to say things of thatsort, you may as well hold your tongue."

And once again he closed his eyes, as if in self-defenceagainst further argument or upbraiding.

His wife stood watching him with a puzzled frown, whileHonor, a keenly interested observer, wondered what wouldhappen next.

Her sympathy, as always, inclined to the man's point ofview. But a passionate justness, very rare in women, forcedher to acknowledge that Evelyn's remonstrance, ifinjudicious, was not unjustifiable. The girl saw clearlythat the sheer love of danger for its own sake, whichFrontier life breeds in men of daring spirit, had impelledDesmond to needless and inconsiderate risk; saw also thathis own perception of the fact added fire to his sharpretort.

"This bandage is hideously uncomfortable," he said in achanged tone. "Could you manage to untie it and fix it upmore firmly till Mackay comes?"

Thus directly appealed to, Evelyn cast a nervous glance atHonor. The girl made neither sign nor movement, though herhands ached to relieve the discomfort of the wounded man;and after a perceptible moment of hesitation, Evelyn went toDesmond's side, her heart fluttering like the heart of aprisoned bird.

With tremulous fingers she unfastened the knot behind hisshoulder, and, having done so, rested her hand inadvertentlyon the broken bone. It yielded beneath her touch, and shedropped the end of the bandage with a little cry.

She came to him at once, and righted the bandage with deft,unshrinking fingers, rolling part of the long scarf into apad under his arm to ease the aching shoulder.

Evelyn remained standing a little apart, watching herhusband with speculative eyes. Then she came and stood nearhim, on the side farthest from the alarming bone that movedat a touch.

"No, no. We won't make mountains out of molehills, eh,Ladybird? Kiss and be friends! like a good child, and get tobed as fast as possible. Mackay will be here soon, andyou'll be best out of the way."

He drew her down and kissed her forehead. Then, as sheslipped silently away through his study, and on into thebedroom beyond, he lay back with a sigh in which relief andweariness were oddly mingled. He was devoutly thankful whenthe arrival of James Mackay dispelled his disturbing trainof thought.

CHAPTER VIII.

STICK TO THE FRONTIER.

Honor sat alone in the drawing-room, a basket of socks andstockings at her elbow, her thoughts working as busily asher needle. This girl had reduced the prosaic necessity ofdarning to a fine art; and since Evelyn's efforts in thatdirection bore an odd resemblance to ill-constructed latticewindows, Honor had taken pity on the maltreated garmentsvery early in the day.

Evelyn herself was at the tennis-courts, with the Kresneysand Harry Denvil, a state of things that had becomeincreasingly frequent of late; and a ceaseless murmur of twodeep voices came to Honor's ears through the open door ofthe study, where Desmond was talking and reading Persianwith his friend Rajinder Singh.

Honor enjoyed working to the accompaniment of that sound. Ithad grown pleasantly familiar during the past week, in whichDesmond had been cut off from outdoor activities. When thePersian lesson was over, he would come in to her for a talk.Then there would be music, and possibly a game of chess; forDesmond was an enthusiastic player. They had spent one ortwo afternoons in this fashion already, since the night ofthe fire; and their intimacy bid fair to ripen into a verysatisfying friendship.

To the end of time, writers and thinkers will continue toinsist upon the impossibility of such friendships; and tothe end of time, men and women will persist in playing withthis form of fire. For it is precisely the possibility offire under the surface which lends its peculiar fascinationto an experiment old as the Pyramids, yet eternally fresh asthe first leaf-bud of spring.

In the past five years Honor had established two genuinefriendships with men of widely different temperaments; andshe saw herself now—not without a certain quickening ofheart and pulse—in a fair way to establishing a third.

The hum of voices ceased; there were footsteps in the hall;a few hearty words of leave-taking from the Englishman, andtwo minutes later he stood before her, his left sleevehanging limp and empty; the arm and shoulder strappedtightly into place beneath the flap of his coat.

"Not gone out yet?" he said, a ring of satisfaction in histone. "Going to join Ladybird at the club later on?"

"No. As she had this engagement I stayed at home in case youmight be glad to have some one to 'play with' after yourlong lesson was over."

"Just like you!" he declared, with a touch of brotherlyfrankness, which was peculiarly pleasing to thisbrother-loving girl. "I've been rather overdoing the Persianthis week. You must give me some Beethoven presently. And ifyou really mean to 'play with' me you must also leave offlooking so aggressively industrious."

His eyes rested, in speaking, on the rapid movement of herneedle, and he became suddenly aware of the nature of herwork.

"Look here, Honor," he exclaimed. "I draw the line at that!Ladybird ought not to allow it. We've no right to turn youinto a domestic drudge."

"Ladybird—as you so delightfully call her—knows me far toowell to try and stop me when she sees I mean to have my ownway! Shall you mind if I go shares in your special name forher? It suits her even better than her own."

An unconscious tenderness invaded his tone, and his glanceturned upon a panel photograph of his wife in herwedding-dress that stood near him on the mantelpiece.Watching it thus, he fell into a thoughtful silence, whichHonor made no attempt to break. Speaking or silent hiscompanionship was equally acceptable to her: and while sheawaited his pleasure a great hole, made by the removal ofone of Evelyn's "lattice windows," filled up apace.

Of a sudden he turned from the picture, and, drawing up alow chair, sat down before her, leaning a little forward,his elbow resting on his knee. The urgency and gravity ofhis bearing made her at once lay down her work.

"Honor," he began, "I'm bothered ... about Ladybird, ...that's the truth. I wonder if I can speak without fear ofyour misunderstanding me?"

"You've made that clear enough already. I begin to wonderwhat she will do when John comes back to claim you again.You so thoroughly understand her, and thoroughly—love her."

"And to be kept happy," he added very quietly. "But thevital question is whether that is at all possible in Kohat,or in any other of our stations; for Kohat is by no meansthe worst. She hates the place, doesn't she? She's countingthe days to get away to the Hills. You know you can't lookme straight in the face and say she is happy here."

The unexpected attack struck Honor into momentary silence.Desmond was fatally quick to perceive the shadow ofhesitation, transient as a breath upon glass; and when shewould have spoken he silenced her with a peremptory hand.

"Indeed they have done nothing of the kind! You ask a directquestion, and you are bound in fairness to hear my answer.The life here is still very new to Evelyn, and she has notquite found her footing yet;—that is all. I have had itfrom her own lips that the place matters very little to herso long as she is—with you; and you go too far in sayingthat she is not happy here."

But her words did not carry conviction. He was still underthe influence of his wife's curious aloofness since thenight of the fire.

"You're trying to let me down gently, Honor," he said, witha rather cheerless smile. "And you may as well save yourselfthe trouble. Only—this is where you mustnotmisunderstand me, please,—no shadow of blame attaches toLadybird if she isn't happy. I had no right to bring her upto this part of the world, knowing it as I did; and I've noright to keep her here. That's the position, in a nutshell."

"I think not," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone thatdistressed her more keenly than any display of emotion."It's merely a question of facing facts. If I had moneyenough, I could throw up the Army and take her home. But, asmatters stand, I can only do the next best thing, and giveup—the Frontier, by exchanging into a down-countryregiment."

"Oh, but it's folly—worse than folly! To give up what youhave worked for all these years—the men who worshipyou—your friends, the regiment——"

"They would survive the loss. I don't flatter myself I'mindispensable. Besides, this isn't a question of me or myfriends. I am thinking of Ladybird."

The coolness of his tone, and the set determination of hismouth, chilled her fervour like a draught of cold air.

"Thank God he is not! And if he were, it would make nodifference. I shouldn't dream of discussing such a matterwith him or—any of them. When my mind is made up, I shalltell him; that is all."

He rose as though the matter were ended; but Honor had nomind to let him shut the door upon it—yet.

"It is strange that you can speak so," she said, "when youmust know, better than any one, what your leaving theregiment would mean—to Major Wyndham."

"Yes—I know," he answered quietly, and the pain in his eyesmade her half regret her own daring. "The only two bigdifficulties in the way are my father—and Paul."

"A matter like thisought to be looked at first andforemost from the man's point of view. The truth is, Theo,that you have simply appealed to me in the hope of havingyour own Quixotic notion confirmed. You want me to say,'Yes, go; you will be doing quite right.' And—think whatyou will of me—I flatly refuse to say it!"

He regarded her for a few seconds in an admiring silence,the smile deepening in his eyes. Then:

"Don't you think you are a little hard on me?" he said atlength. "It is not altogether easy to do—this sort ofthing."

Honor made no immediate reply, though the strongest chordsof her being vibrated in response to his words. Then sherose also, and stood before him; her head tilted a littleupwards; her candid eyes resting deliberately upon his own.Standing thus, at her full height, she appeared commandinglybeautiful, but in the stress of the moment the fact countedfor nothing with either of them. All the hidden forces ofher nature were set to remove the dogged line from hismouth; and he himself, looking on the fair outward show ofher, saw only a mind clear as crystal, lit up by the whitelight of truth.

For an instant they fronted one another—spirits of equalstrength. Then Honor spoke.

"If Ido seem hard on you, it is only because I want,above all things, to convince you that your idea is wrongfrom every point of view. You have paid me a very highcompliment to-day. I want you to pay me a still higher one:to believe that I am speaking the simple truth, as I see it,from a woman's standpoint, not merely trying to save youfrom unhappiness. May I speak out straight?"

"As plainly as you please, Honor. Your opinion will not bedespised, I promise you."

"Well, then—is it fair on Evelyn to make her upbringingresponsible for such a serious turn of the wheel? Would yougive her no voice in the matter—treat her as if she were amere child?"

"Indeed, Theo, she is a great deal more. She is a woman, ...and a wife. The woman's soul isn't fully awake in her yet;but it may come awake any day. And then—how would she feelif she ever found out——"

"How can you tell? Women find out most things about the menthey—care for. It's a risk not worth running. Would sheeven acquiesce if you put the matter before her now, childas she is?"

"Frankly, I don't know. Possibly not. She isn't able to seeahead much, or look all round a subject."

"Shall you be very angry if I say that you haven't yetlooked thoroughly round this one? The idea probably came toyou as an impulse—a very fine impulse, I admit; and,instead of fairly weighing pros and cons, you have simplybeen hunting up excuses that will justify you in carrying itout; because, for the moment, Evelyn seems a littlediscontented with things in general."

"I know I am. It's necessary sometimes, when peopleare—obstinate!" And she smiled frankly into his troubledface. "Oh, believe me, it's fatal for the man to throw allhis life out of gear on account of the woman. It's puttingthings the wrong way about altogether. In accepting herhusband, a woman must be prepared to accept his life andwork also."

"That's a drawback. But if she really cares, it can still bedone. I am jealous for Evelyn. I want her to have the chanceof showing that she has good stuff in her. Give her thechance, Theo; and if she doesn't quite rise to it, don'tfeel that you are in any way to blame."

"Then I can only say it would be very wrong-headed of you."Her eyes softened to a passing tenderness nevertheless. "Letthe blame, if there is any, rest on my shoulders; and we'llhope that the need may never arise. Now, have I said enough?Will you—will you leave things as they are, and put asideyour impossible notion for good?"

The urgency of her request so touched him that he answeredwith a readiness which surprised himself.

"No question but you're a friend worth having! I promise youthis much, Honor. I will think very thoroughly over it all,since you accuse me of not having done so yet! And we'll letthe matter rest for the present, anyway. I'd like to get youboth to the Hills as soon as possible. These Kresneys arebecoming something of a nuisance. It's past my comprehensionhow she can find any pleasure in their company. But she haslittle enough amusement here, and I'm loth to spoil any ofit. She'll enjoy going up to Murree, though, sooner than sheexpected; and as Mackay insists on my taking fifteen daysbefore getting back to work, I can go with you, and settleyou up there in about a week's time. You'll see after her,for me, won't you, Honor? She's a little heedless andinexperienced still; and you'll keep an eye on householdmatters more or less?"

"Of course I will, and make her see to them herself, too;though it seems rather like expecting a flower to learn themultiplication table! She is so obviously just made to beloved and protected."

"And kept happy," he insisted, with an abrupt reversion tohis original argument.

"Yes—within reasonable limits. Now, sit down, please, andlight up. You've been all this time without a cigar!"

But the cigar was hardly lighted before they were startledby a confused sound of shouting from the compound;—a blurof shrill and deep voices, punctuated by the straineddiscordant bark of a dog;—a bark unmistakable to ears thathave heard it once. Desmond sprang out of his chair.

Lifting Rob by the scruff of his neck, he flung that amazedand dignified person with scant ceremony into the study, andshut the door; then, judging by the direction of the sound,hurried out to the front verandah, snatching up a heavystick as he passed through the hall. Honor, following notfar behind, went quickly into her own room.

Desmond found his sun-diffused compound abandoned to atumult of terror. Fourteen servants and their belongings hadall turned out in force, with sticks, and staves, andvaliant shakings of partially unwound turbans, against theunwelcome intruder—a mangy-coated pariah, with lollingtongue and foam-flecked lips, whose bones showed throughhairless patches of skin; and whose bared fangs snappedincessantly at everything and nothing, in a manner gruesometo behold. A second crowd of outsiders, huddled close to thegates, was also very zealous in the matter of shouting, andof winnowing the empty air.

As Desmond set foot on the verandah, a four-year-old boy,bent on closer investigation of the enemy, escaped from the"home" battalion. His small mother pursued him, shrieking;but at the first snap the dog's teeth met in the child'sfluttering shirt, and his shrieks soared, high and thin,above the deeper torrent of sound.

In an instant Desmond was beside him, the stick swung highover his head. But a low sun smote him straight in the eyes,and there was scant time for accurate aim. The stick merelygrazed the dog's shoulder in passing; and Desmond almostlost his balance from the unresisted force of the blow.

The girl-mother caught wildly at her son; and prostratingherself at a safe distance, babbled incoherent and unheededgratitude. The dog, mad with rage and pain, made apurposeful spring at his one definite assailant; and onceagain Desmond, half-blinded with sunlight, swung the heavystick aloft. But before it fell a revolver shot rang outclose behind him; and the dog dropped like a stone, with abullet through his brain.

A shout of quite another new quality went up from the crowd;and Desmond, turning sharply on his heel, confronted HonorMeredith, white to the lips, the strong light making anaureole of her hair.

The hand that held the revolver quivered a little, and hecaught it in so strong a grip that she winced under thepressure.

"It would be mere impertinence to say 'thank you,'" hemurmured with low-toned vehemence. But his eyes, that soughther own, shamed the futility of speech. "The sun wasblinding me; and if I'd missed the second time——"

"Oh, hush, hush!" she pleaded with a quick catch of herbreath. "Look, there's Rajinder Singh coming back."

"He must have seen what happened; and by the look of him, Iimaginehe will have no great difficulty in expressing hisfeelings."

Indeed, the tall Sikh, whose finely-cut face and cavernouseye-bones suggested a carving in old ivory, bowed himselfalmost to the ground before the girl who had saved hisadmired Captain Sahib from the possibility of a hideousdeath.

But in the midst of an impassioned flow of words, his deepvoice faltered; and squaring his shoulders, he salutedDesmond with a gleam of fire in his eyes.

"There be more things in the heart of a man, Hazúr, than thetongue can be brought to utter. But, of a truth, the MissSahib hath done good service for the Border this day."

"There's fame for you!" he said, with a lightness that wasmere foam and spray from great deeps. "The whole Border-sideis at your feet!—But what brought you back again, RajinderSingh?"

The words were soon spoken; and the crowd, breaking up intodesultory groups, was beginning to disperse, when, to hissurprise, Desmond saw his wife's jhampan appear between thegate-posts, and pause for a moment while she took leave ofsome one on the farther side. Instinctively he moved forwardto greet her; but, on perceiving her companion, changed hismind, and stood awaiting her by the verandah steps.

The dead dog lay full in the middle of the path; and Honor,still holding her revolver, stood only a few yards away. Atsight of these things the faint shadow of irritation uponEvelyn's face deepened to disgust, not unmixed with fear,and her voice had a touch of sharpness in it as she turnedupon her husband.

"Who on earth put that horrible dog there, Theo? And why isHonor wandering about with a pistol? I met a whole lot ofnatives coming away. Has anything been happening?"

"The dog was mad, and Honor shot him," Desmond answered,with cool abruptness. Her manner of parting from Kresney hadset the blood throbbing in his temples. "I only had a stickto tackle him with; and she very pluckily came to myrescue."

While he spoke, Honor turned and went into the house. Shewas convinced that Evelyn would strike a jarring note, andin her present mood felt ill able to endure it.

"Oh, Theo, how troublesome you are! If the dog had bitten afew natives, who'd have cared?"

"Poor little thing! But you really can't go about trying toget killed for the benefit of any stray sort of people. I amthankful I wasn't here!"

"Yes—it was just as well," her husband answered drily, ashe handed her out of the jhampan. "What brought you back soearly?"

"The sun was too hot. I had a headache; and we were allplaying abominably. I'm going in now, to lie down."

She paused beside him, and her eyes lingered upon his emptycoat-sleeve. Lifting it distastefully between finger andthumb, she glanced up at him with a droop of her delicatelips.

"When is it going to be better? I hate to see you lookingall one-sided like that."

"I'm sorry," he answered humbly. "But Nature won't bepersuaded to hurry herself—even to please you." Hescrutinised her face with a shade of anxiety.

"You do look white, Ladybird. How would it be if I took youto Murree in a week's time?"

"It would be simply lovely!Can you do it—really? Wouldyoulet me go so soon?"

"Let you go? Do you think I want to keep you here a momentlater than you care to stay?"

"Theo!" Instant reproach clouded the April brightness of herface. "How horrid you are! I thought you liked to have mehere as long as possible."

He laughed outright at that. He was apt to find herunreasonableness more charming than irritating.

"Surely, little woman, that goes without saying. But if theheat is troubling you, and headaches, I like better to haveyou where you can be rid of both; and as the notion seems toplease you, we'll consider the matter settled."

Between nine and ten that evening, when the three weresitting together in the drawing-room, the outer stillnesswas broken by a sound of many footsteps and voices rapidlynearing the house. No native crowd this time. The steps andvoices were unmistakably English; and Desmond rose hastily.

"This must be Rajinder Singh's doing! It looks as if theymeant to overwhelm us in force."

"Can't I go to bed before they come, Theo? I'm very tired,and they're sure to make a dreadful noise."

"I'm afraid that won't do at all," he said decisively, arare note of reproof in his tone. "They probably won't stoplong, and you must please stay up till they go."

As he spoke, Harry Denvil in white Mess uniform, scarletkummerband, and jingling spurs, plunged into the room.

"I'm only the advance guard! The whole regiment's coming onbehind—even the Colonel—to drink Miss Meredith's health!"He turned upon the girl and shook hands with her at greatlength. "All the same, you know," he protested laughing,"it's not fair play foryou to go doing that sort ofthing. Wish I'd had the chance of it myself!"

Such speeches are impossible to answer; and Honor wasthankful that the main body of troops arrived in time tosave her from the futile attempt.

By the time that Mrs Olliver and six men had wrung her handwith varying degrees of vigour, each adding a characteristictribute of thanks and praise, her cheeks were on fire; and amist, which she tried vainly to dispel, blurred her vision.

Through that mist, she was aware of Frank vigorously shakinghands with Desmond, scolding and blessing him in one breath."Ah, Theo, man, you're a shocking bad lot!" was her sisterlygreeting. "Never clear out o' one frying-pan till you'reinto the next! Thank the Powers Miss Meredith was handy."And swinging round on her heel she accosted the girlherself. "No mistaking the stockyou come of, Honor, medear!"

Submerged in blushes, Honor could scarce command her voice."But really—I only——"

"You only hit the bull's eye like a man, Miss Meredith,"Captain Olliver took her up promptly. "The Major never toldus he was adding a crack shot to the regiment!" And he swepther a bow that reduced her to silence.

More overwhelming than all were the few direct words fromColonel Buchanan himself; a tall, hard-featured Scot, soentirely absorbed in his profession that he never, save ofdire necessity, set foot in a lady's drawing-room.

Paul Wyndham introduced him, and moved aside, leaving themtogether. For an instant he treated the girl to the quietscrutiny of clear blue eyes, unpleasantly penetrating. Hehad scarcely looked at her till now. Still unreconciled toDesmond's marriage, he had resented the introduction of athird woman into the regiment; and he found himselfmomentarily bewildered by her beauty.

"I ought to be better acquainted with you, Miss Meredith,"he said a little stiffly, sincerity struggling throughnatural reticence, like a light through a fog. "I'm nolady's man, as you probably know, but I had to come andthank you to-night. Desmond's quite my finest officer—nodisrespect to your brother; he knows it as well as I do——"

"Here you are, Colonel!" Geoff Olliver thrust a long tumblerinto his senior's hand. "We're going to let off steam bydrinking Miss Meredith's health before we go back."

Honor looked round hastily, in hopes of effecting anescape, and was confronted by Desmond's eyes lookingstraight into her own. He lifted his glass with a smile ofthe frankest friendliness; and the rest followed hisexample.

The words went round the room in a deep disjointed murmur;and Frank Olliver, stepping impulsively forward, held outher glass to the girl.

"Here's to your health and good luck, with all my heart,Honor, ... the Honor o' the regiment!" she added, with aflash of her white teeth.

"Hear, hear! Well played, indeed, Mrs Olliver! Pity Meredithcouldn't have heard that."

"Tell you what, old chap," he said. "You must come back withus; and, by Jove, we'll make a night of it. Finest possiblething for you after a week's moping on the sick list; andwe'll just keep Mackay hanging round in case you get knockedout of shape. I'll slip into uniform myself and follow on.That suit you, Colonel?"

But Mackay knew his men too well to have anything of thesort; and Desmond's eyes gleamed.

"No doubt you could! But I'll overlook it to-night. Thefellows want you. Won't do to keep them waiting!"

Followed a babel of talk and laughter, in the midst of whichHonor, who had moved a little apart, became aware thatDesmond was at her side.

"Never mind them, Honor," he said in a low voice. "They meanit very well, and they don't realise that it's a littleoverwhelming for us both. I won't pile it on by saying anymore on my own account.Wait till I get a chance to repayyou in kind—that's all!"

"You have the chance now, if it doesn't seem like taking amean advantage of—things."

"Thenstick to the Frontier!" she answered, an imperativering in her low voice. "Doesn't to-night convince you thatyou've no right to leave them all?"

"Yes, yes—I know. But remember what I said about her sideof it. Give her the chance to find herself, Theo; and giveme your word now to think no more about leaving theBorder. Will you?"

"Do you care so much what I do with the rest of my life?" hesaid at last very quietly.

"I see. Well, there's no denying your privilege—now to havesome voice in the matter. I give you my word, and if itturns out a mistake, the blame be on my own head. Thefellows are making a move now. I must go. Good-night."

The men departed accordingly with much clatter of footstepsand jingling of spurs; and only Mrs Olliver remained behind.

Evelyn Desmond had succeeded in slipping away unnoticed afew minutes earlier. She alone, among them all, had spokenno word of gratitude to her friend.

CHAPTER IX.

WE'LL JUST FORGET.

"Yes, quite. Mrs Rivers was so clever. She paired us offbeautifully. My pair was Captain Winthrop of the Ghurkas; anawfully nice man. He talked to me the whole time. He knowsTheo. Says he's the finest fellow in Asia! Rather nice to bemarried to the 'finest fellow in Asia,' isn't it?"

"Decidedly. But I don't think we neededhim to tell usthat sort of thing." A touch of the girl's incurable prideflashed in her eyes.

"Well, I was pleased all the same. He said he was never sosurprised in his life as when he heard Theo had married; butnow he had seen me, he didn't feel surprised any more."

A trifling difference of opinion; but, in point ofcharacter, it served to set the two women miles apart.

Evelyn's remark scarcely needed a reply; and Honor fell intoa thoughtful silence.

She had allowed herself the rare indulgence of a day "offduty." Instead of accompanying Evelyn to the picnic, she hadenjoyed a scrambling excursion with Mrs Conolly—whosefriendship was fast becoming a real possession—and her twobig babies; exploring hillsides and ravines; hunting up therarer wild flowers and ferns; and lunching off sandwiches ona granite boulder overhanging infinity. This was her idea ofenjoying life in the Himalayas; but the June sun proved alittle exhausting; and she was aware of an unusual wearinessas she lay back in her canvas chair in the verandah of "TheDeodars,"—a woodland cottage, owing its pretentious name tothe magnificent cedars that stood sentinel on either side ofit.

Her eyes turned for comfort and refreshment to the stainlesswonder of the snows, that were already beginning to dontheir evening jewels—coral and amethyst, opal and pearl.The railed verandah, and its sweeping sprays of honeysuckle,were delicately etched upon a sky of warm amber, shadingthrough gradations of nameless colour into blue, wherecloud-films lay like fairy islands in an enchanted sea.Faint whiffs of rose and honeysuckle hovered in the stillair, like spirits of the coming twilight, entangling senseand soul in a sweetness that entices rather than uplifts.

Evelyn Desmond, perched lightly on the railings, showedethereal as a large white butterfly, in the daintiness ofher summer finery against a background of glowing sky. Sheswung a lace parasol aimlessly to and fro, and her gaze wasconcentrated on the buckle of an irreproachable shoe.

Honor, withdrawing her eyes reluctantly from the broodingpeace of mountain and sky, wondered a little at herpensiveness; wondered also where her thoughts—if mereflittings of the mind are entitled to be so called—hadcarried her.

As a matter of fact, she was thinking of unpaid bills; sincehuman lilies of the field, though they neither toil norspin, must pay for irreproachable shoes and unlimited summerraiment.

The girl's own thoughts, as they were apt to do in leisuremoments, had wandered to Kohat: to the men who were workingwith cheerful, matter-of-fact courage in the glare of thelittle desert-station; and to the one brave woman, whoremained in their midst to hearten them by her ownindomitable gladness of soul.

The beauty of the evening bred a longing—natural in one sosympathetic—that they also could be up on this greenhill-top, under the shade of the deodars, enjoying theexquisite repose of it all.

"Have you heard from Theo this week, Ladybird?" she askedsuddenly. It was the first time she had used the name, forhabit is strong; and Evelyn looked up quickly, the colourdeepening in her cheeks.

"Don't call me Ladybird!" she commanded, with unusualdecision. "It belongs to Theo."

"I'm sorry, dear," she said gently. "I quite understand.But—have you heard lately?"

"Oh, yes; I forgot to tell you. I had quite a long letterthis morning. Perhaps you would like to read it."

The girl glanced down at it quickly; but allowed it to liethere untouched. She knew that Desmond wrote good letters,and she would have dearly liked to read this one. But acertain manly strain in her forbade her to trespass on theprivacy of a letter written to his wife.

"Thank you," she said; "I think I won't read it, though. Idon't suppose Theo would care about his letters being passedon to me. I only want to know if things are going on allright."

"Oh, yes; in the usual sort of way. They've had trouble withthose wretched Waziris. Two sentries murdered last week; andsome horses stolen. Oh! and Mrs Olliver has had a bad touchof fever; and there's cholera in the city, but they don'tthink it'll spread. What a gruesome place it is! And what amercy we're not there now. By the way," she added, workingher parasol into a crack between two boards, "I met theKresneys as I was coming home."

"Yes. They're up for six weeks, and they seemed so pleasedto see me that—I asked them in to dinner to-night."

"Well—why not?" A spark of defiance glinted through thedark curves of her lashes.

"I daresay. But he isn't here; so it can't matter to him.And he need not know anything about it."

"Really, Honor, for a clever person, you're rather stupid.It would be simply idiotic to tell him what is sure to annoyhim, when the thing's done and he can't prevent it."

"If you feel so sure it will annoy him, why on earth do youdo it? He is so good to you in every possible way."

A great longing came upon her to disclose all that he hadbeen ready to relinquish five weeks ago.

"I know that without your telling me," Evelyn retortedsharply. "But I think I might do as I like just while I'm uphere. And I mean to—whatever you say. The Kresneys camehere, instead of going to Mussoorie, chiefly to see me. Ican't ignore them; and I won't."

"Well, for goodness' sake, don't ask them to the houseagain, that's all." Then, because she could scarcely trustherself to say more on the subject, and because she had nowish to risk a quarrel, she added quickly: "A parcel camewhile we were out. Perhaps you'd like to open it beforedinner."

"You seem to have gone in rather extensively for dresseslast year," Honor remarked, a trifle critically. Since theirarrival in Murree she had become better acquainted with thedetails of Evelyn's wardrobe; and the knowledge had troubledher not a little. "How about your trousseau?"

"Mother gave me hardlyany dresses. She said I wouldn'tneed them on the Frontier. But Imust have decent clothes,even in the wilderness."

"Yes, I suppose so. Still you will find continual dressesfrom Simla a terrible drain on a limited allowance."

A delicate flush crept into Evelyn's cheeks, and her eyeshad an odd glitter that came to them when she felt herselfhard-pressed, yet did not intend to give in.

"I happen to know the amount of it," Honor answered quietly."I also know the cost of clothes such as you have beengetting in Simla, and—I am puzzled to see how the two canbe made to fit. You dopay for your things, I suppose?"she added, with a flash of apprehension. She herself hadnever been allowed to indulge in bills.

Evelyn's colour ebbed at the direct question; and she tookinstant refuge in anger and matrimonial dignity, as beingsafer than truth.

"Really, Honor, you're getting rather a nuisance justlately. Scolding and preaching never does me a scrap ofgood—and you know it. What I do with my allowance isn'tanybody's business but my own, and I won't be treated as ifI were a child. After all"—with a fine mingling of dignityand scorn—"I'm the married woman. You're only agirl—staying with me; and I think I might be allowed tomanage my own affairs, withoutyou always criticising andinterfering."

By this time Honor had risen also; a line of sternnesshardening her beautiful mouth. Beneath her sustainedcheerfulness lay a passionate temper; and Evelyn'sunexpected attack stung it fiercely into life. Severalseconds passed before she could trust herself to speak.

"Very well, Evelyn," she said, at length, "from to-day thereshall be an end of my criticism and interference. You seemto forget that you asked for my help. But as you don't needit any longer I will hand over the account books to youto-morrow morning; and you had better give Nazar Khan someorders about dinner. There isn't very much in the house."

Only once before had Evelyn seen her friend roused to realindignation; and she was fairly frightened at the effect ofher own hasty words.

"Oh, Honor, don't be so angry as that!" she pleadedbrokenly. "You know I simply can't——"

But with a decisive gesture Honor set her aside, and walkingstraight past her, mounted the steep staircase to her ownroom.

Arrived there, she stood still as one dazed, her handspressed against her temples. There were times when this girlfelt a little afraid of her own vehemence; which, but forthe heritage of a strong will, and her unfailing reliance ona Higher Judgment, might indeed have proved disastrous forherself and others.

With controlled deliberation of movement, she drew a chairto the hired dressing-table, which served as davenport, andbegan to write.

She set down date and address and the words, "My dearTheo,"—no more. What was it she meant to say to him? Thatfrom to-day Evelyn must be left to manage her affairs alone;that she could no longer be responsible for her friend'sdoings, social or domestic; but that she was willing toremain with her for the season, if he wished it? How weresuch things to be worded? Was it even possible to say themat all?

Her eye fell upon the envelope containing his last letter.Mechanically she drew it out and read it through again veryslowly. It was a long letter, full of their mutualinterests; of the music and the Persian,—which she was nowstudying under his tuition;—of Wyndham, Denvil, MrsOlliver, and his men; very little about himself. But it waswritten as simply and directly as he spoke,—the only formof letter that annihilates space; and it was signed, "Alwaysyour friend, Theo Desmond."

Before she reached the signature the fire had faded from hereyes. She returned it to the envelope, took up the sheet onwhich three lines were written, and tearing it across andacross, dropped it into the cane basket at her side.

"I can't do it," she murmured. "What right have I to lethim call himself my friend, if I fail him the first timethings take an unpleasant turn?"

She decided, nevertheless, that Evelyn might well be allowedto realise her own helplessness a little before the reinswere again taken out of her hands. Then she went downstairsand out into the golden evening, to cool her cheeks andquiet her pulses by half an hour of communing with theimperturbable peace of the hills.

Evelyn, standing alone in the drawing-room, bewildered andhelpless as a starfish stranded by the tide, heard Honor'sfootsteps pass the door and die away in the distance. Anunreasoning fear seized her that she might be going over toMrs Conolly to stay there for good; and at the thought a sobrose in her throat. Flinging aside her parasol, which fellrattling to the floor, she sank into the nearest chair andburied her face in the cushion.

She knew right well that her words had been ungrateful andunjust; yet in her heart she was more vexed with Honor forhaving pushed her into a corner than with herself for herdefensive flash of resentment. More than all was sheoverwhelmed by a sense of utter helplessness, of not knowingwhere to turn or what to do next.

"Oh, if only Theo were here!" she lamented. "He would neverbe unkind to me, I know." Yet the ground of her woe remindedher sharply that if her husband had knowledge of the billslying at that moment in her davenport, he might possibly beso unkind to her—as she phrased it—that she did not daretell him the truth. He had spoken to her once on the subjectof debt in no uncertain terms; and she had resolvedthenceforth to deal with her inevitable muddles in her ownway,—the simple fatal way of letting things slide, andhoping that they would somehow come right in the end. Butthere seemed no present prospect of such a consummation; andfor a while she gave herself up to a luxury of self-pity.Tides in her mind ebbed and flowed aimlessly as seaweed.Everything was hopeless and miserable. It was useless tryingto be good; and she supposed Honor would never help heragain.

Then her thoughts stumbled on the Kresneys. It must benearly half-past six, and dinner was at a quarter pasteight. But, as things now stood, their coming wasimpossible. She must send them a note to say Honor was notwell; for who could tell how this new, angry Honor mightchoose to behave if they arrived in spite of all?

The need for action roused her, and she went over to herdavenport. But on lifting the lid her eyes fell upon thelittle sheaf of bills—and again the Kresneys faded intoinsignificance. She took up the detested slips of paper;laid them out one by one on the table; and, sitting downbefore them, contemplated them with knitted brows and ahopeless droop of her lips.

No need to look into them in detail. She knew theircontents, and the sum of them by heart. She knew that theyamounted in all to more than six hundred rupees; and thatanother four hundred, possibly more, was still owing indifferent directions.

Where in all the world was such a sum to be found withoutTheo's help? An appeal to Honor would be worse than useless.Honor was so stupid about such things. Her one idea would beimmediate confession. A hazy notion haunted Evelyn thatpeople who were in straits borrowed money from somewhere, orsome one. But her knowledge of this mysterious transactionwent no further; and even she was able to perceive that fromso nebulous a starting-point no definite advance could bemade. She had also heard of women selling their jewels, andwondered vaguely who were the convenient people who boughtthem; though this alternative did not commend itself to herin any case.

Yet by some means the money must be found. Her earliestcreditors were beginning to assert themselves; to thank herin advance for sums which she saw no hope of sending them;and, worse than all, she lived in daily dread lest any ofthem should be inspired to apply to Theo himself. Look whereshe would a blank wall confronted her; and in the midst ofthe blankness she sat, a dainty, dejected figure, with herpitiless pile of bills.

Well, mercifully, Honor was out. It would be a comfort tosee any one, and get away from her own thoughts. Also shecould explain about the dinner; and, hastily gathering upher papers, she sent out the customary "salaam."

"Oh, Mrs Desmond, Ido hope I am not disturbing you." MissKresney came forward with a rather too effusive warmth ofmanner. "But you forgot to mention if you dine at a quarterto eight or a quarter past; and I was not certain if youmeant us to dress or not."

Miss Kresney would probably have been amazed could she haveseen these two Englishwomen dining together.

"Why, yes," Evelyn answered simply, "we always dress in theevening, Honor and I. But—please don't think me veryrude—I'm afraid I must ask you and your brother to put offcoming till—some other night. I was just going to send youa note; because Honor is—not at all well. She has been outin the sun all day, and her head is bad. She must keep quietto-night. You see, don't you, that I can't help it? It isn'tmy fault."

Linda Kresney's face had fallen very blank; but she pulledherself together, and called up a cold little smile.

"Of course not, Mrs Desmond. How could I think it isyourfault, when you have always been so veree kind to us? Weoften say it is a pity every one is not so kind as you are.I am sorry Miss Meredith is not well." An acid note invadedher voice. She had her own suspicions of Honor, as being tooobviously Captain Desmond's friend. "My brother will beterribly disappointed. No doubt we can come some day vereesoon instead."

"Yes—I hope so," she agreed, without enthusiasm; then,seeing puzzled dissatisfaction in Linda Kresney's eyes, madehaste to add: "Perhaps you'll stay a little now, as you arenot coming to-night. It's quite early still, and I'm allalone."

Miss Kresney sat down with unconcealed alacrity, and Evelynfollowed her example, laying her hand on the tell-talepapers. The trouble of her mind showed so clearly in hereyes and lips, that the girl, who had begun to grow reallyfond of her, was emboldened to risk a vague proffer ofsympathy. She had never as yet found the opportunity herbrother so desired of making herself useful; and she wasquick-witted enough to perceive that Fate might be favouringher at last.

"I am afraid you have been worried about something, MrsDesmond," she began warily. "Perhaps after all I had betternot stay here, bothering you to make talk. Unless perhaps—Ican help you in any way. I should be very glad to, if youwill not think me officious to say so. I cannot bear to seeyou look so unhappee. It is not bad news from Kohat, Ihope?"

Miss Kresney waited for more—her face and figure onefervent note of interrogation. She had tact enough torealise that she could not press verbal inquiry further.

But her air of interested expectation was not lost on EvelynDesmond. A pressing need was urging her to unburden her mindthrough the comforting channels of speech. Cut off, by herown act, from the two strong natures on whom she leaned forsympathy and help, there remained only this girl, who wouldcertainly give her the one, and might possibly give her theother, in the form of practical information. It was thislast thought that turned the scale in Miss Kresney's favour;and Evelyn spoke.

"I think it's very nice of you to mind that I am unhappy,and to want to help me. But I don't know whether you can;because it's—it's about money."

The merest shadow of astonishment flittered across MissKresney's face. But she said no word, and Evelyn wenton—her nervousness giving way rapidly before the relief ofspeech.

"I have a whole heap of bills here, for dresses and things,that I simply can't pay for out of my allowance. It's notbecause my husband doesn't give me enough," she added, witha pathetic flash of loyalty. "He gives me all he canpossibly spare. But I'm stupid and unpractical. I just orderclothes when I want them, and never think about the pricetill the bill comes in, and then it's too late! My motherdid it all before I married. I wish to goodness she hadtaught me to manage for myself; but it's no use thinking ofthat now. The question is—where can I get money to paythese bills without troubling my husband about them. I mustfind some way to do it, only—I don't the least know how.Aren't there natives out here who buy people's jewels,or—or lend them money when they want it in a hurry? Ithought—perhaps—you might know whether I could manage todo it—up here?"

"Oh, but indeed, Mrs Desmond, you cannot do anything likethat. The native money-lenders are veree bad people to dealwith; and they ask such big interest, that if you once startwith them it is almost impossible to get free again. You sayyou are inexperienced about money, and that would make itfar worse. You cannot do anything of that kind—reallee."

"But if I can't do that, whatcan I do?" she cried. "I'vegot to dosomething—somehow, don't you see? Some of themare beginning to bother me already, and—it frightens me."

A long silence followed upon her simple, impassionedstatement of the case. Miss Kresney was meditating astartling possibility.

"There is only one thing that I can suggest," she venturedat length, "and that is I could lend you some money myself.I haven't a great deal. But if three hundred rupees wouldhelp you to settle some of the bills, I would feel only tooproud if you would take it. There will be no interest topay; and you could let me have it back in small sums justwhenever you could manage it."

"Oh, Miss Kresney, I don't know why you should be so kind tome! How can I take such a lot of money—from you?"

Indeed the sum seemed to her an inconsiderable trifle besidethe certainty of Owen's praise, of Owen's entiresatisfaction.

For a clear three minutes Evelyn Desmond sat silent,irresolute; her mind a formless whirl of eagerness anduncertainty, hope and fear. The novelty of the transactionrather than any glimmering of the complications it mightengender held her trembling on the brink; and Miss Kresneyawaited her decision with downcast eyes, her fingersmechanically plaiting and unplaiting the silken fringe ofthe table-cloth.

Sounds crept in from without and peopled the waitingstillness. Evelyn Desmond had no faintest forewarning of thegrave issues that hung upon her answer, yet she wasunaccountably afraid. Her driven heart cried out for thesupport of her husband's presence; and her voice, when wordscame at last, was pitifully unsteady.

"Would it? I don't seem able to believe that. Only if Idosay Yes, you must promise not to tell—your brother."

"I am afraid that would not be possible. How could I arrangesuch a thing without letting my brother know about it?"

Evelyn's voice was desperate but determined. Some spark ofintuition enabled her to see that any intrusion of Kresneyset the matter beyond the pale of possible things; andnothing remained for Linda but compromise or retreat.

She unhesitatingly chose the former. A few reassuring wordswould cost little to utter; and if circumstances shoulddemand a convenient forgetfulness, none but herself needever be aware of the fact. She leaned across the table, andher tone was a triumph of open-hearted sympathy.

"Mrs Desmond, you know quite well that I cannot leave youunhappy like this. If you are so determined that my brothermust not know, I think I could manage without his help. Cometo the Hotel to-morrow at half-past ten, and we will sendoff three hundred rupees to those who are troubling you mostfor payment."

Miss Kresney was as good as her word. She drew three hundredrupees in notes from her own small bank account, and herselfwent with Evelyn to the post-office whence they were safelydespatched to Simla.

Some three evenings later, Owen Kresney bade his sistergood-night with a quite phenomenal display of affection.

"You're a regular little trump, Linda!" he declared. "Inever gave you credit for so much good sense. By Jove! I'dgive a month's pay for a sight of Desmond's face if he everfindsthis out! I expect he stints that poor little womanand splashes all the money on polo ponies. Glad you wereable to help her; and whatever you do, don't let her pay youback too soon. If you're short of cash, you've only to askme."

For the space of a week Honor held inflexibly aloof; and theeffort it cost her seemed out of all proportion to themildness of the punishment inflicted. It is an oldstory—the inevitable price paid by love that is strongenough to chastise. But this great paradox, the corner-stoneof man's salvation, is a stumbling-block to lesser natures.In Evelyn's eyes Honor was merely cruel, and her own week ofindependence a nightmare of helpless irritation. She madeone effort at remonstrance; and its futility crushed her toearth.

During the evening of their talk the matter had been tacitlyavoided between them; but when, on the following morning,Honor laid books and bills upon the davenport where Evelynsat writing, she caught desperately at the girl's hand.

"Please let the subject alone," she said coolly. "If youpersist in talking of it, you will drive me to go and sit inmy own room—that's all."

A week later, however, when she returned from a ride tofind Evelyn again at the detested davenport, her head bowedupon her arms, like a flower broken with the wind, all theinherent motherhood in her rose up and overflowed. Hastilycrossing the room she knelt down beside the small tragicfigure and kissed a pearl-white fragment of forehead; theonly spot available at the moment. "Poor darling!" shewhispered. "Is it really as bad as all that?"

Caresses from Honor were so rare that for an instant Evelynwas taken aback; then she laid her head on the girl'sshoulder with a sigh of pure content.

"I won't be unkind to you any more; and we'll just forgetfrom this minute that it ever happened at all."

But to forget is not to undo; and during their briefestrangement Evelyn Desmond had added a link to the chain ofFate, whose strongest coils are most often wrought by ourown unskilful fingers.

CHAPTER X.

A SQUARE BARGAIN.

"Behold! Captain Sahib,—there where the sky touches earth.In the space of half an hour we arrive."

When a man is consumed with thirst, and scorched to thebone, by five hours of riding through a furnace seven timesheated in the teeth of a blistering wind, he is chary ofspeech; and the two rode forward in silence—mere specksupon the emptiness of earth and sky—keeping their horses tothe long-distance canter that kills neither man nor beast. Adetachment of forty sabres followed in their wake; and therhythmical clatter rang monotonously in their ears.

The speck on the horizon was an outpost—a boundary mark ofempire,—where a little party of men watched, night and day,for the least sign of danger from the illusive quiet of thehills.

It is these handfuls of men, natives of India all,stationed in stone watch-towers twenty miles apart along theBorder, who keep the gateway of India barred; and who willkeep it barred against all intruders for all time. Theunobtrusive strength of India's Frontier amazes thenew-comer. But only those who have spent their best years inits service know the full price paid for the upkeep of thatsame strength in hardship, unremitting toil, and the livesof picked men.

As the riders neared the post its outline showed, stern andclear-cut, against the blue of the sky. A single circularroom, loop-holed and battlemented, set upon an outwardsloping base of immense solidity, and surrounded by amassive stone wall:—a tower in which ten men could holdtheir own against five hundred. The look-out sentry,sighting the detachment afar off, gave the word to hiscompanions, who lowered the ladder that served them forstaircase; and when Desmond's party drew rein the door inthe wall stood open to receive them.

During the halt that followed, the men, having fed andwatered their horses, took what rest they might in patchesof burning shadow within the wall. Though the sun-saturatedmasonry breathed fire, it served to shelter them from thewithering wind that scours the Border at this fiery time ofyear.

Desmond, who had breakfasted five hours earlier on stalebread and a few sardines, lunched, with small appetite, onbiscuits and a slab of chocolate, and moistened his parchedthroat with tepid whisky-and-water. Quenching his thirst wasan achievement past hoping for till Kohat itself should bereached.

He had left the station with his detachment early on theprevious day; had relieved four outposts between dawn anddusk, covering eighty miles of desert road, with four briefhalts for rest; and had spent a night of suffocatingwakefulness in a sun-baked windowless room, built out fromthe base of the last post relieved. It was all in the day'swork—as Frontier men understand work. The exposure and longhours in the saddle had little effect upon his whipcord andiron frame: but a sharp attack of fever—unrecorded in hisletter to his wife—had slackened his alertness of body andspirit; and it was with an unusual sense of relief that hefaced the last twenty-mile stretch of road, leaving behindhim six fresh men to take up the task of watching the blank,unchanging face of the hills.

Three hours later, the little party turned their horses'heads towards Kohat. The sun still smote the uncomplainingearth, and many miles of riding lay before them. But atleast it was the beginning of the end; a fact which the twostout-hearted chargers seemed to recognise as clearly astheir riders. The Ressaldar, who had not failed to note hisCaptain's slight change of bearing, proposed a short cutacross country well known to himself.

"Hazúr," he urged, "there runs a long deep nullah, straightas a lance, across the plain; and as the sun falls lower, itwould give some measure of shade."

"Well spoken, Ressaldar Sahib! I have had my fill of theroad. I'm for the nullah. Come on, men."

And, striking out across country, they vanished from theearth's surface, entering one of those giant clefts in theclay soil formed by the early downrush of torrents from thehills.

Suddenly, in the midst of a swinging canter, the Ressaldarreined in his horse, and the rest followed suit. The oldSikh threw up his head, as a stag will do at the firstwhisper of danger. In the strong light his chiselled face,with its grey beard scrupulously parted and drawn up underhis turban, showed lifeless as a statue; and his eyes hadthe far-off intentness of one who listens with every fibreof his being.

But no flicker disturbed the rigid face: the keen eyes gaveno sign. The old man raised a hand as if enjoining silence,dismounted hastily, and, kneeling down, pressed his earclose against the ground.

In less than ten seconds the Ressaldar was beside him, onehand on his bridle, a consuming anxiety in his eyes.

"Hazúr, it is a spate from the hills," he said between quickbreaths. "It is coming with the speed of ten thousand devilsand there are five miles to go before we can leave thenullah."

Desmond could catch no sound as yet of the oncoming danger;but the practised ears of the native detected its increase,even through the rattle of hoofs that beat upon the brainlike panic terror made audible.

"Faster,—faster!" he panted. His Captain's danger was theone coherent thought in his mind. Desmond merely noddedreassurance; and shifting a little in his saddle, easedmatters as far as possible forBadshah Pasand.[20]

The ground raced beneath their horses' hoofs. The serenestrip of sky raced above their heads. The imprisoning wallsfell apart before their eyes, seeming to divide like a cleftstick as they drew near, and reeling away on either hand asthey passed on. All things in earth and heaven seemedfleeing in mortal haste save only themselves.

Theo Desmond heard the voice of the enemy at last:—anominous roar, growing inexorably louder every minute. At thesound his head took a more assured lift; his mouth a firmerline; and the fire of determination deepened in his eyes.

By a movement of the rein he urged Badshah Pasand to renewedeffort. But the devoted animal was nearing the end of histether, and his rider knew it. Thick spume flakes blewbackward from his lips, and the sawing motion of his headtold its own tale.

Sher Dil, who was still going lustily, gained upon him by aneck, and the Ressaldar turned in his saddle.

"The spurs, Hazúr—thespurs!" he entreated, knowing wellhis Captain's abstemiousness in this regard.

But Desmond shook his head. Badshah Pasand was doing hisutmost; and neither man nor beast can do more. He merelyrose in the stirrups, pressed his heels lightly against thequivering flanks and, leaning forward, spoke a few words ofencouragement almost in the charger's ear.

The sensitive animal sprang forward with a last desperateoutput of strength; and in the same instant a hoarse shoutbroke from Rajinder Singh.

Five minutes later the whole party drew rein on the upperlevels of earth, and their sometime pursuer swepttumultuously onward fifteen feet below.

Desmond's eyes had an odd light in them as he turned fromthe swirling waters to the impassive face of the man who hadsaved their lives.

"True talk, Hazúr. I had known it without assurance. Yet wasmine own help no great matter. It was written that myCaptain Sahib should not die thus!"

"That may be," Desmond answered gravely, for he had beenstrangely upheld by the same conviction. "Yet there bealso—these others. In my thinking it is no smallmatterthat, except for your quickness of mind and hearing,forty-four good men and horses would now be at the mercy ofthat torrent. But this is no time for words. It stillremains to reach Kohat before sundown."

The sun was slipping behind the hills, with the broad smileof a tyrant who fully enjoys the joke, when Desmond drew upbefore his own verandah and slid to the ground.

"Thank God that's over!" he muttered audibly. But he did notat once enter the house. His first care, as always, was forthe horse he rode; and with him it was no mere case of the"merciful man," but of sheer love for that unfailing servantof the human race.

He accompanied Badshah Pasand to the stable, superintendedthe removal of his saddle, and looked him carefully allover. That done, he issued explicit orders for his treatmentand feeding: the great charger—as though fully aware of hismaster's solicitude,—nuzzling a mouse-coloured nose againsthis shoulder the while.

Arrived in the comparative coolness of the hall, he shoutedfor a drink, and a bath. Then, turning towards thedrawing-room, promised himself a few minutes blessedrelaxation in the depths of his favourite chair.

But passing between the gold-coloured curtains he saw thatwhich checked his advance, and banished all thought ofrelaxation from his brain.

Harry Denvil—whose buoyancy and simplicity of heart hadled Desmond to christen him the Boy—sat alone at Evelyn'sbureau, his head between his hands, despair in every line ofhis figure.

Desmond regarded him thoughtfully, marvelling that thesounds of his own arrival should have passed unheard. Thenhe went forward, and laid his hand on the Boy's shoulder.

"Harry! I don't seem to recogniseyou in that attitude.Anything seriously wrong?"

"Why the deuce should I bore you with myself, when you'rehot and tired? I've been a confounded fool; if not worse,and the devil's in the luck wherever I turn."

But Desmond waited in expectant silence for the Boy'strouble to overflow. While he waited, the coveted "drink"arrived, and he emptied the long tumbler almost at a gulp.The station had run out of ice—a cheerful habit of Frontierstations; but at least the liquid was cool and stinging.

"Well?" he said at length, Denvil having returned to hisformer attitude. "I want something more explicit. How am Ito help you, if you slam the door in my face?"

"Don't see how you can help me. I've only been ... a greatmany kinds of a fool: andyou——"

"Well, what of me? I've been plenty of kinds of fool in mytime, I assure you. Money's the backbone of your trouble, nodoubt. Nothing worse, I hope?"

"No, on my honour—nothing worse. The money's bad enough."And the trouble came out in a quick rush ofwords—explanatory, contrite, despairing—all in one breath.For the Boy had Irish blood in his veins; and the initialdifficulty over, he found it an unspeakable relief todisburden his soul to the man who had "brothered" him eversince he joined the Force.

Desmond, perceiving that the overflow, once started, waslikely to be exhaustive and complete, took out pipe andtobacco, balanced himself on the arm of a chair, andlistened gravely to the Boy's disjointed story.

It was a long story, and a commonplace one, if even the mosttrivial record of human effort and failure can be so styled.It was the story of half the subalterns in our ImperialArmy—of small pay, engulfed by heavy expenses, avoidableand unavoidable; the upkeep of much needless uniform; toobig a wine bill at Mess; polo ponies, and other luxuriousnecessities of Indian life, bought on credit; the inevitableappeal to the "shroff,"[21] involving interest uponinterest; the final desperate attempt to mend matters byhigh stakes at cards, and fitful, injudicious backing ofhorses, most often with disastrous results.

"Have you the smallest idea what the total damage amountsto?" asked Desmond, when all was said. "I'm bound to knoweverything now."

"Oh, I kept hoping to get square somehow—without that. Iwanted to stay in your good books; and I saw you were ratherdown on chaps who are casual about money. But I seem to bemade that way, and——"

"So are most of us, my dear chap. But it's up to you to makeyourself some other way, if you don't want to come a cropperand leave the Service. I hope I am no Pharisee, but I'vebeen reared to believe that living in debt is anaristocratic, and rather mean form of theft. My notion ofyou doesn't square with that; and I know a good man when Isee one. You'll never mend matters, I assure you, by playingthe fool over horses and cards. How about your mother?"

Denvil looked down at the blank sheet of foreign note-paperbefore him, and answered nothing. He was the only son of hismother, and she was a widow.

"Can't you see that the fact of your having no father topull you up sharp puts you on your honour to keep straightin every way, on her account? Does she know anything aboutall this?"

"Howcould I tell her?" the Boy murmured, without lookingup. "She thinks me no end of a fine chap; and—and—I'mhanged if I know how to answer her letters since—thingshave got so bad——"

"Confound you!" he cried hotly. "What do you think she'simagining by now? All manner of hideous impossibilities. Isuppose you never gavethat a thought——"

The Boy looked up quickly, pain and pleading in his blueeyes. "I say, Desmond, don't hit so straight. I know I'vebeen a brute to her; and I feel bad enough about it, withoutbeing slanged—byyou."

"My dear lad," he said gently. "I'm sorry if I hit too hard.But I feel rather strongly on that subject. I've no wish toslang you. I only want to set you on your feet, andkeepyou there. So we may as well get to business at once."

"It's simply a question of making up one's mind to things.In the first place we must sell Roland. He's the best ponyyou have."

"It's a cruel wrench, I know," he said gently. "Few menunderstand that better than myself. But it's all you can do.And you're bound to do it. You can advertise him as trainedby me. He's safe to fetch seven hundred that way."

"Look here! That's impossible. I couldn't pay you backwithin the next three years."

Their eyes met, and Denvil was answered. He brought his fistdown on the bureau with such force that Evelyn'sknick-knacks danced again.

"By God, I won't have it!" he protested passionately. "I'llnot take such a sum of money from you."

"No call for violence, Boy! I told you my mind was made up;and it's folly wasting powder and shot against a stonewall."

"Yes, I can manage it." And in the rush of relief Harryfailed to note the significant omission of the adverb. "Butit's to be a square bargain between us. No moreshroffs;no more betting, or I come down on you like a ton of coalsfor my eight hundred. Stick to whist and polo in playtime.Polish up your Pushtoo, and get into closer touch with yourPathans. Start Persian with me, if you like, and replaceRoland with the money you get for passing. But first of allwrite to your mother, and tell her the chief part of thetruth. Not my share in it, please. That remains betweenourselves and—my wife. She'll understand, never fear.Now—shake hands on that, and stick to it, will you?"

"No need for compliments between you and me, Harry. Shut upand get on with your letter."

Then, because his mind was freed from anxiety, he realisedthat the Boy's hand felt like hot parchment, and that hiseyes were unusually bright.

"Pretty average. My head's been going like an engine thesetwo days. Couldn't eat anything yesterday or get a wink ofsleep last night. That's what set my conscience stirringperhaps."

"Likely as not! I'm off for Mackay all the same. Get intomy chair and stay there till further orders. Don't botheryour head about that letter. It shan't miss the mail. I'llwrite it myself to-night."

An invisible reminder from the doorway that theHeaven-born's bath had long been waiting, elicited aperemptory order for the Demon; and Amar Singh departed,mystified but obedient. The Sahib he worshipped, with theimplicit worship of his race, was a very perplexing personat times.

James Mackay's verdict—given well out of the patient'shearing—was immediate and to the point.

"Typhoid, of course—104°. Fool of a boy not to have sentfor me sooner. Ought to have been in bed two days ago. Gethim there sharp, and do what you can with wet sheets andcompresses. I'll wire for a nurse, but we shan't get one.Never do. Not a ounce of ice in the place, and won't be forthree days. That's always the way. He'll keep you on the goall night by the looks of him. May as well let the Major domost of it. You'd be none the worse for a few hours in bedyourself."

A certain lift of Desmond's head signified tacit denial, andthe astute Scotsman knew better than to insist. MeetingWyndham at the gate, he counselled a policy ofnon-resistance.

"The fellow's overdone without knowing it," he said. "Takemy advice, man, and let him gang his ain gait. Fever or no,he's hard as nails, and he'll be glad enough to knock underin twenty-four hours' time."

Throughout that night of anxious battling with the fire offever the two Englishmen seemed translated into mechanicalcontrivances for the administering of milk, brandy, andchicken-broth; for the incessant changing of soaked sheets,that were none too cool at best; and for allaying, as far asmight be, a thirst that no water on earth can quench.

Nothing draws men into closer union than a common danger,or a common anxiety; and in the past twelve years these twohad stood shoulder to shoulder through both many times over.But their zeal produced no manifest results. Denvil'stemperature rose steadily, and his stress of mind broke outin a semi-coherent babble of remorse and self-justification,of argument and appeal, of desperate reckonings in regard toways and means. Desmond left his station by the bed andcrossed over to his friend, who was noiselessly washing acup and saucer.

"Don't hear any more of that than you can help. Fact, youmight as well take your chance of a short rest till he'squieter. I'll come and tell you, no fear."

Paul glanced up with his slow smile from the saucer he waspolishing with elaborate care.

And he retired obediently to his own room—the room that inthe cold weather had belonged to Honor Meredith; that, evennow, empty casket though it was, awoke in him a subtle senseof her presence; of the strength and cheerfulness thatcrowned her beauty like a diadem, and transformed hisoutlook on life.

The letter to Mrs Denvil was written in the small hours.Harry never discovered its contents; but his mother, afterreading it half a dozen times, locked it up with a hoard ofsacred treasures pertaining to her boy. And soon after six,in the pitiless gold of dawn, the two men cantered leisurelydown to early parade.

Here Desmond's attention was arrested by the absence ofRajinder Singh. Hailing a lesser native officer, he learntthat the Ressaldar had been ill with sun-fever all night,and was still quite unfit for work. Hindus are creatures oflittle or no stamina, and they go down like mown grassbefore the unhealthy heat of the Frontier.

Desmond despatched a message to the stricken man, addingthat he himself would come to make inquiry before eleveno'clock. On his return he found Harry temporarily quieter,and fallen into a light sleep.

"I must see Frank about him," he reflected, "on my way backfrom the Lines." For Frank was the regimental standby inevery emergency, and would claim the lion's share of thenursing as a matter of course.

True to his word, Desmond was back on the desertedparade-ground by half-past ten, his syce pursuing himclosely, a flat paper parcel under his arm. It contained afull-length photo of himself in the silver frame that hadheld his mother's picture, because frames were not to beprocured at an hour's notice in Kohat, and he had a greatwish that his gift should be complete: a lastingmemento—such as the old Sikh would keenly appreciate—oftheir stirring ride, and of the fact that he owed his lifeto the man's remarkable quickness of ear and brain.

Rajinder Singh lived alone; for the Sikh, when he entersImperial service, leaves his wife behind in her own village.His one-roomed hut was saturated with heat, and almostdevoid of light. It contained a chair, a strip of matting,and a low string-bed, with red cotton quilt and legs ofscarlet lacquer. Mud walls and floor alike were scrupulouslyclean. Sacred vessels, for cooking and washing, were stowedaway out of reach of defilement. Above his bed thesimple-hearted soldier had nailed a crude coloured print oftheKaiser-i-Hind in robes and crown; and on the opposingwall hung a tawdry looking-glass, almost as dear to hisheart.

The Sirdar was nominally in bed; that is to say, he lay onthe bare strings, beneath his cotton quilt, fully dressed inloose white tunic and close-fitting trousers. His turbanalone had been discarded, and stood ready-folded beside him,a miracle of elaborate precision.

At the sound of hoofs he sat up instantly, his uncut hairand beard flowing down to his waist. In less than twentyseconds both had been twisted to a deft knot high on thehead, his turban adjusted at an irreproachable angle; and,as Desmond's figure darkened the doorway, he staggered tohis feet and saluted with a trembling hand.

"Sit down, sit down!" his Captain commanded him; and heobeyed, rather suddenly, with a rueful smile.

"The years steal away my strength, Hazúr. A little fever,and my bones become as water—yea, though I had once themight of ten in this dried-up arm."

"No reason to speak evil of the years, after yesterday, andthe fever hath the power of seven devils over any man. Ihave been all night beside Denvil Sahib, who lieth withoutsense and strength this morning, young as he is."

"Yes,—the great fever. A matter of many weeks, and soretrouble of mind; for disease takes strong hold upon thestrong. And what will come to the squadron, with both mytroop commanders laid in their beds?"

"That you will not, Sirdar Sahib," Desmond interposed withkindly decision; "we will rather give Bishan Singh a chanceto prove that he is fit for promotion. I have had theassurance from him many times in words. Now I will have itin deeds—the fittest language for a soldier."

"Great is the wisdom of the Captain Sahib, understanding thedeceitfulness of man's heart. Bishan Singh's tongue is as ahorse without bit or bridle. If head and hand carry him asfar, he will do well."

"True talk," Desmond answered, smiling. Then with theincurable diffidence of the Englishman when he is moved todo a gracious action, he held out his parcel. "See here,Rajinder Singh. This is a small matter enough for youracceptance. A token merely that—I do not forget."

The eagerness of a child transfigured the man'sweatherbeaten face, and his fingers plucked unsteadily atthe string.

For a long moment Rajinder Singh gazed upon the miraclebefore him in silent wonder. To the unsophisticatednative—and there are happily many left in India—aphotograph remains an abiding miracle; a fact to be acceptedand reverenced without explanation, like the inconsistenciesof the gods.

"In very truth, it is the Captain Sahib himself!" hemuttered with the air of one who makes an amazing discovery.Then, grasping his possession in both hands, he held it outat arm's length, examining every detail with loving care;glancing from the counterfeit to the original as if tosatisfy himself that the artist had omitted nothing; forDesmond was wearing the undress uniform of the picture.

"Bahut, bahut salaam,[22] Sahib!" he broke out in atremulous fervour of gratitude. "It is your Honour's self,as I said, lacking only speech. Feature for feature—cordfor cord. All things are faithfully set down. Behold, eventhese marks upon the scabbard,—the very scar upon yourHonour's hand! Now, indeed, hath God favoured me beyonddeserving; for my Captain Sahib abideth under this my roofuntil I die."

Rising unsteadily, in defiance of Desmond's mute protest, heremoved the cherished looking-glass, hung the photo in itsplace, and, drawing himself up to his full six-feet-two ofheight, gravely saluted it.

Then he turned to find Desmond, who had risen also, watchinghim intently, his full heart in his eyes.

"I thought it would give you pleasure," he said, in a toneof restrained feeling, "but I had no knowledge that it wouldplease you as much as that. I am very glad I thought of it.But now," he added more briskly, "enough of talk. Therewaiteth more work to be done than a man can accomplishbefore dark. Get you back to bed, Ressaldar Sahib, and staythere until I order otherwise."

Once outside, he sprang to the saddle, and set off at acanter through the withering, stupefying sunlight towardsCaptain Olliver's bungalow.

CHAPTER XI.

YOU DON'T KNOW DESMOND.

Frank Olliver, looking remarkably fresh and cool in aholland gown of severe simplicity, greeted him from theverandah with a flour-covered hand. At the sound of hoofs,her ready brain had sprung to the right conclusion, and shehurried out to save him the necessity of dismounting. Shehad learned to know the value of minutes to a hard-workedman.

"Geoff told me," she said, a rare seriousness veiling thelaughter of her eyes. "It's cruel bad news, but you mustn'tdream of being anxious yet awhile, Theo, man. I'll be roundby half-past eleven sharp; stay till you two are throughwith your work; rest this afternoon and come on again atseven, till morning. You'll just take one clear night in bedbefore I let you go shares inthat part o' the work. Youcan trust him to me, can't you, though Iam a madIrishwoman? I'll promise not to be waking up the patient totake his sleeping draught, or any such cleverness!"

Her nonsense dispelled Desmond's gravity. "I can trust youas far as that, I think!" he answered with a laugh; "but Iwon't have you knocking yourself up again over this. Thelad's my subaltern, and it's my business. You shall taketo-night, though, if you've a mind to, and my best thanksinto the bargain. God alone knows where we should all bewithout you."

"Just precisely where you are at present, no doubt!" Butthe softened tone betrayed her appreciation of his honestpraise. "It's just a bad habit you've got into, that's thetruth, and I've not the heart to break you of it either. But'tis no time now for playing ball with compliments. I'm busyover a cake. My cook has a pain, an' swears 'tis cholera.An' what with dosing him, an' trying to convince him he's afool, and seeing after Geoff's tiffin, I'll be melted to onetear-drop presently; but the good man'll have to dine atMess to-night."

Punctually at the half-hour she entered the sick-room—cool,practised, business-like, and took over her case ascomposedly as any trained nurse. For in those early daysnursing was as persistent a feature of the hot weather asthe punkah itself, and her skill had been acquired in a hardschool.

The Boy had been installed, for greater comfort, inDesmond's own bed; and he greeted her with a faint smile ofrecognition.

"Poor, dear old fellow," she murmured tenderly, pushing thedamp hair from his brow; "wait only till the ice comes, an'we'll pull you round finely, never fear."

His lids fell under her soothing touch, and sprinkling herfingers with lavender water she passed them across andacross his forehead; a look in her eyes the while that nonesave her "brother officers" had ever seen there; a look suchas her children might have seen, had she been so blest.

Among acquaintances Mrs Olliver passed for a masculinewoman, boisterous and good-humoured, though somewhat lackingin the lesser proprieties and affectations which passed fordelicacy of feeling. But with all her angularity and mannishways, she was a fine mother wasted: and in her heart sheknew it. There are too many such among us. A mystery of painand unfulfilled hope which there seems no justifying, savethat at times the world is the gainer by their individualloss; and Frank Olliver, being denied the blessedness ofchildren, mothered all the men of her regiment, theformidable Colonel not excepted.

Having charmed her patient into a light sleep, she made anoiseless tour of the room, smiling at the revelation ofPaul Wyndham's hand in the exquisite neatness wherewith allthings had been set in order. A towel pinned to the punkahfrill brought the faint relief of moving air nearer toDenvil's face. In the hasty manner of its pinning Theo'sworkmanship stood revealed, and the smile deepened in hereyes. She knew each least characteristic of these her grownchildren; knew, and loved them, with a strong unspoken love.

Her next move brought her to the thermometer. It registered95°. A long while after sundown the mercury might drop threedegrees, certainly not more. She cast an anxious glance atthe sleeper, and her quick eye caught the lagging of thepunkah, broken by fitful jerks, which denotes that thecoolie—squatting on his heels in the verandah—is pullingthe inexorable rope in his dreams.

Opening the outer door and letting in a blast as from themouth of hell, she reasoned with that much-enduring humanmachine in a forcible Irish whisper, that set the towelflapping and billowing like a flag in a wind. The room wasnone the cooler for his exertions, but in such intensity ofheat mere movement of the air serves to prevent suffocation.

Mrs Olliver sat down beside her patient and her mindreverted to her own domestic calamity. She wondered with asimple practical wonderment, devoid of fear, whether or noshe had a case of cholera in her compound. To-morrow itwould be well to ascertain the truth; and in the meantimeshe dismissed the matter from her mind.

Before tiffin was over at the station Mess, Wyndham made hisappearance, and with a friendly nod of welcome took thereins out of her hands. But by seven o'clock she was back ather post; and one look at Harry's flushed face and unseeingeyes convinced her that the next twelve hours would make ahigh demand upon her energies, and her resolute hopefulnessof heart.

Desmond came in before Mess. His eyes were grave andanxious, and for many minutes he stood looking down upon theboy in silence; the slim uprightness of his figureemphasised by the close-fitting white uniform, with its widesplash of scarlet at the waist. Then he crossed to the tableand studied the chart, that strange hieroglyph, like anegative print of forked lightning, so full of dread meaningto those who can read it aright. The latest entry was 106°.

He frowned. But the fact that he did not insist spokevolumes to her understanding heart.

"He'll sit handy, just outside, all night and help you inany possible way. He's a jewel at times like this. I'll lookin again when I get home."

"Come back early," she commanded with a sudden smile, "andhave a solid night of sleep. It's plain your needing itbadly."

"Thanks. I believe I am. I'll make a fresh start afterwardsand take my fair share of the work. Jove! It's a furnace ofa night. There goes the trumpet; I'll be back before long."

Shortly after nine o'clock, while Mrs Olliver was persuadingher semi-delirious patient to swallow two tablespoonfuls ofchicken-broth, quick footsteps and the clink of spurs madeher sit suddenly upright, with a listening look in her eyes.She knew the country of her service well enough to beprepared for anything at any hour of the day or night—andshe was barely surprised when, two minutes later, Desmondstood before her in his forage cap, his sword buckled onover his mess-jacket and held high to prevent it fromclanking.

He nodded, and passed a handkerchief across his forehead,for he had come at lightning speed.

"A raid of sorts—out Hangu way. Can't tell if it'll be abig thing or not. The whole garrison's ordered out."

"I dashed on ahead to give you a few instructions. Olliveris ordering Griselda to be saddled and brought across atonce. If the affair looks serious we'll send an orderly backto fetch a doolie from the hospital, come on here for youand the Boy, and see you safely to the Fort, where you muststay till further orders. Get all possible necessariestogether, and be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"I hope to God it mayn't be necessary. But we must take ourchance of that. It won't be safe for you to have a light inthe house, with every door open, and the city full ofbudmashes.[24]Can you manage with just a night-lightcarefully screened?"

"Right! Amar Singh'll sit outside the door. He'll not sleepa wink, I promise you."

The suspicion of a tremor in her brave smile caught at hisheart. He pressed her shoulder with a reassuring hand.

"Sorry Olliver couldn't see you before leaving," he saidgently. "Hullo, there's Paul; I must be off. God bless youfor a plucky woman, Frank. We'll all get back—sometime,never fear." And in an instant she was alone.

Nothing remained but to blow out the lamp and set thescreened night-light on a table farthest from the outerdoors. Its uncertain flicker served to make darkness visibleand through the darkness she crept back to her station bythe bed.

Denvil, who had fallen into an unrefreshing sleep, stirredand tossed with broken mutterings that threatened everymoment to break out into the babble of delirium; and for awhile she sat beside him in a stunned quietness, her earsstrained to catch the sounds that came up from below—thehasty gathering of men and horses and mules; the jingle ofharness; brisk words of command; the tramping of many feet.Comforting sounds, since they spoke of the protectivepresence of Englishmen.

But those that followed were less reassuring, for they weresounds of massed movement, of an organised body under way:the muffled tread of infantry, the cheerful clatter ofcavalry at the trot. She knew the order of their going, tothe minutest detail. A vision of it all was photographedupon her brain as she had witnessed it these many timeswithin the past ten years; and perhaps owing to the mentalvividness of her race, custom had not yet ground the edgeoff the poignant moment of departure.

Rapidly, inexorably, the sounds retreated toward the hills;and as they drew farther away she listened the moreintently. It was as if her spirit, freed from her body,followed the men she loved, till the unheeding nightabsorbed them—till hearing, stretched to its utmost limit,could catch no lightest echo of sound.

Then silence, intensified by stifling darkness, envelopedher, pressing in upon heart and brain like an invisibleforce that held her prisoner against her will.

The practical side of her fought squarely against thisobsession of the intangible; but it persisted and prevailed.The mocking shadows crowded about her, compelled her to adiscomfortable realisation of her solitude in a stationneeding the perpetual alertness of armed men to ensure peaceand safety. For Kohat city boasted a creditable average ofbad characters and murder cases—a corpse more or less onthe Border being of no more consequence than the fall of asparrow; and the Waziris had of late been unusually daringin regard to Government horses and carbines. Nor was it anunknown thing for them to creep past the sentries on veryblack nights into the station itself; and for all hercourage, Frank Olliver was by no means fearless. The two area contradiction in terms. Only the unimaginative arefearless, and only the keenly imaginative, capable offeeling fear in every fibre, ever scale the heights of truecourage.

Save for the wakeful vigilance of sentries, the huddledbungalows of the cantonment lay below her empty as a handfulof shells on a lone shore; and in the overpowering stillnesseach least sound stood out crisp and clear-cut as twigsagainst a winter sunset; the fitful rustle of bedclothes;Rob breathing peacefully in a distant corner; the whisper ofthe punkah; the querulous creaking of the rope answered by awhine from the back verandah, where a resigned coolie swayeda basket of damp straw, packed with bottles of milk andsoda-water for Denvil's consumption during the night.

The reiteration of these still small voices grew distractingas the whisper of an unseen clock. They dominated thesilence, paralysing thought, and compelling her to noteevery change in their pitiless regularity.

Resolved to break the spell by the only definite actionavailable, she decided to prepare for the emergency whichher brain refused to face. But on rising she was arrested bya voice from the bed—a voice not of speech but of song, asnatch from a burlesque the Boy had played in during thewinter:

Denvil's deep baritone, distorted to a guttural travesty ofitself, rose to a shout on the ascending notes of the lastline. Then, without pause for breath, came the voice ofspeech—hurried, expressionless, heartrending to hear.

"Safe for an encore, that—what? Should ha' been Desmond,though. See him in tights you'd think he could slip througha wedding-ring. Done it too, by Jove! Better than horsesthat, in the long-run.—How about Grey Dawn?—Confound yourluck! Always a dead cert till I lay anything on. Hold hard,though.... I'm done with all that now.... Wouldn't go backon Desmond—not for a mine of gold.You don't knowDesmond;—wait till you're in a hole! Eight hundred rupees,I tell you—more than his month's pay! Said I was to keepquiet about it too. Not mail-day to-morrow, is it? Where'sthe use of writing to her? She'd never understand. Lookout—some one's coming,—there by the door. Great Scott!It's—it's mother!"

The voice broke into an unnatural sound between a laugh anda sob, and Frank, who was already praying for the lesserevil of silence, bent over the Boy, soothing him with tenderwords and tone, as though she were his mother in very deed.

The delusion was strong upon him. He clung to her fiercelywhen she would have risen to fetch milk, overwhelming herwith a rush of disjointed questions varied by snatches ofenthusiasm for Desmond, till exhaustion reduced him toincoherent mutterings; and she was free at last to grope formilk and brandy and a fresh packing of wet sheets.

He grew quieter after a space, and sank into a more restfulsleep, leaving Frank Olliver to face another spell ofwhispering silence; her ears strained now to catch the dreadsound of a single horseman returning from the hills.

The first white streak of dawn found her still at her post,with hands quietly folded and unclosed eyes; found AmarSingh wide-eyed also, his lean face and figure rigid as astone image, a bared sword lying like a flash of lightacross his knees.

And with the dawn came also the far-off mutter of thefootsteps that night had stolen from her; an invertedrepetition of the same sounds in a steady crescendo thatrang like music in her ears—a sound to lift the heart.

The massed tramping of men and horses broke up at length,scattered in all directions, and within five minutes shelooked up to find her husband in the doorway—a thicksetman, with more of force than perception in his bluntfeatures and heavily-browed eyes.

She rose and went to him straightway, her face alight withsatisfaction, and he took a friendly hold of her arm by wayof greeting. They had always been more like good comradesthan man and wife, these two.

"Well, old girl," he said, "there was no show after all, yousee. It seems that the raid didn't quite come off; and wehad our scamper for nothing, worse luck! The Boy going onall right?"

"You may as well come out of this, then, and give us somebreakfast. I'm going to the Major's room to tidy up."

As his wife stepped back into the sick-room, Theo Desmondcame quickly towards her.

"Well done," he said heartily; "you didn't expect us quiteso soon, did you? Not a shot fired, and I should have beenswearing all the way home—but for the Boy. Looks peacefulenough now, doesn't he? Temperature any lower?"

"Just a little, these last few hours. But he's been talkinga deal of madness, poor fellow."

"Faith, I can see what's been happening, Theo, clear asdaylight. But I'll say no word to a soul, not even Geoff;you know that sure enough."

"You're played out, Frank. I was afraid you were hardly fitfor this sort of thing yet. You don't do a stroke more tillto-morrow morning. Come along now and have five grains ofquinine and some food. Amar Singh can mount guard in casethe Boy wakes up."

Paul Wyndham greeted her with his nod and smile, which wereapt to convey more friendliness than other people's words.Desmond set her ceremoniously in the place of honour; andthe 6.30 breakfast, prepared at ten minutes' notice, andeaten in Mess uniform, proved a remarkably cheerful affair;one of those simple, commonplace events which, for all theirsimplicity, go far to cement friendship and form refreshingcases along the dusty path of life.

The morning post-bag contained an envelope in Evelyn'shandwriting; and, the Ollivers being gone, Theo retired tothe study to enjoy it at his leisure. It proved to be short,and contained little beyond querulous upbraiding. Herhusband could almost catch the tone of her voice as he read;and the light of satisfaction left his face. Evelyn had aninsatiable appetite for long and detailed letters, thoughshe by no means returned them in kind; and it appeared thatTheo had not written for a week. In the fulness of his dayshe had not realised the fact which was now brought forciblyto his notice.

"It's just laziness and selfishness," she wrote in hersweeping fashion, "when youknow how I look out for yourletters, to leave me a whole week without a line. If it wasme, there might be some excuse, because there's alwayssomething or another going on, and I never seem to get aminute to sit down and write. But you must have hours andhours of spare time in the long days down there. I expectyou play chess with Major Wyndham all the while, and quiteforget about writing to me. I suppose if you were illsomeone would have the decency to write and tell me. But if youdon't write yourselfdirectly you get this, I shall thinksomething dreadful has happened; and it's such a nuisancenot to know if you are all right. I can't enjoy thingsproperly a bit."

Having read it through twice, with a flicker of amusement inhis tired eyes, he sat down straightway, wrote for a quarterof an hour at the top of his speed, and left the letterready for the afternoon post. It contained a polite apologyfor remissness, followed by an account in bare outline ofhis doings during the past five days; a few details inregard to Harry's illness; and an intimation that if letterswere short, she must remember that, for the present, everyhour of spare time would be taken up with nursing the Boy orwriting detailed accounts to his mother. And, in truth,before that wearisome illness was over Mrs[.] Denvil and herboy's Captain had struck up a lasting friendship across sixthousand miles of sea.

On her return from a tennis party the following afternoonEvelyn Desmond found the letter awaiting her; and her facetook such rueful lines as she read it, that Honor's anxietywas roused.

"Oh, it's only rather more Kohatish than usual! Mr. Denvilseems to be quite bad with typhoid, and Theo has beengalloping over half the Frontier after outposts—suchrubbishy work for a man like that! And—oh, you'd betterread it all for yourself. You needn't bother about it havingbeen written forme. It might just as well be a paragraphout of a newspaper!"

With a childish grimace she tossed the letter across thetable. But hid in her heart lay the rankling knowledge thatshe had been both hasty and unjust to her husband, who hademphasised the fact by ignoring it,—a method peculiarly hisown.

Honor read every line of the closely-written pages witheager interest, read also the much that had not beenwritten, that Evelyn had failed to discern; and a greatthankfulness overwhelmed her that she had refrained fromadding her own passing vexation to the burden of work andanxiety already resting on her friend's shoulders.

"Oh, how I envy Mrs Olliver! We're just playing at life uphere, you and I, like two dolls, while she is living thereal thing down there."

"Really and truly, Honor," she declared, with conviction,"you are the most amazing person I've ever known!"

CHAPTER XII.

NOW IT'S DIFFERENT.

The great monsoon—a majestic onrush of cloud hurtlingacross the heavens, with dazzle of lightning and clangour ofthunder—had long since rolled up from India's coastline toher utmost hills; bringing new forms of torment to thepatient plains; filling mountain and valley andwater-courses innumerable with the voice of melody.

On the cedar-crowned heights of Murree, dank boughs drippedand drooped above ill-made houses, that gave free admittanceto the moist outer world; tree ferns, springing to suddenlife on moss-clad trunks and boughs, showed brilliant asemeralds on velvet. The whole earth was quick with hiddenstirrings and strivings, the whole air quick with livingsound—plash of rain-drops; evensong of birds; glad shoutingof cicadas among the branches, and the laughter of a hundredfairy falls.

Theo Desmond drank in the cool green wonder of it all with akeenly perceptive enjoyment; drew into his lungs deepdraughts of the strong, clean mountain air; watched thefrail curtain of mist swaying, lifting, spreading to apearl-white film, till, through a sudden rent, the red goldof sunset burned, deepening to a mass of velvet shadow theinexpressible blue of rain-washed hills.

His post of observation on this August evening was thesaturated verandah of "The Deodars," where he had flunghimself full length in Honor's canvas chair, a pipe betweenhis teeth; hands locked behind his head; lavishly muddiedboots and gaiters outstretched; the whole supple length ofhim eloquent of well-earned relaxation and repose.

Three days earlier he had ridden up through a world ofdriving mist and rain in the wake of Harry Denvil's doolie;having secured a blessed month of respite for himself andtwo months for the Boy, who, by the efforts of threetireless nurses and a redoubtable Scotch doctor, had beendragged back from death; and was but just beginning to takehold on life and health again.

From outset to close he had clung to the support ofDesmond's presence with the tenacity of an exhausted bodyand a fevered brain;—a tenacity which could not fail totouch the older man's heart, and which had made it difficultfor others to take their due share in the nursing. Thus theslow weeks of dependence on one side, and unwearied serviceon the other, together with the underlying bond betweenthem, had wrought a closeness of friendship to which the Boyhad long aspired; and which promised to add depth andstability to the warmth and uprightness of heart that werealready his. Harry Denvil's present need was for a tacitwiping out of the past, an unquestioning trust in regard tothe future; and his Captain, after the wordless manner ofmen, gave him full assurance of both. It is just this powerto draw out the best and strongest by the simple habit oftaking it for granted that marks the true leader; the manwho compels because he never insists; whose influence isless a force than a subtle radiation.

And now, as Theo Desmond sat alone fronting a world compactof mist and fire, and the fragrance of moist earth, his mindwas mainly concerned with the Boy's future, and with certainretrenchments of his own expenditure, whereby alone he couldhope to cancel the debts that remained after the disposal ofRoland. His sole trouble in respect of these retrenchmentslay in the fact that they must, to some extent, affect hiswife. If only she could be persuaded to see the necessity asclearly as he did himself, all would be well. She and Harryhad been good friends from the outset. He hoped—hebelieved—she would understand.

Light footsteps on the boards behind him brought a smile tohis lips; but he neither turned nor stirred. An instantlater, hands cool and imponderable as snowflakes rested onhis forehead, and silken strands of hair brushed it softlyas his wife leaned over him, nestling her head against hisown.

"Naturally, you dear little goose! Come round and let me geta sight of you, instead of perching behind me like a bird."

She came round obediently, standing a little away fromhim,—a slim strip of colour that reflected the uncertainsea-tint of her eyes,—and looked down upon his disorderedappearance with a small grimace.

"I'm notsure that I love you properly, Theo, when you'requite as muddy as that."

And putting out an arm, he drew her down till she kneltbeside him, her hands resting on his knee. He covered themquietly with one of his own.

"Oh, Theo,don't be so uncomfortably energetic! I hategoing out in the wet. You only came in half an hour ago, andyou've been walking all day."

He laughed—the glad laugh of a truant schoolboy—andknocked the ashes out of his pipe.

"I'm capable of walking all night too! Only then you mightimagine the hot weather had turned my brain. But indeed,little woman, if you had been sickened with sunlight andscorched earth as I have been for the last three months,you'd understand how a man may feel a bit lightheaded in thefirst few days that he's quit of it all."

"And was I very horrid to be playing up here in the coolall the time?" she asked, pricked by the memory of Honor'swords to one of her rare touches of compunction.

"My dear, what nonsense! It would have been double as bad ifyou had been there too."

Sincerity rang in his tone, and she noted the fact with asigh of relief. She was not altogether heartless, thisfragile slip of womanhood. She merely desired, like many ofus, the comfort of being selfish without the unbecomingnessof appearing so.

"We'll sit out here together and talk till it gets dark,"she announced with a pretty air of decision, lest theinvitation to walk should be renewed. "Stay where you are,and I'll fetch a stool. It's quite a treat to see youlooking lazy for once in a way."

She brought a stool and established herself close to him. Heacknowledged her presence without removing his eyes from thestorm-tossed glory of the sky.

But her attention was caught and riveted by the reflectionof the glory in her husband's face.

"Does it please you so tremendously?" she asked in honestbewilderment. "Just a sunset! You've seen hundreds of thembefore."

He smiled and answered nothing. Speech and emotion inhabitdifferent hemispheres of a man's brain; woman alone is rashenough to force them into unwilling union.

The clinging garment of mist, driven and dispersed by day'slast flash of self-assertion, lay heaped and tumbled in thevalleys, and the mountains stood knee-deep in an opalescentsea of foam. It was as though Nature, in a mood ofcapricious kindliness, had rent the veil, that mortals mightshare in the triumphal passing of the sun, whose supremacyhad been in eclipse these many days.

Above the deep-toned quiet of earth, blurred and raggedclouds showed every conceivable tone of umber and grey, frompurest pearl-white to darkest depths of indigo. Only lowdown, where a blue-black mass ended with level abruptness, aflaming strip of day was splashed along the west—one broadbrush-stroke, as it were, by some Titanic artist whosepalette held liquid fire. Snows and mist alike caught andflung back the radiance in a maze of rainbow hues; whilebeyond the bank of cloud a vast pale fan of light shotoutward and upward to the very zenith of heaven. Eachpassing minute wrought some imperceptible change ofgrouping, form, or colour; blurred masses melted to flakesand strata on a groundwork of frail blue; orange deepened tocrimson; and anon earth and sky were on fire with tints ofgarnet and rose. Each several snow-peak blushed like anangel surprised in a good deed. Splashes of colour sprangfrom cloud-tip to cloud-tip with invisible speed, till eventhe chill east glowed with a faint hue of life.

And in the midst of the transient splendour, enveloped bythe isolation of the falling day, husband and wife satsilent, absorbed in strangely opposite reflections. Verilythey dwelt in different planets, these two who had willed tobe one, but whom forces more potent held it inexorablyapart.

Desmond had long since passed beyond the border-line ofdefinite thought; while Evelyn's mind rapidly reverted tothe more congenial atmosphere of things terrestrial. Anunknown force was urging her to speak openly to her husband,to rid herself of the shadow that had begun to tarnish thebright surface of life. It would be easier to speak in duskthan in bald daylight—easier also before the bloom ofreunion had been rubbed off by the prosaic trivialities oflife. In her present position, too, it would be possible toavoid his gaze; and she found a singular difficulty intampering with facts when Theo's eyes were on her face.

She watched him speculatively for a few moments, andwondered what change would come over him when her tale wastold. Anger frightened and repelled her; and for all hishastiness she had seldom seen more than a mere spark of hisinner fire.

He seemed to have forgotten her existence; and by way ofgentle reminder she shifted her position.

He felt the movement without catching the sound of his name,and turned to her quickly, impulsive speech upon his lips.

"By the way, Ladybird, there's something I want to tell you,and this is a good opportunity."

The coincidence so startled her that her own half-fledgedimpulse scurried back to its nest. Nor was she certainwhether the sigh that escaped her expressed disappointmentor relief.

"You must judge for yourself. It chiefly concerns the Boy.You're fond of him, aren't you?"

"You wouldn't mind if we put ourselves out a little to gethim out of a difficulty?"

"Well, that would rather depend on what we had to do." Hertone, though still pleasant, was guarded. "What kind ofdifficulty?"

She turned her face away something suddenly, and felt verythankful that day was fading from the sky.

"No—giving it. I prefer it that way. There's no need totell you his troubles in detail; it would hardly be fair tohim. They, are of a kind you can't know anything about; andI hope you never will."

In the fewest possible words he gave her an outline ofHarry's story; of the parting with Roland, and the promisehe had exacted in return for his help. He spoke throughoutwith such unfailing kindness that vexation pricked and stungher, like thorns under the skin. She might have told himafter all. He would not have been angry. Now she had beenforestalled. She failed to perceive that the backslidings ofhis wife must of necessity touch him more nearly than thoseof his subaltern, and that to her own extravagance was addeda host of petty evasions and deceits such as a man of histype would be little able to condone or understand.

"You see," he was saying when her mind harked back from theexcursion into her own point of view, "the poor fellow hasdone all he can towards putting matters straight, and I amthankful I can manage the rest myself, so as to give him afair start for the future."

"Oh, I don't know. Only I think you might have consideredme a little first. I've more right to your money than hehas; and if you can afford to throw away eight hundredrupees on a careless, extravagant subaltern, you could quitewell let me go to Simla; or at least add something to mydress allowance. It's not so very easy to manage on thelittle you give me."

She spoke with averted face in a tone of clear hardness, andeach word smote her husband like a small sharp stone.

"I am sorry you see it that way," he said, a new restraintin his voice, "and that you don't find your allowancesufficient. I give you all I can, and you seem to havepretty frocks enough, anyhow. If I had eight hundred rupeesto throw away,—as you choose to express it,—I shouldhardly have spoken of putting ourselves out; in fact, Ishouldn't have spoken at all. But you have been such goodfriends with the Boy all along that I hoped you would beready to help give him a hand up. I can only manage such asum by knocking two hundred off my pay for the next fourmonths. This means cutting down expenses a little; but wecan easily do it, Ladybird—if we pull together."

At any other time such an appeal from Theo would have provedirresistible, would have drawn them into a closer union ofthought and purpose than they had ever attained as yet. Butthe appeal came at the wrong moment, and Evelyn Desmond satsilent, her hands so fast interlocked that her rings bruisedtheir delicate surface.

"I am thinking of the Boy's mother as well as himself, yousee," her husband urged with increasing gentleness; "he isher only son, and she is wrapped up in him; and I know fromexperience what that means."

"You think a great deal too much about—those sort of straypeople, Theo, and it's rather hard on me. Why amI to bemade uncomfortable on account of Mrs Denvil, when I've nevereven met her in my life?"

"If you can't see that for yourself, Ladybird, I'm afraid Ican't tell you. I've no taste for preaching sermons."

"It would be rather a mercy if you had no taste for actingthem either," she retorted, with a little laugh that failedto take the edge off her words. "I don't much like them inany form. How are you going to cut down expenses?"

"Chiefly in ways that need not concern you. But to startwith, I'm afraid I must take you and Honor down with me onthe third of next month. I can do nothing while I amcrippled by a double establishment. You'll barely miss fourweeks up here, and the heat is over earlier in Kohat than inthe Punjab. Paul gets his leave when mine is up, and he willspend it here with the Boy, so as to take the last month ofrent off my hands."

"Yes. I had to fix things up before I left. It's a pity thedifficulty includes Honor, but I don't think she'll mindwhen I tell her why."

"Butyou arenot?" he broke out abruptly, leaningforward and searching her face with anxious eyes.

"I never saidthat, Theo—and it isn't true. Only—I dohate the ugliness and the heat, and September's theloveliest month of all up here."

"Doesn't it make things any easier to feel you are helpingthe Boy by giving up these few weeks of enjoyment?"

"Try and fancy yourself in a strait like that, Evelyn, andthe thundering relief it would be to get out of it."

"I'm not good at fancying things, and I'm not good atcutting down expenses either—I was never taught. I hope youdon't do these uncomfortable sort of things often, Theo. Itseems to me you're too much inclined to rush in and helppeople without stopping to think of—of other people at all!It would have been much better for the Boy if you'd left himto get clear of his muddle, instead of upsetting every oneby spending money on him that you can't really spare."

Her husband leaned farther back into the shadow, his mouthhardened to a rigid line. All that he chose to say on thesubject had been said.

Emboldened by his silence, and the fact that his face washidden from her, she continued her small flow ofremonstrance, undermining herself more completely with eachfresh word.

"It was all very well while you were a bachelor for you togo throwing your life and your money about so foolishly. Butnow it's different; and I don't think you have a right to doit any more. Where's the good of us trying so hard to liveon our pay, if it's only to be flung about to helpsubalterns who don't try at all? You can't cure Mr Denvil ofbeing casual; and for all your generosity, you'll probablyfind him in just as bad a hole again by this time nextyear."

"I never asked foryour opinion of the Boy, Evelyn; andyou seem to forget that he has given me his word."

"Oh, no doubt he has! It's easy enough to make promises whenone's unhappy; but it isn't so easy to keep them when thingsget smooth again." And she nodded her head wisely, for herconviction sprang from the depths of personal experience.

Her husband rose and walked to the verandah's edge. Here heremained standing, his hands thrust deep into the pockets ofhis Norfolk coat, his eyes fixed absently on the last gleamof light in the west, where all that now remained of thesunset's stormy splendour was a handful of filmy fragments,like rose petals dropped from some Olympian rose-bush, andthe sickle of a young moon, outrivalled by the mellowradiance of the evening star. The snows lay dead and cold,awaiting the resurrection of dawn. Their chill pallor struckat his heart in a manner new to him.

Evelyn studied his eloquent outline with a mild surprise.She was not a little proud of her valiant protest againsthis mistaken ideas; and he was surely not foolish enough tobe annoyed because she had talked practical commonsense.

"Because I have no more to say. Too much has been saidalready. I am sorry I mentioned the matter at all."

Honor met him on the threshold, and her eyes were quick tocatch the lurking shadow in his. But she merely said whatshe had come to say.

"Mr Denvil is longing for you. I have done my small best toamuse him; only there comes a stage when nothing willsatisfy him but you. Where's Evelyn?"

Honor found her by the verandah rails, standing like apensive ghost in the dying light.

"Studying the sunset, Evelyn?" she remarked cheerfully."That's a new departure for you!"

"Oh, Honor, Theo's beenso troublesome! And he wants totake us down on the third of next month. He will explain toyou the why of it all; perhaps you'll understand better thanI could. Such high-flown notions don't appeal to me a bit.I think Theo is rather like that silly man in the MiddleAges who was always trying to fight windmills, or sheep, orsomething; and there really ought to be a law to preventpeople who want to go about being unselfish to everybodyfrom ever having wives at all!"

CHAPTER XIII.

IT ISN'T FAIR.

The measure of a man's worth is not to be found in a heroicimpulse or a fine idea, but in the steadfast working out ofeither through weeks and months—when the glow has fadedfrom the heights, when the inspiration of an illuminedmoment has passed into the unrecognised chivalry of dailylife; and the three months following upon that crucialAugust evening put no light tax upon Desmond's stayingpower,—the power that is the corner-stone of allachievement.

Border life is, in every respect, more costly than life in"down country" cantonments. To keep within the narrow boundsof his pay was already a difficult matter; and such minorretrenchments as could be achieved were inadequate to meethis present need. He saw that he would be called upon topart with one or two cherished possessions, acquired in daysof young extravagance; and possibly to break into the fewhundred rupees laid aside for emergencies shortly after hismarriage.

Wine, cigars, and cigarettes must be banished outright; andhe limited himself to one pipe and one "peg" a-day. Storesof all kinds were ruthlessly cut down; and only theAnglo-Indian housewife knows what it means to be flungalmost entirely upon the tender mercies of the Bazaar.Informal dinner-parties, for which the Desmonds were famous,became rare events; and nights at Mess—a favourite andjustifiable luxury—were reduced in number as far as mightbe without eliciting remonstrance from his brother officers.For in India, and more especially in the Army of India, itis profoundly true that "no man liveth unto himself." In theLand of the Open Door the second of the two greatcommandments is apt to be set before the first; and nowhere,perhaps, is the bond of union stronger, more compelling,than in the isolated regiments of the Frontier Force. But,with due regard for this unwritten law, Desmond accomplishedmuch in those few months of unremitting self-denial; and ifhis friends noted certain changes in his way of life, theyaccepted these in the true spirit of comradeship, withoutquestion or comment.

Even Wyndham kept silence, though he had fuller knowledge ofhis friend's abstemiousness, and was disturbed by a greatlonging to remove the hidden cause. But intimate speechplayed a minor part in the friendship of these two men. Thevery depth and strength of their feeling for each otherconstrained them to a particular reticence in the matter ofself-expression.

On the first occasion of Paul's dining at the blue bungalow,after his return from Murree, Desmond spoke a few words ofapology for the absence of wine and cigars.

"Sorry to treat you shabbily, old man," he said, when theywere alone. "Just a little necessary economy. It won't lastlong."

"At least you'll not refuse one of mine, Theo," he said; andtheir talk drifted into the fertile channel of "shop," andthe prospect of serious collision with Russia, which at thattime loomed on the political horizon.

Paul was thus left to draw his own conclusions, which werenot complimentary to his friend's wife. For reserve has itsdrawbacks, like every other virtue; and those who practiseit often, forget that if there is a time for silence, thereis also a time for speech.

Evelyn clung tenaciously to her disapproval of the wholeproceeding. The scarcity of stores, and of pleasant littledinners, were the only retrenchments that directly disturbedher comfort, and she made the most of them, though theproblems of housekeeping fell mainly upon Honor's shoulders.The girl's readiness to accept Evelyn's burden, as a matterof course, could not fail to rouse Desmond's admiration: andthese three months of friction and stress, of workingbravely together for one end, went far to strengthen thebond of their friendship.

Evelyn contented herself with a thinly veiled air ofmartyrdom, and with raising objections whenever opportunityoffered. Only after Denvil's first dinner did she venture adirect attack. For on this occasion economy was not. Wineand cigars appeared with the dessert; and the two men sat aninordinately long while over both. But the innersignificance of her husband's acts being a sealed book toEvelyn Desmond, she spent the evening in a state ofsuppressed irritation, which, on the Boy's departure,overflowed in petulant reproof.

"Why did you have everything different to-night just becauseof Mr Denvil?" she demanded in a note of challenge.

Desmond's tone was polite, but final. He sat down and openeda book in self-defence. But Evelyn was not to be baulked bya policy of masterly inactivity. She remained standingbefore him.

"Theo—it's perfectly ridiculous the way you put yourselfout for that boy!" she protested with unusual heat, kindledby a hidden spark of jealousy. "It's bad enough to have yougiving up everything, and making Honor and me thoroughlyuncomfortable, without this sort of nonsense on the top ofit all."

Honor glanced up in quick remonstrance; but Desmond caughtthe look in her eyes, and it was enough. "Haven't you thesense to see that just because he is so fond of you heought to be allowed to know how much trouble he has givenyou. It's the only way to make him more careful, now he'sback again; and if youwill go on in this way, I shall endin speaking to him myself."

Desmond shut the book with a snap; flung it on the table,and sprang up with such anger in his eyes that his wifeshrank back instinctively. Her movement, slight as it was,checked the impetuous speech upon his lips.

"You will do nothing of the sort," he said in a restrainedvoice. "It is a matter entirely between him and me; andthat's an end of the subject, once for all."

Evelyn, startled into silence, stood motionless till thestudy door closed behind her husband; then, with a sigh ofexasperation, hurried out of the room, leaving Honor to herown disturbing thoughts.

Each month was forcing upon the girl a clearer revelation ofthe clash of temperament, which threatened to bring aboutserious disunion between these two, whose happiness hadbecome a vital part of her life; and her spirit was troubledbeyond measure. The strongest passion of Honor Meredith'sheart was the true woman's passion—to protect and help. Butworldly wisdom warned her that her hands were tied; that manand wife must work out their own salvation, or the reverse,without help or hindrance from her.

Since their return from Murree such flashes of dissensionhad become increasingly frequent between them. It isastonishing how quickly two people can fall into a habit ofdiscord. Abstinence from tobacco was not without its effectupon Desmond's nerves and temper, tried as they were byEvelyn's pin-prick methods of warfare; while she herself wasoften strung into irritability by her own unacknowledgedtroubles.

The passing relief wrought by Miss Kresney's loan hadevaporated with the realisation that she had only contracteda debt in another direction—a debt more embarrassing thanall the rest put together; for she knew that she would neverhave the courage to speak of it to her husband. Miss Kresneyhad told her to take her time in the matter of repayment,and she had taken it in generous measure. Not a fraction ofthe three hundred rupees had been repaid as yet; and, by wayof atonement, Evelyn felt constrained to a more decisivefriendliness with both brother and sister—a fact which OwenKresney noted with satisfaction; and which did not improvematters between herself and Theo.

As the weeks wore on he devoted his spare time moreexclusively to polo and Persian; continuing his lessons toHonor; and rarely spending his evenings in the drawing-room,unless the girl's music held him spellbound, and ensured theavoidance of dangerous topics. Evelyn retorted by a renewedzest for tennis and tea-parties; an increasing tendency tofollow the line of least resistance, regardless of results.Thus Honor found herself thrown more and more upon thecompanionship of Mrs Olliver, Mrs Conolly, and Paul Wyndham,whose anxiety for Theo she guessed at, even as they guessedher own, though never a word on the subject passed betweenthem.

Evelyn's anxiety was reserved exclusively for herself. Shehad sense enough to perceive that nothing could defer theday of reckoning much longer; and on a certain afternoon inearly December she exhumed her detested sheaf of bills andsat down at her bureau to a reconsideration of thehopelessness of things in general.

A panel of winter sunshine, flung across the room from theverandah door, enveloped her in a glow of light and warmth.The drowsiness of an Indian noon brooded over the compound.Honor was out riding with Paul Wyndham; Theo busy in thenext room, and very unlikely to interrupt her, she reflectedwith a pang of regret. In an hour's time she was going overto tea and tennis with the Kresneys; and had decided that,after six months of silence, some mention must be made of afixed scale of repayment, to begin with the New Year. But inthat event, what hope of meeting any of those other demands,that were again being urgently brought to her notice? Whatpossibility of ordering the two new gowns—bare necessities,in her esteem—to grace the coming Christmas week at Lahore?

This same "week" is the central social event of the Punjabcold weather, when most officers on the Border are certainof their fifteen days' leave; when from all corners of theProvince men and women gravitate towards its dustycapital—women with dress baskets of formidable size; menarmed with polo-sticks, and with ponies, belovedcricket-bats and saddles!

Through all the dismal coil of things, this one hour offestivity gleamed on Evelyn Desmond's horizon like a lightin a dark room. For one brief blessed week she would be inher element, would escape from the galling restraint ofeconomy; and, more than all, in the background of her mindthere lurked a hope that by some means she might recapturethat vigorous, self-poised husband of hers, whose love was,after all, the one real necessity of her life; and whom shenow saw slipping slowly, surely out of reach. But torecapture she must recaptivate; and to that end faultlessfrocks were indispensable.

She leaned her head upon her hands, and fell to buildingextravagant air-castles that eclipsed all practicalconsiderations whatsoever.

So complete was her abstraction, that she failed to hear thestudy door open, and was rudely startled back to reality byher husband's voice at her elbow, sharp and stern, as shehad never heard it till now.

"Whatis the meaning of this, Evelyn?" he demanded,bringing his hand down on the desk beside her; and oneglance at the half sheet lying beneath it was enough. Thatparticular bill had grown painfully familiar during the lastfew months. It was from Lahore, and its total was no lessthan three hundred rupees. Her husband's waiting silence wasmore disconcerting than speech.

"It's mine," she murmured breathlessly; and snatched at theoffending scrap of paper, tearing it in two.

"The bill is mine now," Desmond rebuked her with studiedequanimity. "You can't cancel it by destroying it. No doubtyou've got another copy. Will you let me have it and anyothers you happen to have by you?"

For all his coldness, the assurance fell on her heart likerain on thirsty soil. Where the money was to come from shecould not guess. But she knew enough of the man to feel surethat his words would be fulfilled to the letter.

One consideration only withheld her from reply. How much didshe dare confess to him even now? Not Miss Kresney'stransaction; nor the need of new dresses for Lahore. But therest!... What an unspeakable comfort it would be to flingall the rest on to his shoulders, that seemed broad andstrong enough to carry her burdens and his own.

"Well, Evelyn, I am waiting for your answer. Are there otherbills besides that one?—Yes or No. I want the truth. Don'tstop to embroider it."

At that the blood flew to her cheeks. She sprang up andfaced him, tremulous, but defiant.

"If you say things likethat to me, I won't tell youanything at all ... ever." And turning sharply away, to hideher tears, she went over to the mantelpiece and leaned uponit, keeping her back towards him.

"I am sorry if I hurt you," he said, a touch of bitternessin his tone. "But the fact that I can speak so without doingyou a gross injustice hurts me more than you are ever likelyto understand."

"You make it all seem much worse—than it really is," sheanswered without looking round. "I haven't done anythingdreadful, after all. Heaps of people get into debt. Youweren't so angry with Mr Denvil; and—and—if you hadn'tbeen in such a hurry to help him, you'd have found it easierto help me now."

"No need to fling that in my teeth, or drag the Boy intothe discussion. The cases are not parallel, and you haveonly yourself to thank that my money went to him instead ofyou. In my anxiety to avoid anything of this sort, I havequestioned you several times, and each time you have told mea lie. The whole pile of bills are nothing to me incomparison with that. I suppose I ought to have known thatyou could hardly dress as you do on the little I can spare.But I was fool enough to trust you implicitly." He paused,and added with greater gentleness: "What's more, I shalltrust you again, unless you make that quite impossible. ButI warn you—Ladybird, that if ever you do kill my trust inyou, you will kill—everything else along with it."

There was sharp pain in the cry, and she swung round,flinging out her hands with a pathetic gesture of entreaty.He did not take them as she half hoped he would; but stoodlooking at her in a thoughtful silence. Then, "If you careas much as that," he said slowly, "it lies with you not tofling away the thing you care for. Will you please let mesee those bills."

He sighed; and taking up the papers, looked through themabsently, too deeply troubled to grasp their contents.

A short silence followed, during which she again heard therustle of paper behind her, and longed for a sight of hisface.

"I am afraid this knocks the Lahore week on the head," hesaid at length. "I am bound to run down for the PoloTournament, of course; but I can come straight back, and wemust do without the rest of it this year."

The incredible words roused Evelyn to open mutiny. Once moreshe faced him, her head flung backward, a ring of resolve inher voice.

"No, Theo, ... Iwon't do without the rest of it.Youdon't care, I daresay! So long as you can win the PunjabCup, nothing else matters. But Christmas week is my only bitof real pleasure in all the cold weather, and Iwill godown for it, ... whatever you say."

Theo Desmond was completely taken aback; and when surprisegave place to speech, his tone suggested the iron hand underthe velvet glove.

"My dear little woman, you are talking nonsense. If I findit impossible to manage Lahore, you will remain here. Therecan be no question about that."

"Then you mustn't find it impossible, ... that's all! Therehas been nothing but giving up ever since we came fromMurree. I'm sick of it; and I won't give up Christmas week,too. It's quite hard enough for me as it is, being strandedin the most hopeless part of India because of you, withoutyour grudging my few little pleasures as well." And sinkinginto a chair, she hid her face in her hands.

The victory is more often to the unscrupulous than to thestrong. His wife's injustice cut Desmond to the quick.Impulsive renunciation sprang to his lips; and was onlychecked by the remembrance that he had given Honor his word.

"Evelyn—Evelyn," he pleaded with sudden vehemence, "forHeaven's sake have a little consideration for facts—if youhave none for me. I grudge you nothing—I have never doneso—and you know it. But—if you really find Frontier lifeintolerable, I can only give you free leave to go home,directly I scrape together the money for your passage."

"You want me to go?" she flashed out in a tremor ofapprehension. "I'm only a hindrance to you here. That's thereal truth, I suppose?"

"What I want or don't want is beside the mark," he said. "Inaturally wish to see you happy; and as that evidently can'tbe managed here, I am willing to let you go and be happyelsewhere."

"Stay then, Ladybird, by all means. Only, for pity's sake,spare me any more of the sort of things you said just now."

"I can't promise that. I'll do my best not to disappointyou, but I must get all these cleared off before I think ofanything else."

"Why trouble your head about side issues? They will all bepaid before Christmas; that ought to be enough for you."

"But it's not enough. Tell me what you are going to do—tellme. I won't be pushed on one side like a child."

She started and caught at his arm. For all hismatter-of-fact coolness, she knew what those half-dozenwords meant to her husband.

"Exactly. He'll sell quicker and fetch a longer price thanany of the others; that's why—he must go."

"I know that. So am I. I shall manage about a third pony, nofear. Time enough to think of that later. I must go and makeout those advertisements."

He set his teeth upon the word and turned to leave her, buther voice arrested him half-way to the door.

"Are yousure there's nothing else that can be done?It—it isn't fair for you to lose the pony you love best,just because of a few dressmakers' bills."

"Upon my soul, Evelyn, you're right. But there's no otherway out of the difficulty, so let's have no more words aboutit: they don't make things easier to bear."

CHAPTER XIV.

I SIMPLY INSIST.

Not many days later Desmond's advertisements appearedsimultaneously in the only two newspapers of Upper India;and he set his face like a flint in anticipation of theuniversal remonstrance in store for him, when the desperatestep he had taken became known to the regiment.

He was captain of the finest polo team on the frontier; theone great tournament of the year—open to every Punjabregiment, horse and foot—would begin in less than afortnight; and he, who had never parted with a polo pony inhis life, was advertising the pick of his stable for sale. Aproceeding so unprecedented, so perplexing to all who knewhim, could not, in the nature of things, be passed over insilence. Desmond knew—none better—that victory or defeatmay hang on the turn of a hair; that, skilled player thoughhe was, the introduction of a borrowed pony, almost at thelast moment, into a team trained for months to play inperfect accord was unwise, to say the least of it; knew alsothat he would be called upon to justify his own unwisdom atso critical a juncture, when all hearts were set on winningthe coveted Punjab Cup.

Loyalty to Evelyn sealed his lips; and even the loss of hisbest-loved pony was less hard to bear than the possibilityof being misjudged by his brother officers, whose faith inhim had come to be an integral part of his life.

In his present cooler frame of mind he saw that his actionhad been over-hasty; but with men of vehement temperament,to think is to feel, to feel is to act,—reflection comeslast, if it ever comes at all. The first heat of vexation,the discovery of his wife's untrustworthiness and thesacrifice it entailed, had blinded him to all minorconsiderations.

But these were details that could not be put into words. Thething was done. To put a brave face on it, and to shieldEvelyn from the result of her own misdoing—there lay hissimple duty in a nutshell. The risk must be accepted, andthe Punjab Cup carried off in its despite. This man owedmore than he knew to the "beholden face of victory"; to hislife-long determination that, no matter what happened, hemust conquer.

He invaded the sacred precincts of his senior's study withaudacious lack of ceremony.

"Forgive me, Desmond: but there was no one in the verandah,and I couldn't wait. Of course you know what's in the wind.The Colonel came on that advertisement of yours in 'ThePioneer' just before tiffin, and you should have heard himswear! He showed it to Major Wyndham, and asked: 'Was it apractical joke?' But the Major seemed quite cut up; said heknew nothing about it, and you would probably have goodreasons to give. The rest didn't take it so quietly; but ofcourseI understood at once. For God's sake, old chap,cancel that confounded advertisement, and take back youreight hundred. I can borrow it again from theshroff, justfor the present. Anything's better than letting you in forthe loss of Diamond at a time like this."

He broke off more from lack of breath than lack of matter;and Desmond, who had risen to cope with the intruder, putboth hands upon the Boy's shoulders, a great kindlinesssoftening his eyes.

"My dear Harry, don't distress yourself," he said. "Iappreciate your generosity a good deal more than I care tosay. But you are not in any way to blame for the loss ofDiamond."

"There are more things in heaven and earth...!" Desmondquoted, smiling. "It's like your impertinence to understandeverything at four-and-twenty."

"Oh, shut up!" the other retorted, laughing in spite ofhimself. "Can't you see I'm in earnest? You don't mean totell me——?"

"No, Harry, I don't mean to tell you anything about it. I'mnot responsible to you for my actions. Stay and have a pipewith me to cool you down a bit. Not another word about myaffairs, or I take you by the shoulders and put you outsidethe door."

Wyndham put in an appearance at polo that afternoon. Heplayed fitfully; and at other times rode out to the ground,which lay a mile or so beyond the station. To-day itchanced—or possibly Paul so contrived it—that he andDesmond rode home together, a little behind the others.

A low sun stretched out all the hills; distorted the shadowsof the riders; and flung a golden pollen of radiance overthe barren land.

The habit of silence was strong between these two men; andfor a while it lasted unbroken. Desmond was riding hisfavourite pony, a spirited chestnut Arab, swift as aswallow, sensitive as a child, bearing on his forehead thewhite star to which he owed his name. The snaffle hung looseupon his neck, and Desmond's hand rested upon the silkenshoulder as if in a mute caress. He knew what was coming,and awaited Paul's pleasure with stoical resignation.

Wyndham considered the strong, straight lines of hisfriend's profile thoughtfully; then he spoke:

"I'm sorry for that. I was afraid there'd be some botherabout it. But needs must—when the devil drives."

"The devil that drives you is your own incurable pride,"Paul answered with unusual warmth. "You know, withoutforcing me to put it in words, that every rupee I possess isat your service. You might have given me a chance beforegoing such lengths as this."

Desmond shook his head. The man's fastidious soul revoltedfrom the idea of using Paul's money to pay his wife's bills.

"Not in these circumstances," he said. "It wasn't pride thatheld me back; but a natural sense of the justiceand—fitness of things. You must take that on trust, Paul."

"Why, of course, my dear chap. But how about the fitness ofparting with that pony just before the tournament? Ascaptain of the team, do you think you are acting quitefairly by the Regiment?"

The shot told. Among soldiers of the best sort the Regimentis apt to be a fetish, and to Desmond the lightestimputation of disregard for its welfare was intolerable.

"Is that how the other fellows look at it?" he asked, atroubled note in his voice.

"Well, if they do, one can hardly blame them. They naturallywant to know what you mean to do about the tournament afteryou have let your best pony go? I take it for granted thatyou have some sort of plan in your head."

"Yes. I am counting on you to lend me Esmeralda. It's onlythe 6th now; and if I train her for all I'm worth betweenthis and the 20th, I can get her up to the scratch."

"So that's your notion? You'll deign to make use of me sofar? Upon my soul, Theo, you deserve that I should refuse,since you won't give me the satisfaction of doing what wouldbe far more to the purpose."

"You'll not refuse, though," he said quietly, and Paul shookhis head. By way of thanks, Theo laid his hand impulsivelyupon Wyndham's arm.

"I'm sure you understand, dear old man, that it's not easyor pleasant for me to part with Diamond, or to shut you outand refuse your help; but I can't endure that the rest ofthem should think me slack or careless of their interests."

"They know you far too well to think anything of the sort.By the way, what arrangements are you making for Lahore?"

"None at all. Honor will go, I daresay; and I shall run downfor the polo. But fifteen days' leave is out of thequestion."

"Now, look here, Theo—you're going too far. I make no offerthis time. I simply insist!"

"That's your peculiar form of selfishness, my dear chap. Youwant to keep the monopoly of giving in your own hands. Verywholesome for you to have the tables turned. Besides," urgedthe diplomatist, boldly laying down his trump card, "itwould be a great disappointment to your wife not to go downwith us all and see the matches."

"I'm delighted to hear it! The Lahore week shall be myChristmas present to her and you; and there's an end ofthat dilemma."

"Thank you, Paul," Desmond said simply. "I'll tell herto-night. Come over to dinner," he added as they parted."The Ollivers will be there; and I may stand in need ofprotection."

The sound of music greeted him from the hall, and he foundHonor playing alone in the dusk.

"Please go on," he said, as she rose to greet him. "It'swhat I want more than anything at this moment."

The girl flushed softly, and turned back to the instrument.Any one who had heard her playing before Desmond came in,could scarcely have failed to note the subtle change in itsquality. She made of her music a voice of sympathy, evolvedfrom the heart of the great German masters; whose satisfyingstrength and simplicity—so far removed from the restlessquestioning of our later day—were surely the outcome of alarge faith in God; of the certainty that effort,aspiration, and endurance, despite their seeming futility,can never fail to be very much worth while.

In this fashion Honor reassured her friend to his completecomprehension; and while he sat listening and watching herin the half light, he fell to wondering how it came aboutthat this girl, with her generous warmth of heart, hertwofold beauty of the spirit and the flesh, should still befinding her central interest in the lives of others ratherthan in her own. Was the inevitable awakening over and donewith? Or was it yet to come? He inclined to the latter view,and the thought of Paul sprang to his mind. Here, surely,was the one woman worthy of his friend. But then, Paul heldstrong views about marriage, and it was almost impossible topicture the good fellow in love.

Nevertheless, the good fellow was, at that time, moreprofoundly, more irrevocably in love than Desmond himselfhad ever been, notwithstanding the fact of his marriage. Histheories had proved mere dust in the balance when weighedagainst his strong, simple-hearted love for Honor Meredith.Yet the passing of nine months found him no nearer to openrecantation. If a man has learnt nothing else by the time heis thirty-eight, he has usually gained possession of hissoul, and at no stage of his life had Paul shown the leasttalent for taking a situation by storm. In the attainment ofHonor's friendship, this most modest of men felt himselfblest beyond desert; and watch as he might for the leastindication of a deeper feeling, he had hitherto watched invain. It never occurred to him that his peculiarly reticentform of wooing—if wooing it could be called—was hardlycalculated to enlighten her as to the state of his heart. Hemerely reined in his great longing and awaited possibledevelopments; accepting, in all thankfulness, the certaingood that was his, and determined not to risk the loss of itwithout some hope of greater gain.

But of all these things Desmond guessed nothing as he sat,in the dusk of that December evening, speculating on thefate of the girl whose friendship he frankly regarded as oneof the goodliest gifts of life.

"Don't let yourself be troubled by anything the Ollivers maysay or think," she answered softly. "You are doing yoursimple duty, Theo, and I am sure Major Wyndham, even withoutknowing all the facts, will understand quite as well—as Ido."

With that she left him, because the fulness of herunderstanding put a check upon further speech.

That night, when the little party had broken up without openwarfare, and Desmond stood alone with his wife before thedrawing-room fire, he told her of Wyndham's generosity.

"You'll get your week at Lahore, Ladybird," he said. "Andyou owe it to Paul. He wishes us to accept the trip as hisChristmas present."

"Oh, Theo...!" A quick flush revealed her delight at thenews, and she made a small movement towards him; but nothingcame of it. Six months ago she would have nestled close tohim, certain of the tender endearments which had grownstrangely infrequent of late. Now an indefinable shynesschecked the spontaneous caress, the eager words upon herlips. But her husband, who was looking thoughtfully into thefire, seemed serenely unaware of the fact.

"That's all right; and I'm glad I wasn't driven todisappoint you. Now get to bed; and sleep soundly on yourrare bit of good luck. I have still a lot of work to getthrough."

She accepted his kindly dismissal with an altogether newdocility; and on arriving in her own room gave conclusiveproof of her happiness by flinging herself on the bed in aparoxysm of stifled sobbing.

"Oh, if only I had told him sooner!" she lamented throughher tears. "Now I don't believe he'll ever really forgiveme, or love me properly again."

And, in a measure, she was right. Trust her he might, as induty bound; but to be as he had been before eating thebitter fruit of knowledge was, for the present at allevents, out of his power.

Since their momentous talk nearly a week ago, Evelyn hadfelt herself imperceptibly held at arms' length, and thevagueness of the sensation increased her discomfort tenfold.No word of reproach had passed his lips, nor any furthermention of Diamond or the bills; nothing so quickly breedsconstraint between two people as conscious avoidance of asubject that is seldom absent from the minds of both. YetTheo was scrupulously kind, forbearing,good-tempered—everything, in short, save the tender,lover-like husband he had been to her during the firsteighteen months of marriage. And she had only herself toblame,—there lay the sharpest pang of all. Life holds noanodyne for the sorrows we bring upon ourselves.

As the days wore on she watched Theo's face anxiously, atpost time, for any sign of an answer to that hatefuladvertisement; and before the week's end she knew that thepunishment that should have been hers had fallen on herhusband's shoulders.

Coming into breakfast one morning, she found him studying anopen letter with a deep furrow between his brows. At sightof her he started and slipped it into his pocket.

The meal was a silent one. Evelyn found the pattern of herplate curiously engrossing. Desmond, after a few hurriedmouthfuls, excused himself and went out. Then Evelyn lookedup; and the tears that hung on her lashes overflowed.

"He—he's gone to the stables, Honor," she said brokenly."He got an answer this morning;—I'm sure he did. But he—hewon't tell me anything now. Where's theuse of beingmarried to him if he's always going on like this? I wish—Iwish he could sell—me to that man, instead of Diamond. Hewouldn't mind ithalf as much——"

And with this tragic announcement—which, for at least fiveminutes, she implicitly believed—her head went down uponher hands.

Honor soothed her very tenderly, realising that she sorrowedwith the despair of a child who sees the world's end inevery broken toy.

"Hush—hush!" she remonstrated. "You mustn't think anythingso foolish, so unjust. Theo is very magnanimous, Evelyn. Hewill see you are sorry, and then it will all go smoothlyagain."

"But there's the—the other thing," murmured the prettysinner with a doleful shake of her head. "He won't forgiveme that; and hedoesn't seem to see that I'm sorry. Iwanted to tell him this morning, when I saw that letter. Buthe somehow makes me afraid to say a word about it."

"Better not try yet awhile, dear. When a man is in trouble,there is nothing he thanks one for so heartily as forletting him alone till it is well over."

"I can't think why you know so much about men, Honor. How doyou find out those sort of things?"

"I suppose it's because I've always cared very much formen,"—she made the statement quite unblushingly. "Lovingpeople is the only sure way of understanding them in thelong-run."

"Is it?... You are clever, Honor. But it doesn't seem tohelp me much with Theo."

Such prompt, personal application of her philosophy of theheart was a little disconcerting. The girl could not wellreply that in love there are a thousand shades, and very feware worthy of the name.

"Itwill help you in time," she said reassuringly. "It isone of the few things that cannot fail. And to-day, atleast, you have learnt that when things are going hardlywith Theo, it is kindest and wisest to leave him alone."

But the day's events gave her small chance of acting on hernew-found knowledge. Desmond himself took the initiative:and save for a bare half-hour at tiffin, she saw him no moreuntil the evening.

Perhaps only the man who has trained and loved a polo ponycan estimate the pain and rebellion of spirit that he wascombating, doggedly and in silence; or condone the passingbitterness he felt towards his uncomprehending wife.

He spent more time than usual in the stables, where Diamondnuzzled into his breast-pocket for slices of apple andsugar; and Diamond'ssais lifted up his voice and wept, onreceipt of an order to start for Pindi with his charge onthe following day.

"There is no Sahib like my Sahib in all Hind," he protested,his turban within an inch of Desmond's riding-boot. "TheSahib is my father and my mother! How should we serve astranger, Hazúr,—the pony and I?"

"Nevertheless, it is an order," Desmond answered notunkindly, "that thou shouldst remain with the pony, sendingword from time to time that all goeth well with him. Riseup. It is enough."

Returning to the house, he hardened his heart, and acceptedthe unwelcome offer from Pindi.

"What a confounded fool I am!" he muttered, as he stampedand sealed the envelope. "I'd sooner shoot the little chapthan part with him in this way."

He excused himself from polo, and rode over to Wyndham'sbungalow, where he found Paul established in the verandahwith his invariable companions—a pipe, and a volume ofpoetry or philosophy.

"Come along, and beat me at rackets, old man," he saidwithout dismounting. "I'm 'off' polo to-day. We can go for acanter afterwards."

Wyndham needed no further explanation. A glance at Theo'sface was enough. They spent four hours together; talked ofall things in heaven and earth, except the one sore subject;and parted with a smile of amused understanding.

"Quite like old times!" Paul remarked, and Desmond nodded.For it was a habit, dating from early days, that wheneverthe pin-pricks of life chafed Theo's impatient spirit, hewould seek out his friend, spend an hour or two in hiscompany, and tell him precisely nothing.

Thanks to Paul's good offices, dinner was a pleasanter mealthan the earlier ones had been. But Evelyn looked white andwoe-begone; and Honor wisely carried her off to bed, leavingDesmond to his pipe and his own discouraging thoughts.

These proved so engrossing that he failed to hear a step inthe verandah, and started when two hands came quietly downupon his shoulders.

No need to ask whose they were. Desmond put up his own andcaught them in a strong grip.

"Old times again, is it?" he asked, with a short satisfiedlaugh. "Brought your pipe along?"

"Good business. There's your chair,—it always seems yoursto me still. Have a 'peg'?"

Paul shook his head, and drew his chair up to the fire withdeliberate satisfaction.

"Light up, then; and we'll make a night of it as we used todo in the days before we learned wisdom, and paid for it inhard cash."

"Theo,—why, in Heaven's name, won't you cancel thiswretched business, and take the money from me instead?"

"Too late now. And, in any case, it's out of the question,for reasons that you would be the first to appreciate—ifyou knew them."

"Whatever you think you know, for God's sake don't put itinto words. I'm bound to go through with this, Paul, in theonly way that seems right to me. Don't make it harder thanit is already. Besides," he added, with a brisk change oftone, "this is modern history! We're pledged to old timesto-night."

Evelyn's fantastic French clock struck three, in silvertones, before the two men parted.

"It's an ill wind that blows no good, after all!" Desmondremarked, as he stood in a wide splash of moonlight on theverandah steps. "I feel ten years younger since the morning.Come again soon, dear old man; it's always good to see you."

And Paul Wyndham, riding homeward under the myriad lamps ofheaven, thanked God, in his simple devout fashion, for thecourage and constancy of his friend's heart.

CHAPTER XV.

GOOD ENOUGH, ISN'T IT?

The dusty parade-ground of Mian Mir, Lahore's militarycantonment, vibrated from end to end with a rising tide ofexcitement.

On all sides of the huge square eight thousand spectators,of every rank and race and colour, were wedged into acompact mass forty or fifty deep: while in the centralspace, eight ponies scampered, scuffled, and skidded in thewake of a bamboo-root polo-ball; theirs hoofs rattling likehailstones on the hard ground.

And close about them—as close as boundary flags anddistracted native policemen would permit—pressed that solidwall of onlookers—soldiers, British and native, from thirtyregiments at least; officers, in uniform and out of it;ponies and players of defeated teams, manfully resigned tothe "fortune o' war," and not forgetful of the obvious flukeby which their late opponents had scored the game; officialdignitaries, laying aside dignity for the occasion; drags,phaetons, landaus, and dog-carts, gay as a summer parterrein a wind, with the restless parasols and bonnets of halfthe women in the Punjab; scores and scores ofsaïses,betting freely on the match, arguing, shouting, orshampooing the legs of ponies, whose turn was yet to come;and through all the confused hubbub of laughter, cheering,and mercifully incoherent profanity, a British infantry bandhammering out with insular assurance, "We'll fight and we'llconquer again and again."

It was the last day of the old year—a brilliant PunjabDecember day—and the last "chukker" of the final match forthe Cup was in full progress. It lay between the PunjabCavalry from Kohat and a crack Hussar team, fresh from Homeand Hurlingham, mounted on priceless ponies, six to eachman, and upheld by an overweening confidence that they werebound to "sweep the board." They had swept it accordingly;and although anticipating "a tough tussle with those game'Piffer'[25] chaps," were disposed to look upon the PunjabCup as their own property for at least a year to come.

Desmond and his men—Olliver and two native officers—knewall this well enough; knew also that money means pace, andweight, and a liberal supply of fresh mounts, and franklyrecognised that the odds were heavily against them. Butthere remained two points worth considering:—they had beentrained to play in perfect unison, horse and man; and theywere all in deadly earnest.

They had fought their way, inch by inch, through thetournament to this final tie; and it had been a gloriousfight so far. The Hussars, whose self-assurance had led themto underrate the strength of the enemy, were playing nowlike men possessed. The score stood at two goals all, andelectric shocks of excitement tingled through the crowd.

Theo Desmond was playing "back," as a wise captain should,to guard the goal and ensure the completest control over histeam; and his mount was a chestnut Arab with three whitestockings and a star upon his forehead.

A week earlier, on returning from his morning ride to thebungalow where Paul and his own party were staying, Desmondhad been confronted by Diamond in a brand-new saddle-clothmarked with his initials; while Diamond'ssais, with asmile that displayed every tooth in his head, salaamed tothe ground.

The man held out a note in Colonel Buchanan's handwriting.Desmond dismounted, flung an arm over the Arab's neck, andopened the note with a strange quickening of his breath.

The Colonel stated, in a few friendly words, that as Diamondwas too good a pony to be allowed to go out of the Regiment,he and his brother officers had decided to buy him back forthe Polo Club. Major Wilkinson of the Loyal Monmouth hadbeen uncommonly decent over the whole thing; and, as captainof the team, Desmond would naturally have the use of Diamondduring the tournament, and afterwards, except when hehappened to be away on leave.

It took him several minutes to grasp those half dozen linesof writing; and if the letters grew indistinct as he read,he had small cause to be ashamed of the fact.

On looking up, he found Paul watching him from the verandah;and dismissing thesais he sprang up the steps at a bound.

"Brilliant inspirations are not in my line, old chap. It wasMrs Olliver. She and the Colonel did most of it betweenthem, though we're all implicated, of course; and I don'tknow when I've seen the Colonel so keen about anything inhis life."

"God bless you all!" Desmond muttered under his breath. "I'mbound to win the Cup for you after this."

And now, as the final "chukker" of the tournament drew to aclose, it did indeed seem that the ambition of many yearswas on the eve of fulfilment. Excitement rose higher everyminute. Cheers rang out on the smallest provocation. Generalsympathy was obviously with the Frontier team, and thesuspense of the little contingent from Kohat had risen to apitch beyond speech.

All the native officers and men who could get leave for thegreat occasion formed a picturesque group in the forefrontof the crowd; Rajinder Singh towering in their midst, hisface set like a mask; his eyes fierce with the lust ofvictory. Evelyn Desmond, installed beside Honor in afriend's dog-cart, sat with her small hands clenched, herface flushed to the temples, disjointed murmurs breakingfrom her at intervals. Honor sat very still and silent,gripping the iron bar of the box-seat, her whole soulcentred on the game. Paul Wyndham, who had mounted the stepon her side of the cart, and whose hand clasped the barwithin half an inch of hers, had not spoken since the ponieslast went out; and to all appearance his concentrationequalled her own. But her nearness affected him as theproximity of iron affects the needle of a compass,deflecting his thoughts and eyes continually from thecentral point of interest.

Her effervescent spirit can only be likened to champagnejust before the cork flies off. Perched upon the front seatof a drag, with Colonel Buchanan, she noted every stroke andcounter-stroke, every point gained and lost, with thepractised knowledge of a man, and the one-sided ardour of awoman. She had already cheered herself hoarse; but stillkept up a running fire of comment, emphasised by anoccasional pressure of the Colonel's coat-sleeve, to theacute discomfiture of that self-contained Scot.

"We'll not be far off the winning post now," she assured himat this juncture. "Our ponies are playing with their headsentirely, and the others are losing theirs because of thenatives and the cheering. There goes the ball straight forthe boundary again!—Well done, Geoff! But the long fellow'scaught it—Saints alive! 'Twould have been a goal but forTheo. How'sthat for a fine stroke, now?"

For Desmond, with a clean, splitting smack, had sent theball flying across three-fourths of the ground.

"Mind the goal!" he shouted to his half-back, Alla Dad Khan,as Diamond headed after the ball like a lightning streak,with three racers—maddened by whip and spur and their owndelirious excitement—clattering upon his tail; and afusilade of clapping, cheers, and yells broke out on allsides.

The ball, checked in mid career, came spinning back to themwith the force of a rifle-bullet. The speed had beenterrific, and the wrench of pulling up wrought direconfusion. Followed a sharp scrimmage, a bewildering jumbleof horses and men, rattling of sticks and unlimited breakingof the third commandment; till the ball shot out again intothe open, skimming, like a live thing, through a haze offine white dust, Desmond close upon it, as before; theHussar "forwards" in hot pursuit.

But their "back" was ready to receive the ball, and Desmondalong with it. Both players struck simultaneously. Theircane-handled sticks met with a crack that was heard all overthe ground. Then the ball leapt clean through thegoal-posts, the head of Desmond's stick leapt after it, andthe crowd scattered right and left before a thunderingonrush of ponies. Cheer upon cheer, yell upon yell, went upfrom eight thousand throats at once. British soldiers flungtheir helmets in the air; the band lost its head and brokeinto a triumphant clash of discord; while Colonel Buchanan,forgetful of his Scottish decorum, stood up in the drag andshouted like any subaltern.

He was down in the thick of themelée, ready to greetDesmond as he rode off the battlefield, a breathlessunsightly victor, covered with dust and glory.

A vigorous handshake supplied the rest; and Desmond trottedforward to the dog-cart, where Evelyn greeted him with arush of congratulation. Honor had no word, but Desmond foundher eyes and smile sufficiently eloquent.

"Best fight, bar none, I ever had in my life!" he declaredby way of acknowledgment. "We're all off to the B.C. Mess assoon as the L.G. has presented the Cup, and we've got someof the dust out of our throats. Come along, Paul, old man."

And he went his way in such elation of spirits as a captainmay justly feel whose team has carried off the Punjab Cup inthe face of overwhelming odds.

CHAPTER XVI.

SIGNED AND SEALED.

The Fancy Ball, given on Old Year's night by the PunjabCommission, was, in Evelyn's eyes, the supreme event of theweek; and when Desmond, after a mad gallop from the BengalCavalry Mess, threw open his bedroom door, he was arrestedby a vision altogether unexpected, and altogether satisfyingto his fastidious taste.

A transformed Evelyn stood before the long glass, wrapt inhappy contemplation of her own image. From the fillet acrossher forehead, with its tremulous wire antennæ, to thesandalled slipper that showed beneath her silken draperies,all was gold. Two shimmering wings of gauze sprang from hershoulders; her hair, glittering with gold dust, waved to herwaist; and a single row of topaz gleamed on the pearl tintof her throat like drops of wine.

"At Simla, last year. Muriel Walter invented it for me." Hercolour deepened, and she lowered her eyes. "I didn't show itto you before,—because——"

"Yes, yes,—I know what you mean. Don't distress yourselfover that. You'll haveyour triumph to-night, Ladybird!Remember my dances, please, when you're besieged by theother fellows! Upon my word, you look such a perfectbutterfly that I shall hardly dare lay a hand on you!"

Shy invitation lurked in her look and tone; but apparentlyher husband failed to perceive it.

"I'll put you to the test later on," he said, with an amusedlaugh. "I must go now, and translate myself into CharlesSurface, or I'll be late."

Left alone again, she turned back to her looking-glass andsighed; but a single glance at it comforted hersurprisingly.

"He was in a hurry," she reflected, by way of furtherconsolation, "and I've got four dances with him after all."

Theo Desmond inscribed few names on his programme beyondthose of his wife, Mrs Olliver, and Honor Meredith.

"You must let me have a good few dances, Honor," he said toher, "and hang Mrs Grundy! We are outsiders here, and youand I understand one another."

She surrendered her programme with smiling submission. "Doyou always order people to give you dances in thatimperative fashion?"

"Only when I'm set on having them, and daren't risk refusal!I'll go one better than Paul, if I may. I didn't know he hadit in him to be so grasping."

And he returned the card on which the initials P. W.appeared four times in Wyndham's neat handwriting.

Never, in all his days had Paul asked a woman to give himfour dances; and as he claimed Honor for the first of them,he wondered whether his new-found boldness would carry himfarther still. Her beauty and graciousness, her enthusiasmover the afternoon's triumph, exalted him from the soberlevels of patience and modesty to unscaled heights ofaspiration. But not until their second valse together did anopening for speech present itself.

They had deserted the packed moving mass, in whose midstdancing was little more than a promenade under difficulties,and stood aside in an alcove that opened off the ballroom.

"Look at Evelyn. Isn't she charming in that dress?" Honorexclaimed, as the Golden Butterfly whirled past, like anincarnate sunbeam, in her husband's arms. "I feel aMethuselah when I see how freshly and rapturously she isenjoying it all. This is my seventh Commission Ball, MajorWyndham! No doubt most people think it high time I hid mydiminished head in England. But my head refuses to feeldiminished,"—she lifted it a little in speaking,—"and Iprefer to remain where I am."

"You were keen to get there, I remember," he said,restraining his eagerness. "And you are not disappointed,after nine months of it?"

She spoke with sudden fervour, looking straight before herinto the brilliant, shifting crowd.

His tone caught her attention, and she turned to him withdisconcerting directness of gaze.

"Yes," she said quietly, "I would be quite content to liveon the Frontier—with John, if only he would have me. Now wemight surely go on dancing, Major Wyndham."

Paul put his arm about her in silence. His time had not yetcome; and he took up his burden of waiting again, if withless hope, yet with undiminished resolve.

Honor, meanwhile, had leisure to wonder whether she hadimagined that new note in his voice. If not,—and if he wereto repeat the question in a more definite form—how shouldshe answer him?

In truth she could not tell. Sincere admiration is notalways easy to distinguish from love of a certain order. ButPaul's bearing through the remainder of the dance convincedher that she must have been mistaken, and she dismissed thesubject from her mind.

Leaving her in charge of Desmond, Wyndham slipped on hisgreatcoat, and spent half an hour pacing to and fro, in thefrosty darkness, spangled with keen stars. Here, forgetfulof expectant partners, he took counsel with his cigar andhis own sadly sobered heart. More than once he asked himselfwhy those months on the Frontier had been among the best inHonor Meredith's life. The fervour of her tone haunted himwith uncomfortable persistence; yet, had he put the questionto her, it is doubtful whether she could have given him adefinite answer, even if she would.

But although the lights and music and laughter had losttheir meaning for him, the great ball of the year wentforward merrily in regular alternations of sound andsilence, of motion and quiescence, to its appointed end.

It was during one of the intervals, when eye and ear enjoyeda passing respite from the whirling wheel of things, thatDesmond, coming out of the cardroom—where he had beenenjoying a rubber and a cigarette—caught sight of agleaming figure standing alone in the pillared entrance tothe Hall, and hurried across the deserted ballroom. His wifelooked pathetically small and unprotected in the wideemptiness of the archway, and the corners of her mouthquivered as though tears were not far off.

"Oh, Theo,—Iam glad!" she said as he reached her side."I wanted you—long ago, but I couldn't find you anywhere inthe crowd."

"What's the trouble, little woman?" he asked. "Quitesurprising to see you unappropriated. Any one been botheringyou?"

"Nothing—very much. Only—I didn't like it. Come and sitdown somewhere and I'll tell you."

She slipped her hand under his arm, and pressed close tohim as they sought out a seat between the rows ofglass-fronted book-shelves in which the Lawrence Halllibrary is housed.

She glanced nervously at his face, which had in it a touchof sternness that recalled their painful interview threeweeks ago.

"I—I don't think he really knew what he was talking about,"she began, her eyes on the butterfly fan, which she openedand shut mechanically while speaking. "He began by sayingthat fancy balls were quite different to other ones; thatthe real fun of them was that every one could say and dojust what they pleased, and nothing mattered at all. He saidhis own dress was specially convenient, because no one couldexpect a Pierrot to be responsible for his actions. Thenhe—he said that by coming as a butterfly I had given everyman in the room the right to—to catch me if he could.Wasn't that hateful?"

"I don't half like telling you, Theo; you look so stern. I'mafraid you'll be very angry."

"Well, I told him I didn't see it that way at all, and hesaid of course not; butterflies neverdid see that peoplehad any right to catch them; yet they got caught all thesame. Then he took tight hold of my hands, and came so closeto me that—I was frightened, and asked him to take me backto the ballroom at once. He said it wasn't fair, that thewhole twelve minutes belonged to him, and he wouldn't becheated out of any of it. Then when I was getting up to goaway, he—he laughed, and put his arm round me, so that Icouldn't move, though I tried to—I did, truly."

At that her husband's arm went round her, and she yieldedwith a sigh of satisfaction to its protective pressure.

"Oh, no—no. The music began, and some people came by, andhe had to let me go. Do men often behave like that at balls,Theo?"

"Well—no; not the right sort!" Desmond answered, a gleamof amusement in his eyes. "But there's always a goodsprinkling of the wrong sort in a crowd of this kind, andthe stewards ought to be more careful."

"The trouble is that—I gave him two dances. The next one ishis, and Ican't dance with him again. That's why I sobadly wanted to find you. Listen, they're tuning up now.Must I go and sit in the ladies' room till it's over?"

She leaned forward suddenly, and gave him one of her quick,half-shy kisses, that were still so much more like thekisses of a child than of a woman grown. "It is nice tobelong to a man like you," she murmured caressingly. "Youreally are a dear, Theo! And after I've been so bad to you,too!"

"What's forgiven should be forgotten, Ladybird," heanswered, tightening the arm that held her. "So that's aclosed subject between us,—you understand? Only remember,there must beno more of that sort of thing. Do you wantthe compact signed and sealed?" he added, smiling.

Two bright tears glistened on her lashes, for she had thegrace to realise that she was being blessed and trustedbeyond her deserts. A sudden impulse assailed her to tellhim everything—now, while his forgiveness enfolded her andgave her a transitory courage. But habit, and dread oflosing the surpassing sweetness of reconciliation sealed herlips; and her poor little impulse went to swell the sum ofunaccomplished things.

"No, no, little woman. That's forbidden also! Come alongout; and if that cad attempts to interfere with us, I'llsend him to the right about effectually, I promise you."

"You are,—who else? My permanent partner!" he answered,smiling down upon her. "I haven't a notion who the other is.Let's stop under this lamp and see."

"It's Honor! That's rough luck. But at least one can tellher the truth, and feel sure she'll understand. There she isby that pillar, wondering what has come to me. Jove! Howsplendid she looks to-night! I wish the Major could set eyeson her."

The girl's tall figure, in its ivory and gold draperies,showed strikingly against a mass of evergreens, and thesimple dignity of the dress she had herself designedemphasised the queenly element in her beauty.

"That's good hearing. But I hardly deserve it at thisminute. I have come to ask if I may throw you over forLadybird?" And in a few words he explained the reason of hisstrange request.

One glance at Evelyn's face told Honor that the untowardincident had dispelled the last shadow of restraint betweenhusband and wife; and the loss of a dance with Theo seemed asmall price to pay for so happy a consummation.

The valse was in full swing now,—a kaleidoscopic confusionof colour, shifting into fresh harmonies with every bar;four hundred people circling ceaselessly over a surface asof polished steel.

Desmond guided his wife along the edge of the crowd tillthey came again to the pillared entrance. Here, where it waspossible to stand back a little from the dancers, they wereconfronted by a thick-set, heavy-faced man wearing thesingularly inept-looking costume of a Pierrot. Face andcarriage proclaimed that he had enjoyed his dinner verythoroughly before setting out for the ball; and Evelyn'ssmall shudder fired the fighting blood in Desmond's veins.It needed an effort of will not to greet his unsuspectingopponent with a blow between the eyes. But instead, he stoodhis ground and awaited developments.

The man bestowed upon Evelyn a bow of exaggeratedpoliteness, which italicised his scant courtesy towards herpartner.

"There's some mistake here," he said bluntly. "This ismydance with Mrs Desmond, and I've missed too much of italready."

"Mrs Desmond happens to be my wife," Theo made answer withominous quietness. "I don't choose that she should beinsulted by her partners; and I am dancing this with hermyself."

The incisive tone, low as it was, penetrated the man'smuddled brain. His blustering assurance collapsed visibly,increasing fourfold his ludicrous aspect. He staggeredbackward, muttering incoherent words that might charitablybe construed as apology, and passed on into the library,making an ineffectual effort to combine an air of dignifiedindifference with the uncertain gait of a landsman in aheavy sea.

Desmond stood looking after him as he went in mingled pityand contempt; but Evelyn's eyes never left her husband'sface.

His smouldering anger, and the completeness of his power toprotect her by a few decisive words, thrilled her with anew, inexplicable intensity,—an emotion that startled her alittle, and in the same breath lifted her to an unreasoningheight of happiness.

"You're all safe now, my Ladybird," he said with a lowlaugh. "And honour is satisfied, I suppose! The creaturewasn't worth knocking down, though I could hardly keep myfists off him at the start."

The valse was more than half over now, and as the musicslackened to its close some two hundred couples vanishedinto the surrounding dimness, each intent on their own fewminutes of enjoyment. Evelyn Desmond, flushed, silent,palpitating, remained standing at her husband's side, tillthey were left practically alone under one of the manyarches that surround the great hall.

"That was much too short, wasn't it?" he said. "Now we mustgo and look up Honor, and see that she is not left in thelurch."

At that she raised her eyes, and the soft shining in themlent a quite unusual beauty to her face.

"Must we, Theo,—really? Honor's sure to be all right, andI'm so badly wanting to sit out—with you."

"Are you, really? That's a charming confession to hear fromone's wife. You look different to-night, Ladybird. What'scome to you?"

"I don't know," she murmured truthfully; adding so low thathe could barely catch the words, "Only—I don't seem ever tohave understood—till just now how much—I really care——"

Sheer surprise checked further speech, and with a man'sinstinctive sense of reserve he looked hastily round to makesure that they were alone.

"Then come—please come. Honor gave me the whole dance.Besides—look!—there she goes with Major Wyndham. She'salways happy with him!"

Desmond smiled. "That's true enough. No need for us if Paulis in the field. Come this way, Ladybird. I know theLawrence Hall of old."

He obeyed, and there was a momentary silence between them.Then the emotion astir within her swept all before it.Turning suddenly, she flung both arms round his neck and hidher face upon his shoulder, her breath coming in short, drysobs, like the breath of an overwrought child.

Very tenderly, as one who touches that which he fears tobruise or break, he drew her close to him, his own pulsesquickened by a remembrance of the words that gave the clueto her strange behaviour, and during those few minutesbetween dance and dance, Evelyn Desmond arrived at a truerknowledge of the man she had married, in the girlishignorance of mere fascination, than two years of life withhim had brought to her half-awakened heart.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER XVII.

YOU WANT TO GO!

For the first six weeks of the new year life flowed serenelyenough in the bungalow on the mound.

Relieved of the greater part of her burden, andre-established in her husband's heart, Evelyn Desmondblossomed like a flower under the quickening influences ofspring. Light natures develop best in sunshine: and so longas life asked no hard things of her, Evelyn could beadmirably sweet-tempered and self-forgetful—even to theextent of curbing her weakness for superfluous hats andgloves and shoes. A genuine sacrifice, this last, if not ona very high plane. But the limits of such natures are set,and their feats of virtue or vice must be judgedaccordingly.

To Honor, whose very real sympathy was infallibly tingedwith humour, the bearing of this regenerate Evelyn suggesteda spoilt child who, having been scolded and forgiven, isdisposed to be heroically, ostentatiously good till nexttime; and her goodness at least was whole-hearted while itlasted. She made a genuine effort to handle the reins of thehousehold: waxed zealous over Theo's socks and shirts; andsang to his accompaniment in the evenings. Her zest for thetennis-courts waned. She joined Frank and Honor in theirfrequent rides to the polo-ground, and Kresney found himselfunceremoniously discarded like a programme after a dance.

Wounded vanity did not improve his temper, and theever-present Linda suffered accordingly. For Kresney, thoughlittle given to the weakness of generosity, never failed toshare his grievances liberally with those about him.

"What is this that has come to little Mrs Desmond?" hedemanded one evening on a querulous note of injury."Whenever I ask her to play tennis now she always manages tobe engaged. I suppose, because they have won that confoundedPunjab Cup, she thinks she must give herself airs like therest of them. But I tell you what, Linda, we have got tomake her understand that she is not going to get money outof us, and then chuck us in the dirt like a pair of oldgloves,—you see? You must tell her you are in a hole now,because of that three hundred rupees; that you have beenforced to get cash from me to go on with, and to let me knowabout your little business with her; and you are afraid Imay refer the matter to her husband. It would bring hiscursed pride down with a run if he knew that his wife hadpractically borrowed money from me, and he could say nothingagainstus for helping her. It is she who would suffer;and I am not keen to push her into a hot corner if she canbe made to behave decently enough to suit me. So just lether know that I will make no trouble about it so long as sheis friendly, like she used to be. Then you can ask her totea; and I bet you five rupees she accepts on the spot!"

Meantime Evelyn Desmond went on her way, in ignorance of theforces that were converging to break up her newly-gottenpeace of mind. For the time being her world was filled andbounded by her husband's personality. The renewal of histenderness and his trust in her eclipsed all the minortroubles of life: and with the unthinking optimism of hertype she decided that these would all come right somehow,some time, sooner or later.

What Desmond himself thought did not transpire. Evelyn'shappiness gave him real satisfaction; and if he were alreadybeginning to be aware that his feeling for her left theinnermost depths of his nature unstirred, he neveracknowledged the fact. A certain refinement of loyaltyforbade him to discuss his wife, even with himself. Herineffectualness and the clinging quality of her love made anirresistible appeal to the vein of chivalry which ran, likea thread of gold, through the man's nature; and if he couldnot forget, he could at least try not to remember, that herstandard of uprightness differed widely and radically fromhis own.

When Kresney's tactics resulted in a partial revival of herfriendliness towards him, Desmond accepted the fact with thebest grace he could muster. Since his promise to the manmade definite objection impossible, he decided that thematter must be left to the disintegration of time; and ifKresney could have known how the necessity chafed Desmond'spride and fastidiousness of spirit, the knowledge would haveadded relish to his enjoyment of Evelyn's society.

Thus the passing of uneventful days brought them to themiddle of February—to the end of the short, sharp Northernwinter, and the first far-off whisper of the wrath to come;brought also to Honor Meredith a sudden perception that heryear with the Desmonds was very nearly at an end. John'slatest letter announced that he hoped to get back to thelife and work he loved by the middle of April; and the girlread that letter with such strangely mixed feelings that shewas at once puzzled and angered by her own seeminginconsistency. John had always stood unquestionably first inher life. It would be altogether good to have him with heragain—to be able to devote herself to him entirely as shehad dreamed of doing for so many years. And yet.... Therewas no completing the broken sentence, which, for someunaccountable reason, ended in a sigh.

Honor was sitting at the time in her favourite corner ofthe drawing-room, on a low settee constructed out of anempty case, cunningly hid, and massed with cushions of dullred and gold. As her lips parted in that unjustifiable sighshe looked round at the familiar pictures and hangings; atDesmond's well-worn chair, and the table beside it with hispipe-rack, a photo of his father, and half a dozen favouritebooks; at the graceful outline of Evelyn's figure where shestood by the wide mantelshelf arranging roses in a silverbowl, her head tilted to one side, a shaft of sunlight fromone of the slits of windows, fifteen feet up the wall,turning her soft fair hair to gold.

From Evelyn's figure, Honor's glance travelled to thephotograph of Desmond on the piano, and lingered there witha softened thoughtfulness of gaze. What deep roots she hadstruck down into the lives of these two since her firstsight of that picture! A year ago the man had been a merename to her; and now——

The clatter of hoofs, followed by Desmond's voice in theverandah, snapped the thread of her thought, and rousedEvelyn from the contemplation of her roses.

"Theois back early!" she exclaimed: and on the words heentered the room, elation in every line of him, an unusuallight in his eyes.

"Whathas happened to make you look like that?" she asked."Somebody left you a fortune?"

"No fear! Fortunes don't grow hereabouts! But we've hadstirring news this morning. A big party of Afridis hascrossed the Border and fired a village, murdering andlooting cattle and women on a very daring scale. The wholegarrison is under orders for a punitive expedition. We shallbe off in ten days, if not sooner."

Evelyn's colour ebbed while he was speaking, and she made aquick movement towards him. But Desmond taking her shouldersbetween his hands, held her at arm's length, and confrontedher with steadfastly smiling eyes.

"No, no, Ladybird—you're going to be plucky and stand up tothis like a soldier's wife, for my sake. The Frontier's beenabnormally quiet these many months. It will do us all goodto have a taste of real work for a change."

"Well—the Afridis don't take a blow sitting down. We haveto burn their crops, you see; blow up their towers; enforceheavy fines, and generally knock it into their heads thatthey can't defy the Indian Government with impunity. Yes; itmeans fighting—severe or otherwise, according to theirpleasure."

"Well, my dear, what else would you have? Not because I'mmurderously inclined," he added smiling. "Every soldierworth his salt is glad of a chance to do the work he's paidfor. But that's one of the things I shall never teach you tounderstand!"

Evelyn turned hurriedly back to her roses. Her throat feltuncomfortably dry, and two tears had escaped in spite ofherself.

"But won't any one be left to guard the station? In thishorrible place we women don't seem to count a bit. You allrush off after a lot of stupid Afridis."

"Not quite all. An infantry regiment will come up fromPindi: and we leave Paul's squadron behind. Just like hisluck to be out of it, poor old man. But six weeks will begone in no time. This sort of thing is part and parcel ofour life up here. You're not going to fret about it,Ladybird—are you?"

He turned her face gently towards him. To his astonishmenteager entreaty shone through her tears, and she caught hishand between her own.

"No, Theo, I needn't fret, because—if somebody has tostay—it can just as easily be you. You're married and MajorWyndham isn't."

Desmond stepped back a pace, incredulous anger in his eyes."Evelyn! Are you crazy? It's not the habit of Britishofficers to sneak behind their wives when they're wanted atthe front. It comes hard on you: but it's the price a womanpays for marrying a soldier and there's no shirking it——"

For answer she clung to his hand, pressing it close againsther heart. Instinctively she understood the power of herweakness, and exercised it to the full. Perhaps, also, anundefined fear of Kresney gave her courage to persist; andthe least mention of the man's name at that instant mighthave averted many things.

"Only this time, please," she murmured, bringing thebeseeching softness of her eyes and lips very close to hisset face. "You'll be sorry afterwards if you leave mealone—just now."

"Yes. But I want you. It has all been so lovely sinceChristmas. Theo—darling,—Ican't let you go, and—andperhaps be killed by those horrid Afridis. Every one knowshow brave you are. They would never think you shirked thefighting. And Major Wyndham would do anything you asked him.Will you—will you?"

Desmond's mouth hardened to a dogged line, and he drew alittle away from her; because her entreaty and thedisturbing nearness of her face made resistance harder thanhe dared allow her to guess.

"My dear little woman, you haven't the smallest notion whatyou are asking of me. I never bargained for throwing upactive service on your account; and I'll not give thefellows a chance to insult you by flinging marriage in myteeth."

"Very well, then, go—go! I know, now, that you don'treally—care, in your heart—whatever you may say."

For a few moments Desmond stood regarding her, a great painand tenderness in his eyes.

"It is rather cruel of you to put it that way, Ladybird," hesaid gently. "Can't you see that this isn't a question—ofcaring, but simply of doing my duty? Won't you try and helpme, instead of making things harder for us both?"

He passed his hand caressingly over her hair, and a littleshiver of misery went through her at this touch.

"It's all very well to talk grandly about duty," sheanswered in a smothered voice. "And it's no use pretendingto love me—when you won't do anything I ask. But—youwant to go."

Desmond sighed, and instinctively glanced across at Honorfor a confirmation of his resolve not to let tendernessundermine his sense of right. But that which he saw banishedall thought of his own heartache.

She sat leaning a little forward, her hands clasped tightlyover Meredith's letter, her face white and strained, hereyes luminous as he had never yet seen them.

For the shock of his unexpected news had awakened herroughly, abruptly to a very terrible truth. Since hisentrance into the room she had seen her phantom palace offriendship fall about her like a house of cards; had seen,rising from its ruins, that which her brain and will refusedto recognise, but which every pulse in her body confirmedbeyond possibility of doubt.

Desmond's eyes looking anxiously into hers, roused her to arealisation of her urgent need to be alone with herincredible discovery. Her lips lost their firmness; the hotcolour surged into her cheeks; and smoothing out John'sletter with uncertain fingers, she rose to her feet.

But in rising she swayed unsteadily; and in an instantDesmond was beside her. He had never before seen this girl'scomposure shaken, and it startled him.

"Honor, what has upset you so?" he asked in a low tone. "Notbad news of John?" For he had recognised the writing.

She shook her head, fearing the sound of her own voice, andhis unfailing keenness of perception.

"You must be ill, then. I was afraid you were going to faintjust now. Come into the dining-room and have a glass ofwine."

She acquiesced in silence. It would be simplest to let himattribute her passing weakness to physical causes. And shewent forward blindly, resolutely, with a proud lift of herchin, never looking at him once.

He walked beside her, bewildered and distressed, refrainingfrom speech till she should be more nearly mistress ofherself, and lightly holding her arm, because she was soevidently in need of support. She tightened her lips andmastered an imperious impulse to free herself from histouch. His unspoken solicitude unnerved her; and a sigh ofpure relief escaped her when he set her down upon a chair,and went over to the sideboard for some wine.

She sipped it slowly, supporting her head, and at the sametime shielding her eyes from his troubled scrutiny. He satbeside her, on the table's edge, and waited till thewineglass was half empty before he spoke.

"Did you feel at all ill this morning? I'll go for Mackay atonce to make sure there's nothing wrong."

"No—no." There was a touch of impatience in her tone."Please don't bother. It is nothing. It will pass."

"I didn't mean to vex you," he answered humbly. "But you arenot the sort of woman who goes white to the lips fornothing. Either you are ill, or you are badly upset. Youpromised John to let me take his place while he was away,and if you are in any trouble or difficulty,—don't shut meout. You have done immensely much for both of us. Give methe chance to do a little for you. Remember, Honor," hisvoice took a deeper note of feeling, "you are more to methan the Major's sister or Ladybird's friend. You are mine,too. Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

At that she pulled herself together and faced him with abrave semblance of a smile.

"I am very proud to be your friend, Theo. But there aretimes when the truest friendship is just to stand on oneside and ask no questions. That is what I want you to donow. Please believe that if you could help me, even alittle, I would not shut you out."

"I believe you—and I'll not say another word. You will goand lie down, perhaps, till tiffin time?"

"No. I think I will go to Ladybird. She badly needscomforting. You broke your news to us rather abruptly, youknow. We are not hardened yet, like Frank, to theboot-and-saddle life here."

"I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me. We are all so used toit. One's apt to forget——"

He rose and took a few steps away from her; then,returning, stood squarely before her. She had risen also,partly to prove her own strength, and partly to put an endto the strain of being alone with him.

"Honor," he asked, "was I hard with Ladybird? And am I anunpardonable brute if I insist on holding out against her?"

"Poor Ladybird! She little guessed how near I came to it.And maybe that's as well, after all."

"Yes, Theo. It would be fatal to begin that way. I quite seehow hard it is for her. But she must learn to understand.When it comes to active service, we women must be putaltogether on one side. If we can't help, we are at leastbound not to hinder."

"Would you say that with the same assurance, I wonder, if itwere John? Or if it happened to be—your own husband?"

A rush of colour flooded her face, but she had strengthenough not to turn it aside.

"Then I sincerely hope you will marry one of us, Honor.Wives of that quality are too rare to be wasted oncivilians!"

"I should never dream of marrying any one—but a soldier,"she answered very low. "Now I must go back to my poor Evelynand help her to see things more from your point of view."

"How endlessly good to us you are," he said with suddenfervour. "I know I can count on you to keep her up to themark, and not let her make herself too miserable while weare away."

He stood aside to let her pass; and she went out quickly,holding her head higher than usual.

He followed at a little distance, still perplexed andthoughtful, but refraining from the least attempt to accountfor her very unusual behaviour. What she did not choose totell him he would not seek to know.

His wife still stood where he had left her, disconsolatelyfingering her roses, her delicate face marred with weeping.Honor went to her straightway; and putting both arms roundher kissed her with a passionate tenderness, intensified bya no less passionate self-reproach.

"Oh, Honor—Honor, comfort me!" she sobbed, unaware of herhusband's presence in the doorway. "You're the only one whoreally cares. And he is so—so pleased about it. That makesit worse than all!"

"Poor little soul!" he reflected as he went; "shall I everbe able to make her understand?"

CHAPTER XVIII.

LOVE THAT IS LIFE!

Not until night condemned her to solitude and thought didHonor frankly confront the calamity that had come upon herwith the force of a blow, cutting her life in two,shattering her pride, her joy, her inherent hopefulness ofheart.

The insignificant fact that her life was broken did not setthe world a hair's breadth out of gear; and through the dayshe held her head high, looking and speaking as usual,because she still had faith and strength and courage; and,having these, the saddest soul alive will not be utterlycast down.

She spent most of her time with Evelyn; and succeeded in sofar reconciling her to Theo's decision that Evelyn slippedquietly into the study, where he sat reading, and flingingher arms round him whispered broken words of penitence intothe lapel of his coat; a proceeding even more disintegratingto his resolution than her attitude of the morning.

Honor rode out to the polo-ground with them later on in theday, returning with Paul Wyndham, who stayed to dinner, ahabit that had grown upon him since the week at Lahore. Shewondered a little afterwards what he had talked of duringthe ride, and what she had said in reply; but since heseemed satisfied, she could only hope that she had notbetrayed herself by any incongruity of speech or manner.

During the evening she talked and played with a vigour andcheerfulness which quite failed to deceive Desmond. But ofthis she was unaware. The shock of the morning had stunnedher brain. She herself and those about her were asdream-folk moving in a dream while her soul sat apart, insome vague region of space, noting and applauding her body'sirreproachable behaviour. Only now and then, when she caughtTheo's eyes resting on her face, the whole dream-fabric fellto pieces, and stabbed her spirit broad awake.

Desmond himself could not altogether shut out anxiousconjecture. By an instinct he could hardly have explained,he spoke very little to the girl, except to demand certainfavourite pieces of music, most of which, to his surprise,she laughingly refused to play. Only, in bidding hergood-night, he held her hand a moment longer than usual,smiling straight into her eyes; and the strong enfoldingpressure, far from unsteadying her, seemed rather to reviveher flagging fortitude. For who shall estimate the virtuethat goes out from the hand-clasp of a brave man, to whosecourage is added the strength of a stainless mind?

She had left the husband and wife together, happy in areconciliation of her own making; had dismissed Parbutti,bolted the door behind her, and now stood like one dazed,alone with God and her grief, which already seemed old asthe stars,—a thing preordained before the beginning oftime.

She never thought of turning up the lamp; but remainedstanding very straight and still, her hands clenched, allthe pride of her maidenhood up in arms against that whichdominated her, by no will of her own.

She knew now, past question,—and the certainty crimsonedher face and neck,—that she had loved him unwittingly fromthe moment of meeting; possibly even from that earliermoment when she had unerringly picked out his face fromamong many others. Herein lay the key to her instinctiverecoil from too rapid intimacy; the key to the peculiarquality of her intercourse with him, which had been from thefirst a thing apart; as far removed from her friendship withWyndham as is the serenity of the foothills from thelife-giving breath of the heights.

And now—now that she had been startled into knowledge, thewhole truth must be confronted, the better to becombated;—the truth that she loved him—with everything inher—with every thought, every instinct of soul and body.Nay, more, in the very teeth of her shame andself-abasement, she knew that she was glad and proud to haveloved him, and no lesser man, even though the fair promiseof her womanhood were doomed to go down unfulfilled into thegrave.

Not for a moment did she entertain the cheap consolatorythought that she would get over it; or would, in time, givesome good man the husk of her heart in exchange for thefirst-fruits of his own. She held the obsolete opinion thatmarriage unconsecrated by love was a deadlier sin than theone into which she had fallen unawares; and which, at least,need not tarnish or sadden any life save her own. This lastbrought her sharply into collision with practical issues. Inthe face of her discovery, dared she—ought she to remaineven a week longer under Theo's roof?

Her heart cried out that she must go; that every hour ofintercourse with him was fraught with peril. The fact thathis lips were sealed availed her nothing; for these two hadlong since passed that danger point in platonic friendshipwhen words are discarded for more direct communing of soulwith soul. Theo could read every look in her eyes, everytone of her voice, like an open book, and she knew it;though she had never acknowledged it till now. Allunconsciously he would wrest her secret from her by force ofsympathetic insight; and she, who implicitly believed inGod, who held suicide to be the most dastardly sin a humanbeing can commit, knew that she would take her own lifewithout hesitation rather than stand proven disloyal toEvelyn, disgraced in the eyes of the man she loved. She didnot think this thing in detail. She merely knew it, with theinstinctive certainty of a vehement temperament that feelsand knows apart from all need of words.

Her character had been moulded by men—simple, upright men;and she had imbibed their hard-and-fast notions of honour,of right and wrong. She had power to turn her back upon herlove, to live out her life as though it were not, on twoconditions only. No one must ever suspect the truth. No onebut herself must suffer because of it. Conditions hard to befulfilled.

The cry broke from her unawares—a throb of the heart madevocal. It roused her to reality, to the fact that she hadbeen standing rigidly in the middle of the room,—how longshe knew not,—seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but thevoice of her tormented soul.

She went forward mechanically to the dressing-table, andleaning her hands upon it, looked long and searchingly intoher own face. Her pallor, the ivory sheen of her dress, andthe unnatural lustre of her eyes, gave her reflection aghostly aspect in the dim light; and she shuddered. Was thisto be the end of her high hopes and ideals,—of her resolutewaiting and longing and praying for the very best that lifeand love could give? Was it actually she,—John'ssister—her father's daughter—who had succumbed to thisundreamed-of wrong?

At thought of them, and of their great pride in her, all herstrained composure went to pieces. She sank into a chair andpressed both hands against her face. But no tears forcedtheir way between her fingers. A girl reared by fourbrothers is not apt to fall a-weeping upon everyprovocation; and Honor suffered the more keenly inconsequence.

Suddenly the darkness was irradiated by a vision of Theo, ashe had appeared on entering the drawing-room that morning,in the familiar undress uniform that seemed a part ofhimself; bringing with him, as always, his own magneticatmosphere of alertness and vigour, of unquestioningcertainty that life was very much worth living. Every detailof his face sprang clearly into view, and for a moment Honorlet herself go.

She deliberately held the vision, concentrating all hersoul upon it, as on a face that one sees for the last time,and wills never to forget. It was an actual parting, and shefelt it as such—a parting with the man who could never beher friend again.

Then, chafing against her momentary weakness, she pulledherself together, let her hands fall into her lap with aslow sigh that was almost a sob, and wondered, dully,whether sleep would come to her before morning. Certainlynot until she had considered her positiondispassionately,—neither ignoring its terriblepossibilities, nor exaggerating her own sense of shame anddisgrace,—and had settled, once for all, what honour andduty demanded of her in the circumstances.

One fact at least was clear. Her love for Theo Desmond was,in itself, no sin. It was a force outside the region ofwill,—imperious, irresistible. But it set her on the brinkof a precipice, where only God and the high compulsion ofher soul could withhold her from a plunge into the abyss.

"Mine own soul forbiddeth me: there, for each of us, is theeternal right and wrong." For Honor there could be nothought, no question of the false step, or of the abyss; andsinking on her knees she poured out her heart in apassionate prayer for forgiveness, for light and wisdom tochoose the right path, and power to walk in it withoutfaltering to the end.

When at last she rose, her lips and eyes had regainedsomething of their wonted serenity. She knew now that herimpulse to leave the house at once had been selfish andcowardly; that Evelyn must not be deserted in a moment ofbitter need; that these ten days must be endured for hersake—and for his. On his return, she could find areasonable excuse for spending a month elsewhere till Johnshould come to claim her. Never in all her life had she beencalled upon to make so supreme an effort of self-mastery;and never had she felt so certain of the ultimate result.

She turned up the lamp now, and looked her new life bravelyin the face, strong in her reliance on a Strength beyond herown,—a Strength on which she could make unlimited demands;which had never failed her yet, nor ever would to the end oftime.

CHAPTER XIX.

IT'S NOT MAJOR WYNDHAM.

For a few hours Honor slept soundly. But so soon as herbodily exhaustion was repaired, grief and stress of minddragged her back to consciousness. She woke long beforedawn; woke reluctantly, for the first time in her life, witha dead weight upon heart and brain; a longing to turn herface to the wall and shut out the unconcerned serenity ofthe new day.

But though hearts be at breaking-point, there is no shuttingout the impertinent details of life. And on this particularmorning Honor found herself plunged neck-deep in prose.Domestic trifles thrust themselves aggressively to the fore.Parbutti assailed her after breakfast with a volublediatribe against the dhobi's wife, whose eldest son wasgoing to and fro in the compound unashamed, wearing a shirtmade from the Memsahib's newest jharrons. She did not feelcalled upon to add that her own under-jacket had begun lifeupon Evelyn Desmond's godown shelves. It was not a questionof morals. It was the lack of a decent reserve inappropriating her due share of the Sahib's possessions whichincensed the good lady against the dhobi's wife. Suchunreserve in respect of matters which should be hid mightrouse suspicion in other quarters; therefore it behovedParbutti to be zealous in casting the first stone.

Honor listened with weary inattention, promisedinvestigation of the matter, and passed on to the godown—acloset of broad shelves stocked with an incongruousassortment of household goods, and smelling strongly ofkerosine oil and bar soap.

Here it was discovered that the oil had been disappearingwith miraculous celerity, and Amar Singh cast aspersions onthekitmutgar and his wife. A jealous feud subsistedbetween him and them; and as ruler-in-chief of the Sahib'sestablishment, the bearer made it a point of honour to letno one cheat Desmond save himself. He had a grievouscomplaint to lodge against asais, who had been flagrantlytampering with the Desmonds' grain, adding a request thatthe Miss Sahib would of her merciful condescension impartthe matter to the Sahib. "For he sitteth much occupied, andhis countenance is not favourable this morning."

Honor complied, with a half-smile at the irony of her ownposition, which, until to-day, she had accepted withoutafter-thought, and which of a sudden seemed unendurable.

Desmond, much engrossed in regimental concerns, and anxiousto get off to the Lines, was inclined to irritability andabruptness; and the delinquent, who, with his charger readysaddled, awaited the Sahib's displeasure in the frontverandah suffered accordingly. He bowed, trembling, to theground, and let the storm sweep over his head; making nodefence beyond a disarming reiteration of his ownworthlessness, and of his everlasting devotion to theProtector of the Poor.

Turning back to the hall for his helmet, Desmond encounteredHonor in the doorway, and his wrath gave place to a smile ofgood fellowship that brought the blood into her cheeks.

"Hope my volcanics didn't horrify you," he saidapologetically. "It seems almost as cowardly to fly out atthose poor chaps as to strike a child; but they have agenius for tripping one up at critical moments."

He paused, and scanned her face with kindly anxiety. "You'reall right again now? Not troubled any more—eh?"

"No. I'm perfectly well. Don't bother your head about me,please. You have so much more important things to thinkabout."

Her colour deepened; and she turned so hastily away that, inspite of his impatience to be gone, Desmond stood lookingafter her with a troubled crease between his brows. Then heswung round on his heel, vaulted into the saddle, andstraightway forgot everything except the engrossing prospectof the campaign.

But for all his preoccupation, he had not failed to note thewistfulness in Evelyn's dutifully smiling eyes. He was morethan usually tender with her on his return, and successfullybanished the wistfulness by giving up his polo to take herfor a ride. Honor stood watching them go, through tearswhich rose unbidden from the depth of her lonely grief, herhaunting sense of disloyalty to the two she loved. Shedashed them impatiently aside the instant they moistened herlashes; and betook herself for an hour's rest andrefreshment to Mrs Jim Conolly,—"Mrs Jim" was her stationname,—whose open-hearted love and admiration would give hera much-needed sense of support.

She entered her friend's drawing-room without formalannouncement, to find her seated on a low sofa, barricadedwith piles of cotton frocks and pinafores, which hadsuffered maltreatment at the hands of that arch-destroyer ofclothes and temper—the Indian dhobi.

"Don't get up, please," the girl said quickly, as MrsConolly gathered her work together with an exclamation ofpleasure. "I've just come for a spell of peace andquietness, to sit at the feet of Gamaliel and learn wisdom!"

She settled herself on the carpet,—a favourite attitudewhen they were alone together,—and with a sigh ofsatisfaction leaned against her friend's knee. The olderwoman put an arm round her shoulders, and pressed her close.Her mother's heart went out in very real devotion to thisbeautiful girl, who, strong and self-reliant as she was,turned to her so spontaneously for sympathy, counsel, andlove.

"Arrogant child!" she rebuked her, smiling. "Remember who itwas that sat at the feet of Gamaliel! But what particularkind of wisdom are you wanting from me to-day?"

"No particular kind. I'm only liking to have you near me.One is so sure of your faith in the ultimate best, thatthere is encouragement in the touch of your hand."

She took it between both her own, and rested her cheekagainst the other's arm, hiding her face from view.

Mrs Jim smiled, not ill pleased. She was one of those rareoptimists who, having frankly confronted the evil andsorrow, the ironies and inconsistencies of life, can stillaffirm and believe that "God's in his Heaven; all's rightwith the world." But an unusual note in the girl's voiceperplexed her.

"Are you in special need of encouragement just now, dear?"she asked. "Is that big baby of yours making you anxious onaccount of this expedition?"

"No—oh no! She is going to behave beautifully. The shockupset her at first, and she wanted Theo to stay behind. Itwas hard for him; but he held out; and I think I have helpedher to see that he was right. He has taken her for a ridethis afternoon and she is very happy."

"She has a great deal to thank you for, Honor," the elderwoman said gravely. "I felt from the first that you were inrather a difficult position between those two, and you havefilled it admirably. I have said very little to you aboutit, so far; but I have watched you and thought of youunceasingly; and I believe Major Meredith would be prouderof you than ever if he could realise that you have turnedyour time of waiting to such good account."

Honor's cheek still rested against Mrs Conolly's arm, andthe warmth that fired it penetrated the thin muslin of herblouse. She wondered a little, but said nothing; and after ashort pause Honor spoke in a low voice and with an attemptat lightness which was not a conspicuous success.

"You think too well of me, so does John. I have done littleenough. Only, I care very much for—them both, and I wantthem to be happy—that's all."

"There are always two ways of stating a fact," the otheranswered, smiling. "And—do you know, Honor,I care verymuch for you—if you were my own child, I could hardly caremore—and, frankly, I want to seeyou happy in the sameway." She laid her free hand over the two that held her own."It would be a sin for a woman like you not to marry. I takeit for granted you have had chances enough, and I havesometimes wondered——"

The girl lifted her head and sat upright. She had come hereto escape her trouble, and it confronted her at every turn.

"Please—please don't begin wondering about that," she saiddecisively, "or I shall have to get up and go away; and Idon't want to do that."

But the shrewd woman said within herself: "Thereis someone after all," adding a heartfelt hope that it might beMajor Wyndham. Thus her next remark was more relevant to theforbidden subject than Honor was likely to guess.

"I hear Major Wyndham's squadron remains behind. You areglad, I suppose? You seem to be good friends."

"Yes; it will be a great comfort to have him when one willbe missing—all the rest. There are very few men in theworld like Major Wyndham; don't you think so? He has therare secret of being in it, yet not of it. I sometimeswonder whether anything could really upset thatself-contained tranquillity of his, which makes him such arestful companion."

Here was high praise, and Mrs Jim echoed it heartily; yet inspite of it, perhaps because of it, she was far fromcontent. "It is not Major Wyndham," she decided,regretfully. "But then,—who else is it likely to be?"

At this moment children's voices sounded in the garden andHonor sprang impulsively to her feet. "Oh, there are Jimmyand Violet!" she cried. "Let me go and be foolish with themfor a little and give them their tea. We can play at wisdomagain afterwards—you and I."

With that she hurried out into the garden; and insurrendering herself to the superbly unconscious egotism ofchildhood, found passing respite from the torment of her ownthoughts. But it was some time before Mrs Conolly returnedto her interrupted work.

Paul Wyndham dined again at the blue bungalow that night;and it soon became evident to Honor that something hadsucceeded in upsetting the schooled serenity which was thekeynote of the man's character. Desmond kept theconversation going with unflagging spirit, obviously for hisfriend's benefit; but he never once mentioned the campaign;and Honor began to understand that Paul rebelled, with quiteunusual vehemence, against an order which sent his friend onactive service without him. Then it occurred to her that hemust have been unlike himself the night before, and thatshe, in her blind self-absorption, had noticed nothing.Remorse pricked her heart and gave additional warmth to hermanner,—a fact which he was quick to perceive, and tomisinterpret.

The men sat a long while over their cigars, and thereafterwent into the study at Paul's request.

Honor had been right in her guess. The fiat of separation,coming at a time of active service, had roused him as he wasrarely roused; had proved to him, if proof were needed, thatin spite of the strong love, which had opened new vistas ofthought and emotion for him during the past year, hisfeeling for Desmond was, and always would be, themaster-force of his life. That he should be condemned toplay the woman's part and sit with idle hands while hisfriend risked life and limb in the wild mountain countryacross the Border, seemed for the moment more than he couldaccept in silence.

He was obliged to own grudgingly that the Colonel wasjustified in his decision,—that as Second in Command he wasthe right man to remain in charge of the station. But theacknowledgment did not make the necessity one whit lessdetestable in his eyes; and to-night the two men's positionswere reversed. It was Paul who moved to and fro with longrestless strides; while Theo, enveloped in a cloud of bluesmoke, sat watching him in profound sympathy andunderstanding, making occasional attempts at consolation,with small result.

During the next ten days Honor Meredith discovered how muchmay be achieved and endured with the help of use and wont;discovered also that habit is the rock on which man's soulshall be wrecked or anchored in his evil day.

She forced herself to speak of Theo more often than she haddone hitherto; for she now understood the reason of herinstinctive reserve where he was concerned; and the mereeffort of breaking through it was a help. She succeeded intalking to him also, if with less frankness, still withsomething of her old simplicity and ease; and in playing hisfavourite preludes and sonatas, even though they stirredunsounded depths of emotion, and made the burden laid uponher shoulders seem too heavy to be borne.

One habit alone seriously hindered her. Her spirit ofcandour—which was less a habit than an elementalessence—chafed against the barrier between her and thoseshe loved. For she now found herself constrained to avoidthe too discerning eyes of Paul and Mrs Conolly, and, aboveall, of Theo himself. Men and women whose spirit hibernatesmore or less permanently in its temple of flesh have smallknowledge of the joy of such wordless intercourse; suchflashes of direct speech between soul and soul; but Honorfelt the lack of it keenly. She experienced, for the firsttime in her life, that loneliness of heart which is anintegral part of all great sorrow.

But when things are at their worst we must needs eat andsleep, and find some degree of satisfaction in both. Honorwas young, practical, healthy, and her days were too wellfilled to allow of time for brooding; nor had she thesmallest leaning toward that unprofitable occupation. Shesought and found refuge from her clamorous Ego,—never moreclamorous than at the first awakening of love,—inconcentrating thought and purpose upon Evelyn; in bracingher to meet this first real demand upon her courage in amanner befitting Theo Desmond's wife.

And she reaped her measure of reward. Evelyn bore herselfbravely on the whole. Theo's manifest approbation acted as asubconscious pillar of strength. But on the last day of all,when the strain of standing morally on tiptoe was alreadyproducing its inevitable effect, an unlooked-for shockbrought her back to earth with the rush of a wounded bird.

The troops were to march at dawn; and in the evening ittranspired that Theo intended to dine at Mess, returning, inall probability, just in time to change and ride down to theLines. The programme was so entirely a matter of course onthe eve of an expedition, and his squadron had absorbed somuch of his attention, that he had forgotten to speak of thematter earlier; and the discovery was the last touch neededto upset Evelyn's unstable equilibrium. Her collapse was themore complete by reason of the strain that had gone before.

At the first she entreated him to give up the dinner and tospend his last evening with her; and upon his gentle butdefinite answer that such a departure from precedent washardly possible, she fell to sobbing with the passionateunrestraint of a child. In vain Desmond tried to reason withher, to assure her that these big nights on the eve ofactive service were a time-honoured custom; and that allmarried officers attended them as a matter of course.

"I would willingly stay at home to please you, Ladybird," headded, "but the fellows would probably come round and carryme off by main force. It would all be done in the way of ajoke, of course; but can't you see that any lack ofregimental spirit on my part is a reflection on you, which Iwon't have at any price?"

No, she could see nothing, poor distracted child, exceptthat he was rewarding her cruelly ill for the genuine effortat control she had made for his sake; and having once losthold upon herself, all the pent-up fears and rebellion, atloss of him, found vent in a semi-coherent outbreak ofreproaches and tears, till Desmond finally lost hispatience, and went off to change for Mess in a mood of mindill-tuned to the boisterous night ahead of him.

"Big nights," an immemorial feature of army life, are aspecially marked feature of the Frontier, where the constantrecurrence of Border warfare, and the hardness of existencegenerally, produce more frequent outbursts of the schoolboyspirit that characterises the British soldier of all ranks;that carries him unafraid and undismayed throughheart-breaking campaigns; keeps him cheerful anduncomplaining in the face of flagrant mismanagement,fell-climates, disaster, and defeat. Big nights, sixty yearsago, left a goodly number of men, either under the table orin a condition only a few degrees less undignified. But, inspite of the outcry against modern degeneration, thesethings are not so to-day; and the big nights of the FrontierForce, on the eve of active service, are singularly freefrom this, the least admirable part of the programme.

The week before departure was necessarily a week of hardwork, culminating in the task of getting all details intoperfect marching order, and setting every item in readinessfor the start at dawn. This done, the British predilectionfor "letting off steam" resulted in a night of uproarioushilarity, incomprehensible to those ignorant of theconditions which gave it birth, and unable to realise itstonic effect on men who are setting out to face danger,hardship, and possibly a violent death.

Wild games and contests were the order of the evening,—thewilder the more acceptable. Cock-fighting, mock-polomatches, or gymkhanas,—on such occasions nothing comesamiss in the way of riotous foolishness pure and simple. Thesenior officer forgets his seniority; the most dignifiedlets fall the cloak of dignity for a few exhilarating hours.

Colonel Buchanan himself entered with zest into the maddestinnovations which Desmond or Olliver could devise; and thosewho knew Paul Wyndham, in his normal habit as he lived,would scarce have recognised him masquerading as Desmond'spolo pony, in a inter-regimental match played with billiardballs, brother officers doing duty for mounts and cues forpolo-sticks. It was all excellent fooling; and the bar ofgrey in the east came far too soon.

Close on five o'clock Desmond re-entered the bungalow; hisscarlet kummerbund disordered; his white mess-jacket in ahundred creases; yet alert and ready in every fibre for theday's march that lay before him.

The grey twilight of dawn was already creeping in throughthe skylights and long glass doors, as he passed through thedrawing-room into his study.

On his cane deck-lounge Evelyn lay fast asleep, her face soturned upon the cushion that its delicate profile showedclear as a cameo against a background of dull blue. Herwhite dinner dress gleamed ghostly in the dusk of morning.One bronze slipper had fallen off; and one bare arm hunglimply over the chair's edge, the fingers curled softlyupwards. A slender chain bangle, with a turquoise pendant,had almost slipped over her hand.

Desmond drew nearer with softened tread, and stood lookingdown upon her, a world of tenderness in hiseyes;—tenderness touched with the reverence a finelytempered man is apt to feel in the presence of a child orwoman asleep. For by some mysterious process sleepsanctifies a face; perhaps because it is half brother todeath.

Evelyn's face was white as her dress, save for the coraltint of her lips. Their downward droop, the red line alongher eyelids, and the moist handkerchief clutched in herright hand, were more heart-stirring than tears.

His touch brought her back to life with an indrawn breathlike a sob; and at sight of him her arms went round hisneck.

"Theo, darling," she whispered, drawing his head down closeto hers. "I—was dreaming—that you were gone. I suppose youare going very soon now?"

"I was bad and selfish to you last night, Theo. I didn'tmean to be; but—I was. Honor made me understand."

"Bless her brave heart!" he said fervently. "She comes ofthe best stock I know. By the way, I am sure she never toldyou to spend the night here."

"No. She thought I had gone to bed. But I was too unhappy totrouble about that—and——"

He drew her to her feet, slipped on the fallen shoe, and puthis arm round her. "Come along to the dressing-room and helpme to get into my khaki."

She walked beside him in so strange a confusion ofhappiness and misery that it was impossible to say where oneended and the other began. In the semi-darkness she trippedand stumbled on the threshold, and he caught her close tohim, holding her thus for a long moment. Then he began todress.

At this point the long lean form of Amar Singh appeared inthe doorway. But at sight of the Memsahib, arrayed fordinner, he departed as noiselessly as he had come; notwithout a lurking sense of injury, since it was clearly hisprivilege to do those last offices for his Sahib of twelveyears' standing.

Evelyn, anxious to show that she could be useful onoccasion, followed Theo to and fro like a shadow; handed himthe wrong thing at the wrong moment with patheticinsistence; and hindered his progress by a host ofirrelevant questions. But some women can hinder moreengagingly than others can help; and in any case TheoDesmond was in no humour to lose patience with his wife thatmorning.

Once her attention was caught and held by Desmond's swordand revolver, laid ready on a small table. She regarded themwith a kind of fearful fascination. They were no longer mereornaments of his uniform, but actual death-dealers, goingforth to do murderous work. The short blue muzzle of therevolver had a sinister look, and a point of light at thetip winked like a mocking eye.

"Theo," she said suddenly in an awestruck undertone, "do youknow what I was dreaming when you woke me? I dreamt that youwere fighting with Afridis,—ever so many of them,—and youwere all alone. I thought they were going to—kill you everyminute. They were running after you——"

"They'll never get the chance to dothat, Ladybird, solong as I have the use of my bare hands, let alone mysword!"

"But, Theo, just think, if you were all alone, and you werebound to get killed if you stayed, and there was me at homepraying to get you back safe; wouldn't you be allowed to runaway—even then?"

Desmond smiled; but he did not answer at once. Theludicrous suggestion, with its unconscious touch of pathos,hurt him more than he cared to acknowledge.

"It isn't a case of being allowed," he said. "I should neverbe left quite alone like that; and anyway, they don't laydown a code of morals for us in the Queen's Regulations. Itis understood that a British officer will play the man, evenin desperate straits."

She knitted her brows wistfully. "Yes, of course. Only—itseems rather hard on—the wives and mothers."

"You never said a truer word, little woman. That's why theyneed to have such good grit in them,—don't you see?"

"Yes—I see. But mayn't you just get out of the way of abullet if you happen to see it coming?"

"One generally happens to feel it before one gets a chanceof seeing it," he said. "But now, let's have done withnonsense. Buckle on my sword and we'll go to breakfast. Thewhole house is astir."

She set the leathern belt round his waist, and tried tofasten it; but her fingers trembled in spite of herself, anda mist blinded her eyes. He took the heavy strap from hervery gently, and fastened it himself.

"You won't change and ride out a little way with us as theothers mean to?" he asked.

For answer he held out his arms; and there was a longsilence in the dimly lighted room.

Then he led her to the door of their room, and himself wentout to the breakfast-table with a brisk elasticity of tread.He would not have been the man he was, if even the pang ofparting could altogether quench his ardour to be gone.

In the dining-room he found Honor ready equipped for thestart. She looked paler than usual, and there were blueshadows under her eyes; but she answered his greetingcheerfully enough, and busied herself with pouring out histea.

"Ladybird is changing into a morning gown," he explained."She never went to bed last night poor child!"

He glanced at her thoughtfully, a shade of anxiety in hiseyes. "You're not looking as fit yourself as you did afortnight ago," he said.

"Well, I hope it may be nonsense. But I feel responsible foryou. Take good care of yourself, please, while I am away;and—take care of my Ladybird as well.... Hullo, there'sPaul!"

Wyndham entered as he spoke, wearing the undress uniform ofstation life: and Honor had seldom been so glad to see himas at that moment.

The two men stood facing one another for quite a long time.Then they smiled, and sat down to breakfast. Both knew thatin that long look they had said all that need ever be saidbetween them and it sufficed.

Evelyn came in a few minutes later, pale and subdued, butnot uncheerful. Her real sorrow, and no less realdetermination to control it, gave a rare touch of dignity tothe grace and simplicity that were hers by nature;—a factwhich her husband was quick to perceive and admire. Bothmen, by a natural instinct, were a trifle more attentive toher than usual, without the least hint of intrusion upon theprivacy of her grief; and it is in just such acts ofunobtrusive chivalry that Englishmen, of the best type,stand unrivalled throughout the world.

The meal over, Evelyn accompanied them into the verandah,and stood smiling and waving her hand to them as they rodeaway, with a composure born of a stunned sense of theunreality of it all. Theo was just going down to the Lines,and he would be back to tiffin as a matter of course.Nevertheless, half an hour later the rims of her eyes wereagain reddened with weeping: and donning a sun-hat, shehurried out to a point where she could watch the littleforce move across the space of open country between thecantonment and the bastioned fort that stands at theentrance to the hills.

By the time Evelyn reached her coign of vantage, thecavalcade was already nearing the prescribed mile where thefinal parting would take place, to the strains of "Auld LangSyne"; a piece of gratuitous torment, honoured by custom,which many would have willingly foregone.

The slowly retreating mass, half enveloped in dust, showed afew shades darker than the desert itself. A patch ofvermilion indicated the Pioneer band, now blaring forth,with placid unconcern, "The Girl I Left Behind Me!" Lesserspecks denoted officers, riding out, like the rest of thestation, to speed the parting troops.

The cavalry riding in the van were a mere moving dust-cloud,followed by artillery, infantry, ambulance doolies, borne byhalf-naked Kahars; while a jumble of men and animals,camp-followers and transport, formed, as it were, adisorderly tail to the more compact body. Camels, groaningunder tent-poles and heavy baggage, shuffled and swayed onthe outskirts, with leisurely contempt; grass-cutters bobbedcheerfully along on ponies of no birth or breeding, thatappeared oddly misshapen under vast loads of grass: and atthe last came miniature transport carts, closely followed bythe rear-guard, a mixed body of all arms.

While Evelyn still watched, the halt was called, and thedisturbing strains of parting reached her where she stood.Hill, plain, and nearer objects lost their crispness ofoutline; and she went back to the silent house awaitingher,—the lively strains of the return march alreadysounding in her ears.

As she stood still for a moment, fighting against heremotion, Owen Kresney rode past. She barely acknowledged hisgreeting; and he had the tact to pass on without speech. Forthe man saw plainly that the coveted opportunity forstriking a blow at Desmond, behind his back, was very nearat hand; and he could afford to bide his time.

CHAPTER XX.

THE DEVIL'S PECULIARITY?

After the departure of the troops, life settled downgradually into its normal groove.

Frank Olliver had moved into the blue bungalow, at Desmond'srequest, an arrangement more satisfying to Honor than to hiswife; and the Pioneer Regiment from Pindi had added a coupleof ladies to the station. These were made welcome with theprompt friendliness which is India's distinctive charm; andthe bachelors, in due course, made the circuit of Kohat'shandful of bungalows. The station was a few degrees lesscheerful, owing to the absence of its own particular men;but in India spirits must be kept up at all costs, if onlyas an antidote to the moral microbes of the land; and theusual small sociabilities flourished accordingly.

Evelyn took part in these at first with a chastened air. Notthat she assumed what she did not feel; but that her grief,when it reached a less acute stage, gave her a soothingsense of importance; a kind of dismal distinction, such as achild feels in the possession of a badly cut finger or aloose tooth. The wind bloweth where it listeth; and suchthistledown natures are entirely at its mercy. They cannottake deep root, even where they would. For them the neartriumphs over the far. Like Esau, they will sell theirbirthright cheerfully for a mess of pottage; and they arethe raw material of half the tragedies in the world.

Thus, with the passing of uneventful days, Evelyn began tofind it rather uninteresting to be quietly and comfortablyunhappy; and the aspect of subdued plaintiveness which shehalf consciously adopted was, in truth, singularly becoming.She was one of those favoured women who have the goodfortune to do most things becomingly. Her very tears becameher, as dewdrops do a rose.

"Sure, 'tis a thousand pities we can't all of us look sopretty when we put on a melancholy face! It makes me looksuch a scarecrow meself, that I'm bound to keep on smiling,out o' sheer vanity, even if me heart's in two!"

"That's one way of putting it," Honor answered, with a verysoft light in her eyes. She had begun to understand latelythat this brave woman was by no means so inured to thehardship and danger of the men she loved as she would fainhave them and the world believe: and the two drew very nearto one another in these weeks of eager looking for news fromthe hills.

It is not to be supposed that Kresney failed to observe thegradual change in Evelyn's bearing. The man displayedremarkable tact and skill in detecting the psychologicalmoment for advance. He contented himself at first withconversations in the Club Gardens and an air of deferentialsympathy, which was in itself a subtle form of flattery. Buton a certain afternoon of regimental sports, when Evelynappeared, radiant and smiling, in one of her mostirresistible Simla frocks, with an obviously appreciativePioneer subaltern in attendance, Kresney perceived that thetime to assert himself had arrived.

After a short but decisive engagement, he routed thatindignant subaltern; and with a quiet assurance which by nomeans displeased her, took and kept possession of MrsDesmond for the remainder of the afternoon.

That evening he enjoyed his after-dinner cigar as he hadnot enjoyed it for many weeks. Mrs Desmond was obviouslytired of her pretty pathetic pose; and he intended to availhimself to the utmost of her rebound towardslightheartedness. He flattered himself that he read her likean open book; that she would be as wax in his hands if hechose to push his advantage. But for all his acuteness, hefailed to detect the one good grain hid in a bushel ofchaff; or to perceive that it was not indifference, but thevery burden of her anxiety, that drove Evelyn to seekdistraction in the form of any amusement lying near to herhand.

Letters from the Samana were few and brief. The last oneshad brought news that the expedition seemed likely to provea more serious affair than had been anticipated. Unknown toHonor, Evelyn cried herself to sleep that night, and awoketo the decision that she would not be so foolishly unhappyany more. She would shut her eyes to the haunting horrors,and forget. Theo had forbidden her to make herself toomiserable. Why should she not obey him? And she proceeded todo so in her own equivocal fashion.

After the first effort it was fatally easy to slip back intothe old habit of accepting Kresney's companionship, and hisfrequent invitations to the house;—fatally easy to slipeven a few degrees farther without the smallest suspicion ofhis hand on the reins. She took to riding withhim—sometimes in the early mornings, sometimes in theevenings; and these leisurely rides—for Evelyn was nohorsewoman—suited Kresney's taste infinitely better thantennis. By cautious degrees they increased in frequency andduration; till it became evident to the least observant thatlittle Mrs Desmond was consoling herself to good purpose.

Honor watched the new trend of events with suppressed wrathand disgust. That a woman who had won the love of TheoDesmond should descend, even for passing amusement, uponsuch a travesty of manhood, roused in her a bitterness ofrebellion which she had no right to feel; but which, beingonly human, she could not altogether banish from her heart.Nor were matters made easier by Frank Olliver's periodicaloutbursts on the subject. The hot-headed Irishwoman had alarge share of the unreasoning prejudice of her race. Shehated as she loved, wholesale, and without reason. She couldmake no shadow of excuse for Evelyn Desmond; and was onlyrestrained from speaking out her mind by a wholesome fear ofher own temper, and a desire to avoid a serious breach withTheo Desmond's wife. But with Honor it was otherwise. Honor,she maintained, had a right to speak, and no right to besilent; and goaded thus, the girl did at length make atentative effort at remonstrance.

"For goodness' sake, Honor, don't start interfering again!"she said, in a tone which effectually quenched furtherdiscussion.

Thus, without definite intention, they drifted a littleapart. Honor, haunted by a sense of having failed Theo at atime of need, found what consolation she might in hergrowing intimacy with Paul Wyndham; while Evelyn went on herway unchallenged, blind to every consideration but the needof escape from the haunting dread that she would never seeher husband again. The dissonance between her feelings andher actions troubled her no whit. Her notions of loyaltywere peculiar and inconsistent, like herself; and it isprobable that she never gave a thought to Kresney'sinterpretation of her conduct, or to the dangerous nature ofthe game she was playing.

The man himself was well content, and increasinglyself-satisfied. He could be an intelligent and mildlyamusing companion, when it served his turn; and he wasbeginning to lose sight of Desmond in keen enjoyment of theoldest pastime in the world. They fell into occasionalspells of silence now as they rode—silence such asfamiliarity breeds, and which is not without a degree ofdanger at a certain stage of intimacy between a man and awoman.

They had been riding thus, for some time, on an afternoonof early March. Their horses' heads had been turnedhomeward; for the sun was near to setting, and on theFrontier it is unsafe to be out after dusk. Evelyn's reinslay loose upon the grey mare's neck and her long lashesshadowed her cheek. She seemed to have forgotten hercompanion's presence. Kresney's eyes rested speculatively onher finely chiselled profile. He found her, on closeacquaintance, more charming than he had expected. Shepossessed an elusiveness that captivates more surely thanbeauty. A man could never feel quite certain of her. She hadnot been in a very "coming-on disposition" that afternoon.His interest was piqued in consequence, and he was in themood to dare a good deal.

He would have given much to know what she was thinking of;and the knowledge would have administered a wholesome shockto his vanity. He decided to surprise her with the question,and read the answer in her too expressive face.

"Whatis the absorbing subject?" he demanded suddenly. Histone was a sufficient index of his progress during the pastfortnight.

She flushed and laughed softly, without looking up; and hedrew his own conclusions.

"I don't tell my thoughts! But I'm sorry if I was rude. Iwas thinking, for one thing," she added lightly andmendaciously, "that I wish it was nearer time to go up tothe Hills."

"That's rubbish!" she rebuked him. But her pleasure in thewords was self-evident.

"And that's modesty!" he capped her promptly, enjoying thedeepening carnation of the cheek turned towards him. "Willit be Murree again this year?"

"Then why not go there? I would come up too, like a shot. Ican get a couple of months this year, and we'd have aripping time of it. Shall we call it settled—eh?"

"It's too expensive. Besides, there seems to be somethingwrong with Simla. My husband doesn't like it much; nor doesHonor."

"Oh, well, of course Simla isn't much of a place forhusbands," he explained loftily, "or for girls. It's thebachelors who have a good time there,—and the marriedwomen."

"Is it? How odd! I should think anybody who cared aboutdancing and acting, and all that sort of thing, would bebound to have a lovely time in Simla."

She looked him so simply and straightly in the face that hefelt unaccountably ashamed of his questionable remark, andthe laugh that had preceded it—a sensation to which he waslittle accustomed.

"Yes, yes; daresay you're right," he agreed airily. "But ifyou're so keen about the place, why not insist upon going?Wives don't trouble overmuch about obedience nowadays; mostof them seem to do whatever they please."

"Do they? Well, then, I suppose it pleases me to go where myhusband likes best."

"Very dutiful, indeed!" A shadow of a sneer lurked beneathhis bantering tone, and she reddened again.

"It's not dutiful at all. It's simply because——" She brokeoff short. "Oh, I think you're horrid this afternoon. Iexpect people to make themselves pleasant when I let themcome out with me."

"Well, I'm sure I do my best. But one can never tell whereto have you. Goodness knows I've shown you plainly that I'mready to be your friend—to any extent; and you've seemed toaccept it readily enough——"

"Yes, men," she nodded, smiling. "I don't trouble much aboutwomen—except Honor; andshe's worth all the men increation put together."

"Desmond included?" Again the covert sneer lurked in histone, and she drew herself up with a pretty air of dignity.

"But I tell you it is!" He pressed closer. "More than you'vechosen to realise so far. D'you suppose you can go onindefinitely blowing hot and cold with a man; snubbing himone minute and drawing him on the next?"

"Oh dear! Oh dear! I never bother to suppose things!Haven't I said that if you want me to be nice, you mustn'tplague me with stupid questions? At any rate, you're seeinga lot of me now. And you're riding a lot with me now—isn'tthat enough?"

"Oh, hush—hush! You mustn't say that!" she murmuredineffectually; but he paid no heed.

"You find this sort of thing pleasant enough while Desmond'saway; butwill you keep it up when he comes back? Tell methat——" He leaned closer; but she turned her head away,avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, I don't know. How can I possibly tell?" she answered,half plaintively, half petulantly. "Whyare men sotiresome? They never seem able to enjoy things peaceablywithout making tragedies and getting too much inearnest——"

He spoke with sudden vehemence. Something in his tonestartled her into a recollection of the incident at Lahore.And there was no Theo at hand to protect her now.

Forgetful of the loosened rein, and of her insecure hold onthe stirrup, she struck the mare more sharply than she knew.The astonished animal bounded forward, stumbled on a roundstone, and came down on her knees, pitching Evelyn over herhead into the dust of the metalled road.

Kresney stifled an oath. "What the devil did the little fooldo that for?" he muttered between his teeth.

Springing to the ground, he shouted to a passing nativechild to hold the two horses, and hurried to Evelyn's side,reflecting as he went that, if she were not seriouslyinjured, the accident might have its advantages. She was onher knees when he reached her, and was pressing both handsto her temples.

The words ended in a sob; she swayed as if she would fall,and quick as thought his arm went round her, pressing herclose. But at his touch she recovered herself as if bymagic; and pushing him fiercely aside, staggered panting toher feet.

"Well, I'm damned!" he broke out at length. "I'm not adisease that you should shake me off in that fashion."

"I'm sorry," she said with quick-coming breaths. "You meantto be kind, I know, but—don't touch me again, please."

She spoke almost in a whisper, yet with such obvioussincerity that he set his teeth viciously and answerednothing.

She remained standing before him, helpless, tantalising,unapproachable, in her childlike dignity. Her head was dazedand throbbing. Her knees shook under her so persistentlythat she gave it up at last, and sank down in the road,covering her face with her hands.

He came and stood near her again. He was surprised to findhow keenly her distress hurt him, and now that his anger waspast, her flash of independence made her more alluring thanever.

"If you won't let me lay a finger on you," he said in analtered tone, "I don't see how I can be any use. But if youwill condescend to use me as a prop, I'll put you up on themare, and walk beside you; then you can hold on to me if youfeel shaky. We are not far off now, and the boy can take mypony on. Will that suit you?"

"No man in his senses could be anything but kind toyou."And bending down he once more encircled her with his arm,raising her to her feet, and taking his time over theproceeding. For an instant, in mere weakness, she leaned herlight weight upon him; and his sense of triumph wascomplete.

But she stiffened at the cautious tightening of his arm, andstumbled forward, so that he had some ado to repress hisirritation.

He lifted her to the saddle; and, seemingly oblivious thathe had offered himself as a mere prop, took such fulladvantage of the permission to support her till they reachedthe bungalow, that she was vaguely troubled, though toodazed and shaken to attempt further remonstrance.

She managed to walk into the drawing-room; but as he laidher on the sofa, her head fell limply backward, and shefainted.

He stood watching her intently for a few seconds. Then hebent over her, low and lower, till his lips almost restedupon hers. But at this point something checked hisdespicable impulse—perhaps the purity of her face, ormerely its unresisting stillness. Perhaps he chose to deferthe pleasure till a more acceptable moment. He straightenedhimself with a jerk; and hastening into the hall, shoutedfor brandy and soda-water.

Very soon a faint colour crept back into her cheeks. Sheopened her eyes and smiled up at him.

"Better now?" he asked, and leaned over her again, his handon the sofa back, his lips perilously close to her hair. Atthat critical moment, Wyndham's tall figure appeared in thedoorway, closely followed by Honor Meredith.

Kresney's back was towards him; and the tableau presented bythe pair was equivocal, to say the least of it. For aninstant Paul stood still in sheer stupefaction; then heturned to the girl, his grey eyes ablaze with indignation,and she had never liked him better than at that moment.

As he stepped forward, Kresney started up with a stifledoath; and the two men confronted one another, in silent,undisguised hostility, while Honor hurried to Evelyn's side.

"What is wrong with Mrs Desmond?" Paul asked coldly,concealing his natural anxiety for Theo's wife.

"Oh, she has had a spill. The mare came down with her; andshe fainted when I got her home."

Kresney's pronounced frigidity was more ludicrous thanimpressive; and the shadow of a smile lurked beneath Paul'smoustache as he addressed himself to Honor.

"Mr Kresney was very kind to me. I have asked him to dinner.Won't you stay too?"

"Thanks. I'll go and change, and come back later. You willdo the same, I presume?" And he looked directly at Kresney,who had wit enough to perceive that the situation wasuntenable.

"It's very good of you to want me, Mrs Desmond," he said,elaborately ignoring Wyndham's remark, "but I'd better notstop to-night. You won't be fit for much talking after thatnasty tumble."

She held out her hand with marked graciousness, flashing adefiant glance at Paul, who, in sublime unconsciousness,followed Kresney out into the verandah, and remainedstanding on the steps till he had ridden out of sight.

No words passed between them except a mutually formal"Good-night." But Paul succeeded in conveying the impressionthat he regarded himself as Desmond's representative; and inmaking Kresney feel more acutely uncomfortable than he hadfelt for many a long day. If he had done no actual harm, thefault did not lie with him; and his conscience sprangpainfully to life under the lash of Wyndham's contemptuoussilence.

"Why on earth was Major Wyndham so dignified anddisagreeable?" Evelyn queried in a tone of frank annoyance."It isn'this affair."

"He has news for you—from the Samana," she added. "Therehas been sharp fighting. Theo's squadron has done a verydashing bit of work;—Major Wyndham will tell you about it,if you care to hear. Now you had better lie quiet till youdress for dinner." And without waiting for an answer sheleft the room.

Next morning, while she sat at work, wondering how she couldbroach the forbidden subject, Evelyn herself came and stoodbefore her with a purposeful air of decision.

"Honor," she said, "I don't want anybody to say anythingto—Theo about my accident. Do you see? It is my business totell him, and not any one else's. Will you let Mrs Olliverknow that, please? I don't care to speak to her about itmyself."

"No, Evelyn; it would be just as well not. She happened tobe crossing this hill yesterday when you and Mr Kresney wereon the lower road; and—she saw you together."

"Just the sort of thing shewould do! I hate Mrs Olliver!Always spying on me; and I dare say she won't believe thetruth even now. But I won't have her talking toTheo aboutme, whatever she may imagine."

"You know her very little if you think she could do that,"Honor answered quietly. "She only spoke to me because shefancies I have influence with you. But that seems to be overnow. You have chosen to go your own way. It is a verydangerous way. However, I can say nothing more on thesubject."

"Honor, can't yousee that—that I'm frightened andmiserable about Theo, and I must have something to help meforget? It's no use trying to makeyou understand how itfeels to have him away up there—always in danger——"

Honor started and flushed. "Indeed, dear, I do understand,"she answered, not quite steadily.

"You think you do, but you can't really. I know you aregreat friends with him, and you'd be very sorry if—ifanything happened. But it's ever so much worse for me,because I am—his wife. Now I must go and write to him aboutall this."

"God forgive me!" she murmured. "How dareI find faultwith her, blessed child that she is!"

CHAPTER XXI.

I AM YOURS.

Paul Wyndham's hopes were on the ascendant at last. After afull year of waiting, he saw himself drawing steadily nearerto his hour of reward.

He studied Honor Meredith as a man only studies that onwhich his life's happiness depends; and during the past fewweeks he had become aware of a mysterious change in thegirl's bearing. Her beauty—which had seemed to him socomplete—was now unmistakably enhanced by sometransformation within. Her whole nature seemed to havebecome more highly sensitised. Her colour came and went uponthe least provocation; her frank friendliness was veiled bya shy reserve, that had in it no hint of coldness; and, moresignificant than all, her eyes no longer met his own withthat disconcerting directness of gaze which had sealed hislips when they were upon the verge of speech.

For all his modesty, Wyndham could not fail to interpretthese signs according to his heart's desire; and when, onthe night of Evelyn's accident, Honor promised him an earlyride, prefaced bychota hazri [26] in the verandah, he toldhimself that he need wait no longer—that the great momentof his life had come at last.

On the stroke of seven he mounted the verandah steps. Acamp table, set with fruit, freshly made toast, and atea-tray, awaited him in a shadowed corner. Two thick bambooblinds, let down between the wide arches, converted that endof the verandah into a room, its low-toned coolness brokenonly by an arrow of sunlight, shooting through a gap in oneof the blinds, like a streak of powdered gold. Wyndham'seyes lingered approvingly on every detail of the homelyscene; and he caught himself wondering what his sensationswould be half an hour hence; what words he should speak toher when the dreaded, longed-for moment arrived.

A light footstep reached his ears; and he turned sharplyround to find her standing in the open doorway.

She did not come forward at once, nor did she speak. For theman's face was transfigured. She beheld, in that instant,his unveiled heart and spirit—foresaw the ordeal thatawaited her.

"Good morning," she murmured mechanically. There seemednothing else that could be said.

Then a wave of colour surged into her face; for he kept thehand she gave him, and drew her towards the privacy of thetea-table. She would have sacrificed much at that moment forthe power to speak to prevent the pain she was bound toinflict; but her heart seemed to be beating in her throat;and she endured, as best she might, the controlled intensityof his look and tone.

"You know—surely you know what I find it so hard to say—Ilove you,—Honor, with all there is of me. I want you—Godknows how I want you! And—you——?"

He bent his head to receive the answer that need not bespoken in words. But all vestige of colour was gone from herface, and the unsteadiness of her beautiful mouth cut him tothe heart.

"Oh, forgive me!" she pleaded. "I have been thoughtless,selfish,—blind. But you seemed so entirely my friend—I didnot guess. I would have given the world to have sparedyou—this."

He straightened himself like a man under the lash; but hedid not relinquish her hand.

"I can't let you reproach yourself," he said quietly,"because I misunderstood signs that seemed to tell me yourheart was awake at last. But now—now you know how it iswith me, at least you will let me hope——?"

"I wish I might," she answered, so low that he couldscarcely hear. "But—it's impossible!"

It was impossible to lie to him, and the blood rushed backinto her face at the confession.

Sheer incredulity held him silent; and when he spoke therewas rebellion in his tone.

"Your life and my own are to remain broken, unfulfilled,because of—this incomprehensible thing?"

He relinquished her hand at that, giving it back to her, asit were, with a quiet finality of renunciation thatshattered her self-control. She sank into a chair and hidher face in a vain attempt to conceal the tears that came inspite of herself.

He stood beside her for several seconds in a heart-brokensilence; then gently touched her arm.

"Honor—Honor, is it really so impossible—as you think? Itell you plainly I can't understand——"

"Can any one ever understand—this sort of thing? Isn't it aforce outside the control of reason, of even the strongestwill?"

"You are right," he answered gravely; and sitting downleaned towards her, his elbows on the table. "But thereremains the fact that sooner than lose you outright, I amwilling to marry you—on any terms. If you have no hope foryourself, could you not bring yourself to partially fulfilmine? Will you—in mercy to me—reconsider your decision?"

"My suggestion deserves thinking over for a few minutes, ifno longer. And in the meanwhile—" he smiled with a touch ofhis old humorous resignation to things in general—"we mightdo worse than have somechota hazri. What a brute I was toupset you before you had had a morsel to eat!"

He peeled two bananas with deliberate care, and set one onher plate. Then he lifted the cosy.

"That tea must be strong by this time; but the water's hot,and you can doctor it with that. Now—begin."

He himself began upon his banana, and she glanced at him inastonishment, not untinged with admiration, at hiseffortless transition from controlled passion to thecommonplaces of everyday life. They got through the shortmeal after a fashion; and both were devoutly thankful whenthe demands of common-sense had been fulfilled.

"Now, I'll leave you to yourself for five minutes," heannounced. "It is getting late. But before we go for ourride this matter must be settled once for all." He laid bothhands on the table and looked steadily into her face. "Youare the most just-minded woman I know. Look all round thequestion before you decide. Try to realise a little what itwill mean for me to give up all hope. In losing you, I loseeverything. There can be no question of any one else for me.Take me or—leave me, I amyours for the rest of my life."

He turned away to save her from the necessity of answering,and walked to the far end of the verandah, leaving her alonewith the strongest temptation she had yet experienced—thetemptation to trample on her own imperious love, and toaccept this man's selfless devotion in the hope that itmight one day conquer and monopolise her heart.

Had marriage with Wyndham entailed immediate removal fromthe atmosphere of Theo Desmond, hesitancy might have endedin capitulation. But life-long intimacy with him, as thewife of his closest friend, was unthinkable for a moment;and if by the wildest possibility Paul should ever suspectthe truth——!

He hastened back to her at once. But one look at her facesufficed. The eagerness faded from his eyes, leaving themcold as a winter sky after sunset.

"It was wrong of me to keep you in suspense even for a fewminutes," she said, her gaze riveted on the table. "Pleaseforgive me that I am driven to hurt you so, and pleasebelieve that I do realise what I am losing——"

"The loss is—not yours," he said on a note of restrainedquietness: and in the stillness that ensued, the impatienthorses could be heard champing their bits.

He sank into his chair with a gesture of unfeignedweariness; and she glanced at his face. Its mingled pain andpatience pierced her heart. But when at last he spoke, hisvoice was natural and controlled.

"I have only one word more to say. I confess I have not thecourage to let you go altogether out of my life. Sincenothing else is possible, will you at least accept me asyour permanent and—devoted friend?"

"Do they? No doubt they are right—for themselves. But Iknow I have the strength to accept what I ask, or I wouldnot dare ask it. You won't refuse me that much, willyou—Honor?"

"No, indeed, no," she answered, greatly moved. "I can denyyou nothing that I am not forced to deny you—Paul."

"Ah, there is no woman in the world to compare with you!Let me say it this once, as I may never tell you so again."

He rose in speaking, braced his shoulders, and stood lookingdown upon her, a strangely glad light in his eyes.

She rose also, and gave him both her hands. "No. You havegained me—for good. I—care now ever so much more than Idid when I came out to you this morning."

He drew her towards him. "Promise me this much," he said,"that if you should ever find it possible to—marry me onany conditions—even the hardest—you will tell me so atonce, because after this morning I shall never open my lipson the subject again."

He sighed. "Very well, I will shut out hope, since youcommand it. But I shall still have love and faith to liveupon. You cannot deprive me of those—Honor. Now shall we gofor our ride? Or would you rather go in and rest after allthis?"

CHAPTER XXII.

THE CHEAPER MAN.

The second week in March found the little force from Kohatstill skirmishing energetically through a network ofravines, nullahs, and jagged red hills; still dealing outrough justice to unrepentant Afridis in accordance withinstructions from headquarters; or as nearly in accordancewith them as Colonel Buchanan's pronounced views on theethics of warfare would permit. For Buchanan was a just manof independent character, a type not ostentatiously belovedby heads of departments. He had a reprehensible trick ofthinking for himself and acting accordingly—a habit liableto create havoc among the card-houses of officialdom; andlike all soldiers of the first grade, he was resoluteagainst the cowardly method of striking at the guiltythrough the innocent; resolute in limiting the evils of warto its authors and active abettors.

He had taken full advantage of his temporary rank to runthe expedition on his own lines; and although hisinstructions included the burning of crops, he had keptrigid control over this part of the programme; givingofficers and men free scope for activity in the demolishingof armed forts and towers, and in skirmishes with the wildtribes who harried their transport trains, rushed theirpickets, sent playful bullets whizzing through the mess-tentat night, and generally enjoyed themselves after the roughand ready fashion of the hillsman across the Border.

The Afridis in truth were merely tired of behaving like goodchildren. The unstained knives at their belts cried shame onthem for their prolonged abstinence from the legitimate joysof manhood;—the music of bullets whistling down a gorge,the yielding of an enemy's flesh under the knife.

Therefore, when Colonel Buchanan and his little forcestarted punitive operations, they were met by a surprisinglyconcerted and spirited resistance. The cunning tribesmen,having got what they wanted in the shape of excitement, weredetermined to make the most of it. Thus, the expedition hadflared up into one of those minor guerilla campaigns whichhave cost England more, in the lives of picked officers,than she is ever likely to calculate; being, for the mostpart, careful and troubled about weightier matters.

The sweeping movement, organised to include all villagesimplicated in the raid, took longer than had beenanticipated. The demolishing of Afridi watch-towers, mannedby the finest natural marksmen in the world, and built onbases proof against everything but gunpowder, is no child'splay; and at almost every village on the line of route thetroops had found their work cut out for them. That theycarried it out gallantly and effectively need hardly besaid, since we are dealing with the pick of India'ssoldiers, the Punjab Frontier Force.

Their daily march led them along broken tracks orboulder-strewn beds of torrents, winding through a landwhere "the face of God is a rock";—a land feigning death,yet alive with hidden foes who announced their presence fromtime to time by the snick of a breech-bolt, the whing of abullet, or a concerted rush upon the rear-guard from someconveniently narrow ravine.

Little interruptions of this sort helped to keep all rankson the alert, and to make things cheerful generally; butthey also took up time. And although the middle of Marchfound them back within twenty-one miles of Kohat, thereseemed little hope of quieting the country under anotherweek or two at least.

On the evening of the 16th, after two days of skirmishingand a broken night under the stars, imperative need of watercompelled them to encamp at the open end of a valley whoseenclosing heights narrowed abruptly to the northward into anugly-looking gorge.

Tents sprang up right and left; lines for horses and mulesestablished themselves in less time than it would take theuninitiated to see where and how the thing could be done;and that eighth wonder of the world, the native cook,achieved a four-course dinner with a mud oven, army rations,a small supply of looted fowls, and a large supply ofingenuity. A party of cavalry, having reconnoitred theravines branching off into higher hills, reported no signsof the enemy. A cordon of sentries was told off for duty;and the posting of strong pickets on the near hill-tops, andin the neighbourhood of the camp itself, completed thenight's arrangements. Clanking of accoutrements, jangle ofharness, and all the subdued hum of human life, died awayinto stillness; lights dropped out one by one; and thevalley was given over to silence and a multitude of stars.

Touched into silver here and there by the etherealradiance—for starshine is a reality in India—the scenepresented a Dantesque mingling of beauty and terror,—thetwin elements of life, which are "only one, not two."

At a little distance behind the clustering tents the groundsloped boldly upward to summits dark with patches of stuntedforest; and beyond these again the snow-peaks of the SafedKoh mountains stood dreaming to the stars. Lower down, atrare intervals, dwarf oaks and the "low lean thorn" of thedesert stood out, black and spectral, against the lesserdarkness of rocks and stones. In the valley itself thestones had it all their own way;—a ghostly company, roundedand polished by the stream, which crept among them now amere ribbon of silver, but in four months' time would comethundering through the gorge in a garment of foam, with theshout of a wild thing loosed from bondage. The triumph ofdesolation was reached in the savage peaks that almostfronted the camp and descended to the valley in a cataractof crags. Here even the persevering thorn-bush could take nohold upon a surface of bare rock, split up into clefts, andchiselled to such fantastic shapes that the whole might haveinspired Dante's conception of the ravine by which hedescended to the nether hell.

Absorbed in the requirements of earth, and untroubled byghostly imaginings, officers and men slept soundly, with oneeye open, as soldiers experienced in Frontier warfare learnto do; and when at last the earth, turning in its sleep,swung round towards the sun and the still air quivered withforeknowledge of morning, a sudden outcropping of life,where no life should be, amply justified the need forvigilance.

From the darkness of a ravine some distance above the camp,a shadowy mass of figures poured hurriedly, stealthily, intothe valley—men of splendid physique, in loose darkdraperies or sheepskin coats, carrying leathern shields andthe formidable Afridi knife, bone-handled, with a two-footblade that will halve a man's head as if it were a lemon.

By a preconcerted arrangement they divided into two parties,and keeping within the deepest patches of shadow, bore downupon the nearest pickets with a fierce, soundless rush,—themost disconcerting form of attack to sleepy sentries in thesmall hours, when life and courage are at their lowest ebb.But the picket sentries happened to be Sikhs; and they areill men to tackle at close quarters or to spring onunawares.

Close upon the first determined rush came a scuffle, asmothered shout, the sharp crack of rifles in quicksuccession; and before the hills had flung back the volleyof sound, the whole camp hummed with life from end to end,like a broken ant-heap.

A fusilade of shots rang out on all sides. Men hurried aboutamong the tents, concentrating at the two points of attack.Here and there, amid the puffs of smoke that rose andvanished in the blue, a lifted sword or sabre gleamed like aflash of light.

A number of Afridis forced their way into the camp, lungingat every tent-rope within reach of their long knives, and inthe dim light it was not easy to distinguish friend fromfoe. But the first sharp shock of encounter past, it becameevident that the troops were getting the best of the affair;and the Afridis, whose valour is not always tempered withdiscretion, saw fit to beat a rapid retreat up the valley,hoping to reach the ravine before the cavalry started inpursuit.

The men in camp, meanwhile, had leisure to breathe freely,after their rough awakening; to look about and recognise oneanother, and exchange cheerful congratulations on theresolute stand made by the Sikhs.

The Colonel's voice greeted Desmond as he emerged from histent where his servant had been pressing on him a half-coldcup of cocoa; and the two men faced each other, bareheaded,in shirt and breeches, unmistakable stains upon their nakedblades.

"The Ressaldar's falling in your squadron," Buchanan saidbriskly. "Lose no time, and follow 'em up like hell. They'llbreak away into the hills, of course. But the chances arethey'll concentrate again in the gorge and try to catch themain body as it passes through. So if they give you the slipnow, ride straight on and secure the defile for us. I'llsend out a detachment of infantry at the double to crown theheights; and I can safely leave all minor details to yourdiscretion."

"Thank you, sir." And Desmond departed to carry out hisorders with high elation at his heart.

There is no compliment a soldier appreciates more keenlythan one which takes the practical form of leaving detailsto his own discretion; and, coming from Buchanan, it wasdoubly acceptable. For, in Desmond's opinion, there were fewmen in the world like the Colonel, hard and uncommunicativeas he was; and it never occurred to him that his strong,unspoken admiration was returned with interest by thereserve-ridden Scot.

During the next fifteen minutes he fully justified hissobriquet of "Bijli-wallah Sahib." Before the Afridis wereout of sight a hundred and sixty sabres, headed by himselfand Denvil, dashed along the rugged pathway in gallantstyle, the men leaning well forward, and urging their horsesto break-neck speed. But the enemy were well ahead from thestart, and in any case, they had the advantage on their ownrough soil. The squadron overtook them—breathless andeager—just as the final stragglers plunged into a lateralcleft, which would hold the darkness for another half-hourat least.

Further pursuit was out of the question; and, by way ofconsolation, the foremost sowars were ordered to dismountand open rapid fire in the direction of the fugitives.Groans, curses, and the thud of falling bodies testified toits effect; and with laconic murmurs of satisfaction the menremounted, and rode on up the rapidly narrowing gorge.

By now, along the silver snows to eastward, the great changehad begun. The sky was blue above them; and the last of thestars had melted in the onrushing tide of light, which hadalready awakened the sandstone peaks to the warm hue oflife.

The party mounted the ascent at a foot's pace to ease theirhorses; and Desmond's eyes and mind, being as it were "offduty," turned thoughtfully upon the Boy who rode at hisside, a very incarnation of good health and good spirits. Itseemed that the outcome of his critical inspection wasapproval, for it ended in a nod that confirmed some pleasantinward assurance. During the past few weeks Denvil hadproved himself thoroughly "up to the mark";—hot-headed butreliable; square and upright in mind as in body; a finesoldier in the making. He had not yet arrived at the olderman's keen mental interest in his profession; but closerintimacy with Desmond had kindled in him an answering sparkof that idealism, that unswerving subordination of self toduty which justifies and ennobles the great game of war. Hecoveted action, risk, responsibility—three things which theStaff Corps subaltern, especially on the Frontier, tastesearlier than most men; and which go far to make him one ofthe straightest specimens of manhood in the world. InDenvil's eyes the whole expedition was one tremendous spree,which he was enjoying to the top of his bent; and Desmond,remembering the good years of his own apprenticeship, couldgauge the measure of that enjoyment to the full. He feltjustified in expecting great things of the Boy, and decidedto work him hard all through the hot weather;—in his eyesthe highest compliment a man could pay to a promisingjunior.

"By the way, Harry," he said suddenly, as the defile,deep-sunken between towering rock, loomed darkly into view,"I've got a word of encouragement for you before we partcompany. You did an uncommonly gallant bit of work in thatskirmish yesterday. The Colonel spoke of it; andcongratulated me on having the smartest subaltern in theregiment. Of course I've known it myself this long while;and I don't think it will hurt you to know it too."

"I should be rather a poor sort of chap if I didn't manageto do pretty well—under you," he said, with awkwardbluntness, looking straight between his charger's ears.

Desmond laughed. "Very neatly turned off, old chap. Now, I'mbound to call a halt till the Sikhs come up with us. Hope togoodness they'll be quick about it. Confounded nuisancehaving to wait."

Both men reined in their horses, and their consumingimpatience. The squadron followed suit; and in an amazinglyshort time the Sikhs came into view, toiling lustily up theincline at their utmost speed.

The words were hardly spoken when a single shot startled theechoes of the rocks, and instant alertness passed like anelectric current through the squadron. The advance guard,which had already entered the defile, consisted of threepromising young Pathans from Denvil's troop; and anxiety forthe fate of his favourites pricked the Boy to keenerimpatience.

"I say, Desmond," he urged, "can't I take twenty men andpush on to find out what's up. They'll be taking pot-shotsat my men, unless I put a stop to it. For God's sake, let mego."

Desmond could not repress an approving smile at animpetuosity that matched his own. He glanced down the valleyat the advancing Sikhs, and saw that he would not be longdelayed in following on. Moreover, he shared the Boy'sanxiety for his three picked men; and a shot fired, beingtantamount to a declaration of hostilities, justifiedimmediate advance to the scene of action.

The Boy needed no second bidding. Eagerly, yet with all dueprecautions, he went forward with his handful of Pathans;and was soon lost to sight and sound in the darkness of thegiant cleft.

Desmond, left alone, could hardly contain himself till theinfantry came up. Dividing into two flanking parties, theyscrambled up the steep slopes into the full radiance ofdawn; while Desmond, with his squadron ready drawn up,awaited the signal, "All's clear," before entering thedefile.

In due time it came; and they moved on between the frowningcliffs at a pace as rapid as the exigencies of the situationwould permit.

Here night fronted them, dank and chill. It was as if theclock had been put back four hours. Only a jagged strip ofsky, between projecting crags, announced the advent of day.No living thing seemed to inhabit this region of perpetualtwilight. At intervals a gnarled and twisted bush grew outof a cleft, lifting spectral foliage toward where the sunshould be, and was not. Silence pervaded the dusk like aliving presence; unseen, but so poignantly felt that thewhisper of the stream and the crunch of shingle under thehorses' hoofs seemed an affront to the ghostly spirit of theplace; and the sowars, when exchanging remarks amongthemselves, instinctively refrained from raising theirvoices.

Desmond, closely followed by his trumpeter, rode ahead ofthe troopers, chafing at their leaden-footed progress. Ahand-gallop would have been too slow for the speed of histhoughts, tormented as he was by anxious wondering what hadbecome of the Boy; while his ears were strained to catch thefirst sounds of contest from the heights, which were alreadywidening out a little, and beginning to slope towards lowerground.

Sounds came at length—harsh and startling;—theunmistakable note of the jezail; answering shots from hisown men;—proofs incontestable that a sharp engagement wasin progress up above.

"Ambuscaded,—by Heaven!" was Desmond's instant thought.Mercifully the exit was already in sight; and flinging briskinstructions to the Ressaldar to follow him closely with ahundred sowars, leaving the remainder to take charge of thehorses, and hold the opening till further orders, Desmondmade for it full tilt, spurring Badshah Pasand as he hadnever been spurred in all his days. On dashing out into thesunlight he was greeted by a rattle of musketry from behinda tumbled mass of rock; and a dozen bullets buzzed about himlike bees.

One riddled his helmet, stirring his hair as it passed. Asecond struck his left shoulder, inflicting a flesh wound ofwhich he was not even conscious at the moment; for BadshahPasand lunged ominously forward; swayed, staggered; and witha sound between a cough and a groan, fell headlong, flinginghis rider clear on to the rough upward slope.

Luckily for him, Desmond pitched on to his sound shoulder;and though bruised and shaken, was none the worse for hisfall. The foremost of his men dismounted and opened fireupon the treacherous rock, without eliciting response; andquick as lightning he sprang to his feet, mad with rage andpain. A single glance showed him that his charger's woundswere mortal. Two well-directed bullets had entered thechest; and the great soft eyes were glazing fast.

With a swift contraction of the heart, Desmond turned away,and issued hurried orders for a hundred men to dismount andtake the hill at full speed. Half a dozen of Denvil'sPathans—left in charge of the discarded horses—gaveinformation that the Sahib had taken his sowars up some timebefore, commanding them to await his return.

Distracted by anxiety, Desmond awaited the dismounting ofhis troopers, revolver in hand. The instant they were readyhe bounded over the broken ground, his trumpeter dogging himlike a shadow, and a self-imposed bodyguard of six sowarsfollowing close upon his heel. Behind these again themountain-side was alive with clambering men; and the smallparty left below enviously watched their ascent.

Only by the impetus of his spirit did Desmond manage to keepahead of his men; for in general the native outstrips theEnglishman in this form of mountaineering. One thoughthammering at his brain goaded him to superhuman exertion:"Those devils shall not murder Harry before I reach him."

Breathless and resolute, he hurried on, stumbling now andagain from sheer excess of haste, clenching his teeth tokeep the curses back. A dull stain spread slowly across hisleft shoulder, where the blood was soaking through his khakicoat.

The slope ended in a twenty-foot wall of rocks, massed so asto form huge irregular steps, that led to an abrupt bit oflevel, whereon the fighting appeared to be taking place.Sounds came to him now that lashed him to a frenzy; theclash of knives and sabres, the thud of many feet; thefierce shouts without which it is impossible for primitiveman to slay or be slain.

Desmond never quite knew how he climbed those formidablesteps; and as he vaulted up the last of them, the wholedread scene sprang abruptly into view.

Denvil and his fifteen Pathans had been ambuscaded andoutnumbered; and in the cramped space a sharp hand-to-handencounter was in progress. A small party of Sikhs hadalready come up with him; but even so the odds were heavilyon the wrong side. It was simply a case of "dying game";—ofadding one more to the list of "regrettable incidents" whichfigure too frequently in the record of Border warfare.

A new risen sun smiled serenely down upon it all; and theawakened earth was frankly indifferent to the issue.

But amid the stirring confusion of a struggle at closequarters Desmond saw one thing only; and the sight struck athis heart like a sword-thrust.

Harry Denvil, hard pressed by four Afridis brandishing longknives and leathern shields, stood with his back against arock, fighting for dear life.

Five of his men and several of the enemy lay dead orwounded around him. His left arm was disabled; his helmetgone; his hair gleaming red-gold in the sunlight; his youngface, white and desperate, disfigured by an ugly cut acrossthe forehead and cheek-bone, from which the blood trickledunheeded in a sluggish stream.

He had flung away his empty revolver; and was warding offblows right and left, using his sword with a coolness anddexterity which would have surprised him had he been awareof it. But he was aware of nothing except a fierce desirenot to die yet—not yet; and to get a straight cut at one ofthe dark faces that pressed in upon him with such pitilesspersistence.

For answer Desmond ran blindly forward, sheer lust ofslaughter in his heart; trumpeter, bodyguard, and theforemost troopers following as closely as their captain'sardour would permit.

But an unreasoning sense of safety put Harry momentarily offhis guard. He took a hasty step away from the rock, makingit possible for the first time to strike at him from behind:and, in the same instant, Desmond fired. Before his bulletcould reach its destination, the long knife had descended,swift and certain. And even as the man who wielded itdropped like a log, Harry Denvil stumbled forward; and, witha thick sob, fell face downward at Desmond's feet.

There was no time to stoop and ascertain whether the knifehad completed its work. Striding across his subaltern'sbody, Desmond turned upon his assailants, all the naturalsavage in him lashed to a white heat of fury, and firedtwice in quick succession, with deadly effect. But the knifeof a third man bit into his flesh like fire, inflicting deepgashes on the left arm and hand, while another slippedbehind him, his uplifted blade glinting in the sunlight.

By this time Rajinder Singh was behind him also; and like alightning-streak, his tulwar whizzed through the air,cleaving the man's head from his body at a blow.

Desmond swung sharply round to find his reinforcementsswarming over the plateau's edge.

But the sentence was never finished. A puff of smoke frombehind a distant rock, the boom of a jezail, and Desmondfell beside the Boy, stunned by a well-aimed shot on theedge of the cheek-bone, the slug glancing off perilouslyclose to the right eye.

A shout of rage went up from his men. "The CaptainSahib,—the Captain Sahib!" But Rajinder Singh promptlyassuming command, bade them turn upon the Afridi devils andsmite their souls to hell; and, forming a protective ringabout their fallen officers, they obeyed with rightgoodwill.

The arrival of supports, however, made it clear to the enemythat they themselves were now heavily outnumbered; and aftera desultory resistance they broke up and fled, the sowarszealously speeding their departure.

The whole incident had passed in an incredibly short spaceof time; and now, with a low cry, Rajinder Singh sank on hisknees beside Desmond, cold fear at his heart, his leanfingers trembling as they pushed up the watch-strap andpressed the smooth tanned wrist.

"He lives!—Parmeshwar[27] be praised;—the Captain Sahiblives!" the old man murmured ecstatically, shaking his headat the same time over the wound in the cheek-bone, which hadan ugly look.

In Denvil's wrist no flutter of life was left. The Boy'ssoul had passed unstained to its account; and theRessaldar's stern eyes softened as they rested on thebright, blood-stained hair.

Very gently, as though Denvil were merely asleep, he turnedhim over and closed the unseeing eyes. No shadow of painmarred the repose of the lips. They looked as if they hadjust left off smiling and meant very soon to smile again.

"Doubtless it was written, ... it was the will of God," hedecided, with the pious stoicism of the East; and thereuponissued immediate orders to his signallers to open upcommunication with the main body of troops in the valley,enumerating casualties, and adding an urgent request for anambulance party to be pushed forward at the utmost speed.

A short stab of pain jerked Desmond back to consciousnesswith a curse upon his lips. He found himself lying in ahospital doolie set in the shade on a slab of rock. Bothflaps had been flung up, and James Mackay stood beside him,investigating the wound in his face with conscientiousthoroughness. It was not a pleasant proceeding. HenceDesmond's protest, which brought a twinkle of satisfactionto the doctor's eyes.

"Curse away, old man. It's a treat to hear you," he saidheartily, "Just take a drop of this now, to keep you allthere," and he held a glass of brandy and water to Desmond'slips. "They've given you a nasty wound here. Wants lookingto at once. I'm going to hurt you like hell, I know; but youmust put up with it. Swear at me as much as you please, ifit eases you at all."

He probed a peculiarly tender spot as he spoke. Desmondclenched his teeth and "put up with it" in silence. Freepermission to swear had quenched the desire—a common trickof human perversity; and just as he began to feel that oneminute more of it would stretch endurance tobreaking-point—the thing was done. A sloping bandageencircled his head, eclipsing his right eye; and hediscovered that the Colonel was standing by the doolie,tugging at his grey moustache—sure sign of mentaldisturbance—and listening attentively to the wiry littledoctor, who spoke in an urgent undertone.

"Bad business this, Desmond," he said laconically. "ThankGod it was no worse, though."

"We've lost Denvil," Buchanan growled between his teeth."And we could very ill spare him."

Desmond closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Speech wasbeyond him. His mind, dizzy with pain and loss of blood,refused to grasp the truth. Two hours ago the Boy had beenradiantly, vigorously alive. It was rank foolishness toexpect a man to believe that he would never hear him speakor laugh again.

"Look here, Desmond," he said, "we must be moving again now.I merely came to see how things were going with you beforepushing on."

"Thank you, Colonel. I'm in the rear for the present, Isuppose?" And he tried to smile.

"Not exactly. As we are within two days' march of thestation and there's little left to do but sweep up therubbish, I have told off a strong escort to return to Kohatwith the wounded men,—Denvil, and yourself. You've beenbadly knocked about, and you need careful seeing to atonce."

"Won't you leave me out of the programme, sir? You know I'mhard as nails; I'm sure I could manage to hang on to thesaddle, and be fit for light duty in a few days' time. Giveme the chance, anyway. I'll do my level best."

Then there was a short silence. Hard as he was, the manrebelled against the thing he had to say; and Desmond'sunconquerable spirit put him in no better humour for histask.

"My dear fellow," he began, "I'm no hand at beating aboutthe bush; I can only tell you straight that for the presentyou must give up all hope of getting back to duty, light orotherwise. Mackay is not satisfied about that wound in yourface. The slug went too close to the eye, and maypossibly—have injured the nerve."

The ring of open fear in a brave man's voice is not apleasant thing to hear. Buchanan felt he had been too blunt,and regretted not having allowed Mackay to speak.

"Don't jump to hasty conclusions, man," he said quickly."We have to recognise the possibility in order to preventit,—that's all. Mackay returns with you. He'll get a secondopinion, if necessary; and we've signalled the news toWyndham in full. All you've got to do now is to knock underlike a man, and give your eyes every possible chance; evenif it means lying in the dark for a week or two; youunderstand?"

Colonel Buchanan put out his hand and kept firm hold ofDesmond's arm while he spoke.

"You'll be reasonable then, and—obey orders? You ought tofind the coast clear going back and have no trouble. YoungSpence commands the party, and Rajinder Singh takes thirtyof your men. The old chap begged for permission to accompanyyou. See you again in a fortnight, if not sooner. Keep up agood heart; and take every possible precaution, for your ownsake and—for the sake of the Regiment."

The final injunctions, jerked out brusquely, were in thenature of an achievement for this man of few words; andDesmond knew it. He wrung the iron-hard hand that held hisown with all the force still left in him; and ColonelBuchanan returned to his waiting charger.

That afternoon, under a brilliant sky, the little ambulanceparty set out for Kohat—thirty cavalry and twenty infantry,with six swaying doolies in their midst. And among all theoccupants of those comfortless conveyances, Harry Denvil wasthe only one for whom that journey was not a prolongedtorment of pain and unrest.

CHAPTER XXIII.

YOU GO ALONE.

On the morning of that eventful 17th of March, Evelyn andHonor left the bungalow directly after breakfast, bent uponsuch shopping as Kohat could afford.

The nearest approach to shops, in the accepted sense of theword, were the open stalls in the native city. But therecould be no question of exploring these; and the manifoldneeds of Western womanhood were inadequately met by theregimental go-downs attached to each corps in thecantonment. These consisted of spacious buildings, shelvedfrom floor to ceiling, and stocked with a fine medley ofhuman requirements, ranging from bone buttons to champagne,from quinine and chlorodyne to rolls of silk for eveninggowns. A new consignment from "down-country" came up everymonth or so; and it was quite one of the events of life inKohat to go the round of the go-downs as soon as possibleafter the arrival of these, so as to secure the pick of themarket while the goods were fresh and the choicecomparatively varied. Herein lay ample scope for those smallspites and jealousies that are more than bread and meat towomen of a certain type.

Evelyn had actually sent for gloves and shoes by thismeans, from a cheap Calcutta firm, instead of despatching anorder to Simla regally regardless of cost. They by no meanssatisfied her fastidious taste; but she felt exalted to asuperhuman pitch of virtue as she bore them home in herdandy.

"I don't believe Theo will like these shoes one bit!" sheremarked with a satisfied laugh to Honor who rode besideher. "He will tell me to order the next ones from Simlastraight away, and I shall be ever so dutiful and obey himwithout any fuss—shan't I, you grave, wise Honor?"

"I should be an inhuman monster if I could keep grave andwise in your company!" Honor answered, laughing back at her."You will go on buying expensive shoes to the end of thechapter, if that's what you are driving at. Why have yourspirits gone up with such a run this morning?"

"I don't know. It's nice enough that theyare up. I got alovely letter from Theo—that's partly why, perhaps." Hereyes softened at the remembrance of that letter. "He'll behome again in less than a fortnight."

"Yes; in less than a fortnight," Honor repeated, andwondered where she should go when that time arrived. She hadnot yet found courage to face the idea in detail.

Evelyn kept up an unbroken ripple of hilarity till theverandah was reached, laughing as Honor had not heard herlaugh since Theo had left.

"You're 'fey,' child," she said, as she helped her out ofthe dandy. "I shall have you in floods of tears beforenight."

"No, you won't; I don't feel as if anythingcould happento make me cry to-day. Hullo! there's Major Wyndham's horseout there."

They hurried through the hall into the dining-room, Evelynleading, a swift premonition of evil killing the laughter ontheir lips.

Paul stood by the piano looking at Desmond's photograph; hisarms folded; his "February face" more eloquent than he knew.

"Good-morning, Mrs Desmond," he said; and his sympathetichand-clasp sent her mercurial spirits down to zero.

"If it is very horrible—don't tell me—I won't hear it!"She held up both hands, as if warding off a blow. But Honor,coming quickly forward, put both arms round her.

"Hush, dear, hush!" she said soothingly. "That is nonsense.Wemust know what has happened, at once."

"Let him tellyou, then; it won't hurt you like it hurtsme." And disengaging herself, she went over to the verandahdoorway, and stood there, looking out into the sunshine; herback to the room; her small hands clasped; every nervestrained to miss no word of what was passing behind her.

"I only know bare facts; the news came by helio. It seemsthere was a sharp hand-to-hand engagement. The Boy and someof his men were taken by surprise. Just as Theo reached themDenvil was—killed!"

"Theo has been badly cut about. Four wounds. The mostserious is a bullet wound in his face—close to the righteye. They seem afraid that he may possibly—lose his sight."

"It is not true—oh, it isnot true!" Evelyn's hands wentup to her head with a desperate cry. Then she swayed,tottered backward, and fell prone among the sofa cushions.

"Honor—come to me—I'm frightened!" she moaned, withoutlifting her head; and in an instant Honor was bending overher, murmuring brave words of encouragement, removing herhat, and mechanically smoothing her hair.

"Yes, I see," he answered wearily. "And I thank God with allmy heart thatyou are here. Will you tell Mrs Desmond thatan escort is returning to-day with Theo and—the Boy. Theywill reach Kohat to-morrow evening."

"Yes; she was in when I came. It upset her very much. Not asoul in the regiment—officers or men—will have a minute'speace of mind till the result of this wound is known forcertain. In all the misery of it, one is proud to realisethat."

Something of his own grief showed in his voice for the firsttime, and Honor's heart contracted with too keen a sympathy.

"Ah, Paul! you speak of it so calmly—as if you were justone with the rest. But I, at least, can guess what the painand suspense must be for you."

"No," he said, "even you cannot guess that. Now go back tohis wife. If I can be of any use at all send for me. I shallnot come round otherwise till I bring him here to-morrowevening. I mean to ride out with a small escort and meetthem on the way."

Honor found Evelyn rigid and tearless among her cushions.The strange mingling of coldness and terror in her eyesstartled the girl. She hurried to the sofa and knelt down ather side.

"Don't look like that, Evelyn," she said. "It's horrible!Only think, Theo will be here to-morrow evening. Paul toldme so just now."

"To-morrow—to-morrow? He will be here, in thishouse—to-morrow?" She repeated the word with stunnediteration, and there was no feeling in her tone, only anuncanny fear, that chilled the blood in Honor's veins.

"Getting away—where—in Heaven's name?" Honor roseabruptly. She began to feel as though she were moving in anightmare.

"Oh, anywhere, away from here. I can't—I won't see him,when he is 'badly cut about' and—half blind. I thought—ifyou would take me to Murree—Mrs Olliver would be quite gladto look after him. And when he is better, he could come uptoo. But if—if he is really going to be—blind——"

She closed her eyes and shuddered. No flicker of pitystirred in Honor's heart. It needed all her force of will tocontrol her temper, even for a few minutes longer. But agrim curiosity urged her to discover how far it was possibleto travel along such incredible lines of thought andfeeling.

"Then—I know I could—never come back to him—never!"Theo's wife answered slowly, without raising her eyes, orthe look in Honor's face would surely have frozen the wordson her lips. "To feel that he was always in the dark wouldfrighten me out of my life. And he would never be leftalone, I know. There are so many—others."

But Honor could bear no more. Bending down, she caught holdof Evelyn's shoulders and fairly shook her, as though shewould shake her back to life and human feeling. Her blueeyes blazed with indignation.

"Howdare you talk like that!" she said in a low note ofconcentrated wrath. "How dare you think such despicablethoughts! Of course there are others who would give theirlives to save him from a minute's pain; and you would letthem take your place,—yours? And you can actually expectthatI—of all people—will back you up in your desertionof him? No indeed! If you go, you go alone; and I shallnever have a word to say to you again. I may be speakinghotly, because I am furiously angry. But I mean every word Isay; and my actions will prove it. What's more,I will notlet you go. Youshall stand by him, however frightenedyou may be. You talk of—loving him, and you would treat himas I should be ashamed to treat a dog! Evelyn! Evelyn!"—hervoice broke suddenly, and tears started to her eyes,—"tellme you did not mean what you said; or I don't know how I amto go on helping you at all!"

There was more of command than of entreaty in the lastwords, and Evelyn looked up at the transfigured beauty ofher face with a slow shivering sigh.

"You are very wonderful, and very—terrible, Honor," shesaid. "I never imagined you could be as terrible as that."Then her lips quivered, and she caught at the girl's skirt,drawing her nearer. "Youmust go on helping me, oreverything will go to pieces."

"So long as you remain a loyal wife to—Theo, I cannotchoose but do so, with all my heart."

She knelt down again now; and Evelyn, flinging both armsround her neck, broke into a passion of weeping.

"I think I was half mad," she moaned through her tears,clinging to Honor as a drowning woman clings to a spar. "AndI am dreadfully frightened still. But I will do whatever youtell me. I will try to be a loyal wife, even if——"

"We won't think of that at all," Honor interposed hastily."It cannot—it shall not happen!"

But Evelyn's tears flowed on unchecked. The fire of Honor'sjust anger had melted the morsel of ice in her heart; and ina very short time she had cried herself to sleep.

Then Honor gently unlocked the clinging fingers, and wentstraight to Frank Olliver's room.

CHAPTER XXIV.

I WANT LADYBIRD.

A low sun was gilding the hill-tops when two doolies, borneby sturdykahars and escorted by Wyndham and Mackay,passed between the gate-posts of Desmond's bungalow. Honorstood with Evelyn at the head of the verandah steps; but asthekahars halted, and the officers prepared to dismount,she moved back a space, leaving her to welcome her husbandalone.

The blood ebbed from Evelyn's face as she watched Theo mountthe steps, slowly, uncertainly, supported on either side byWyndham and the doctor—he who, in normal circumstances,would have cleared them at a bound and taken her in hisarms. His appearance alone struck terror into her heart. Wasthis the splendid-looking husband who had ridden away fullof life and energy,—this strange seeming man, whose facewas disfigured and more than half-hidden by an unsightlybandage and a broad green shade; whose empty coat-sleeve,slashed and blood-stained, suggested too vividly thecondition of the arm strapped into place beneath?

It was all she could do not to shrink back instinctivelywhen the men moved aside, as Honor had done, to affordhusband and wife some small measure of privacy, and Theoheld out his hand.

"They've sent me back rather the worse for wear, Ladybird,"he said, with a smile; "but Mackay will put the piecestogether in good time."

The hand she surrendered to him was cold as ice; and theattempt at welcome in her voice was checked by a paralysingfear and constraint. Thirty-six hours of severe pain in bodyand mind had failed to break his spirit; but the thing wasachieved by a dozen words from his wife. He knew now what toexpect from her; and for the moment he was strickenspeechless.

He swayed a little in speaking, and promptly Paul was at hisside. No one had heard what passed; and when Mackay,returning to his post by the wounded arm, gently urgedDesmond forward, Paul signalled to Evelyn to take his place,while he went back to the doolie.

Evelyn, startled by the request, stood irresolute; and sincethere was no time for hesitancy, Honor came forward and puther hand under Theo's elbow. She felt a jar go all throughhim at her touch, and knew that he had heard Wyndham'srequest.

"Ah, Honor," he said, by way of greeting, "I'm afraid I'vecome back a mere log on your hands."

An undernote of bitterness in his tone gave her courage tospeak the thought in her mind. "We are only too thankful tohave got you back safe—in any condition," she murmured.

He did not answer at once; and she moved away to make placefor Paul, whose face was set in very rigid lines.

"No, no, man; we'll settle you up in your long chair,"Mackay answered soothingly. He perceived that by some meansMrs Desmond had jarred his patient, and was in highill-humour with her accordingly.

At the study door, Amar Singh almost laid his head atDesmond's feet. Within the room they found Frank Olliverarranging pillows and a rug on the deck-chair, and on atable beside it a light meal awaited him.

The meal ended, they all left him with one accord,instinctively making way for his wife—who was crying herheart out in the next room.

Paul was the last to leave. He remained standing by Desmond,resting a hand on his sound shoulder. But there are silencesmore illuminating than speech; and Theo Desmond knew allthat was in his friend's heart at that moment—all thatcould never be spoken between them, because they wereEnglishmen, born into a heritage of incurable reserve.

"No need for that—I'm sure of it; and—in the meanwhile——" A tightening of his grasp supplied the rest.

Then Paul went reluctantly out, and on into thedrawing-room, where he found Mackay and Honor Meredith inclose conference. The little doctor was laying down the lawin respect of his patient with characteristic bluntness.

"Now, Miss Meredith," he had said, as he met her in thehall, and drew her aside into the empty room, "I'm a plainman, and you must put up with plain speaking for the nextfew minutes. It's no light matter to be responsible for achap like Desmond. Not a morsel of use talking to his wife!She seems to have upset him already. The Lord alone knowshow women do these things. Fools men are to care! ButDesmond is what you call finely organised; and you can'thandle a violin as you would a big drum. Frankly, now, hiseyesight's in danger; and that wound in his cheek is an uglyone in any case. He wants careful nursing, and I refuse toput him into Mrs Desmond's hands. I'd deserve hanging formurder if I did! Remains Mrs Olliver, or yourself. 'Twouldbe awkward for Mrs Olliver to take his wife's place whenthere is a capable woman on the spot. So now, will you takecharge of Desmond for me, and put yourself under myorders?—that's the realmutlub [28] of the whole matter.You're welcome to say I don't think Mrs Desmond strongenough, if you feel bound to tell a polite lie on thesubject."

Honor had listened to the doctor's brusquely-deliveredspeech with a growing sense of helplessness, as of a mousecaught in a trap. His statement of the case wasuncomfortably plain. He left her no loophole of escape; andby the time he fired his final question at her, she haddecided on present capitulation.

"Yes, I will take charge of him," she said. "Only MrsDesmond must have some share in the nursing—for his sakeand her own."

"Oh, well—well, I suppose she must. The less the better forhis sake; and you've got to consider Desmond before everyone else at present. I insist on that."

Honor smiled faintly at the superfluous injunction; and itwas at this point that Paul entered the room.

"I shall move into the bungalow myself after the funeral,and give you what help I can. He will need a good deal ofcompanionship to keep him from chafing at his helplessness.He wished the Boy to be brought here and buried from hishouse. I am making all arrangements; and we shall be roundquite early in the morning. Can I see Desmond againto-night?"

"He'll do best with just the women-folk this evening. Lookin after Mess, if you like—last thing."

"Was Evelyn with him when you left?" Honor asked suddenly, aflash of apprehension in her tone.

"I must go and see what has come to her," she said, visiblydisturbed. "I shall see you both after Mess."

She hurried out, and listened intently at the study door. Nosound broke the stillness; and with an aching dread at herheart she passed on to the next door.

The brief dusk of India was already almost spent; andfinding Evelyn's room in semi-darkness, she paused on thethreshold.

"Are you there, dear?" she called softly; and was answeredby a stifled sound from the region of the bed, where Evelynlay prone, her face buried in the pillows. At that Honorcame forward, and laid a firm though a not unkindly handupon her.

The sole answer vouchsafed to her was a vehement shaking ofthe fair head; a fresh paroxysm of distress.

"My dear—my dear," she urged, bending down and speakingmore softly, "youmust pull yourself together. This is notime to think of your own trouble. He is wounded, anxious,and terribly unhappy and—he wants you. Do you call thisbeing a loyal wife? Remember, you promised——"

Thus appealed to, Evelyn lifted her head, supporting it onone elbow, and showed a grief-disfigured face.

"Yes, I know. But—couldn't you go to him, just for now,Honor? You're not upset, like I am;—and say I—I'll comewhen I'm better."

"No, Evelyn," she said, her anger rising as she went on."There are things that evenI must refuse to do for you. Ihave done all that is in my power; but Iwill not takeyour place with—your husband."

Astonishment checked Evelyn's sobbing, and a spark ofunreasoning jealousy shot through the mist of her tears.

The counter-stroke was unanswerable. Evelyn made a genuineattempt to still the uncontrolled quivering of her body, andactually got upon her feet. But abandonment to misery had soshaken her that, even as Honor put out a steadying hand, shefell back among her pillows with a choking sob.

The girl set her teeth hard. A strange light gleamed in theblue of her eyes. She moved across to the washing-stand andpoured out a stiff dose of sal volatile.

"Here, Evelyn," she said, all the tenderness gone from hervoice, "drink this at once. Then get up as soon as you can,and make yourself presentable. I shall not be gone manyminutes, and youmust be ready to go to him the instant Icome back."

"Iam angry—I am bitterly angry," Honor answered withsudden vehemence, and went quickly from the room.

Once outside, she paused; her whole soul uplifted in awordless prayer for strength and self-control. It seemed toher that Evelyn's reception of Theo went far to make her owndeparture a matter of imperative necessity, cruelly hardthough it was to risk being misjudged at such a crisis.

But at sight of him, who was the incarnation of life,cheerfulness, and vigour, lying stricken in heart and body,her courage deserted her, and she could neither speak normove. On the lower end of the long chair Rob nestled in anattitude of perplexed watchfulness; satisfaction andbewilderment contending for the mastery over his faithfulsoul; and Desmond's right arm supported his stunned andaching head.

As Honor paused on the threshold, he stirred uneasily. "Thatyou, Ladybird?" he asked; and his tone, if listless, wasunmistakably tender.

"No, Theo. It is I—Honor," the girl answered in a low voicewithout moving forward.

"What's gone wrong with her? Has she fainted? You might comea little closer to a fellow, Honor. I feel cut off fromeverything and every one, with this damnable green wall infront of my eyes."

At that cry from the man's tormented heart all thought ofher own pain, all doubt as to her own strength, wassubmerged by a flood-tide of pure human compassion; and shecame to him straightway, kneeling close beside his chair,and laying one hand lightly on the rug that covered him.

"There, Theo—there. Can you see me a little now?" she askedtenderly. "You mustn't think hard thingsof—Ladybird—please. She let herself go so completely afterseeing you in the verandah, and it was impossible for her tocome to you while she was in such a state of collapse. Ihave given her a strong dose of sal volatile, and she beggedme to explain things to you; so—I came. I can't tell youhow sorry I was that it should be—only me."

"You've the grit of all the Merediths in you, Honor," hesaid, and his changed tone assured her that she had, in somemeasure, fulfilled her purpose. "I can't have you talkingabout 'only me' in that deprecating fashion. Goodness knowswhat Ladybird would have done without you. No doubt she'llpull herself together when she has got more used to thehideousness of it all—myself included——"

"She will—I am sure she will," the girl declared withpardonable insincerity; "and I really believe that if—ifI were not here, Evelyn might make more of an effort tostand on her own feet than she does now. Please don'tmisunderstand me, Theo,"—her brave voice faltered on thewords—"please believe that I myself would far rather behere at a time like this. I would not dream of deserting mypost if I were not quite sure that there are many othersready to look after you as carefully and willingly as Iwould do myself. Indeed, I am honestly suggesting what Ithink would be best for us all round—Evelyn especially.Won't you let me go, Theo, and at least try how it works?"

Desmond shook his head with cautious deliberation, sincehasty movements had proved to be dangerous.

"My dear Honor," he objected, "you, who know Ladybird evenbetter than I do, must surely know by now that nothing willforce her to stand upon her own feet. To-day gives finalproof of it. What's more, Paul will probably establishhimself here. I can't have him criticising her, even in hisown mind; and who but you can I rely on to prevent it, bykeeping her up to the mark? You see, I am taking you at yourword, and not misunderstanding you, and I ask you frankly tostand by us till this trouble is over, when you shall bothgo straight to the Hills."

But her voice had an odd vibration in it. There was norefusing a request so worded; but she knew her decision wasonly deferred to a more seasonable moment.

During the pause that followed, the wounded man made afutile attempt to change his position. In an instant herhands were at his pillows, shifting them quickly anddexterously, supporting his shoulders with her arm thewhile.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" she asked; and themother-note sounded in her voice.

Honor's colour ebbed at the words, and she may be forgivenif a pang of rebellion stabbed her. All the hard tasks, itseemed, were to be hers; while for Evelyn was reserved thefull measure of a love and tenderness which she seemedlittle able to rate to their true value. But there was notrace of emotion in her voice as she replied, "You shallhave her at once; only she mustn't stay long. You havealready talked more than is good for you."

"Talked?" he echoed, with a sudden outburst of impatience."What else is there for me to do? I can neither read, norwrite, nor move. Am I to lie here like a log, with my ownblack thoughts for company? I'm not ill, in spite of all."

"No, Theo, you are not ill now," the girl reasoned with himin all gentleness, "but with a wound like that so near yourtemple you soon will be ill, if you refuse to be moderatelycareful. Evelyn shall stay for a quarter of an hour. Afterthat youmust please obey me and lie quiet, so as to get alittle sleep, if possible, after your cruel journey. AmarSingh shall sit here, and I will leave the drawing-room dooropen and play to you;—something invigorating—the Pastoral,to start with. Will that do?"

"Forgive me, Honor," he said. "I was an ungrateful brute,and you're a long way too good to me. I'll obey orders infuture, without kicking against the pricks. The music willbe no end of a comfort. Just like you to think of it!"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MOONLIGHT SONATA.

When the bedroom door opened, Desmond lifted his head, in adistracted attempt to see more of his wife than the shadewould permit, and held out his hand.

She came at his bidding, and put her hand in his. But,unwittingly, she stood no nearer than the action demanded;and in her bewildered misery she forgot that he would expecther to stoop and kiss him. It was a fatal omission—howfatal she did not realise till later.

He drew her closer with quiet decision; and she submitted,as she would have submitted to anything he might have chosento do just then.

"Am I so very dreadful that you can't bear to come near me?"he asked, with a brave attempt at lightness.

"Oh, Theo, don't say that," she pleaded. It came toopainfully near the truth. "Only—I can't seem able tobelieve that—it is really you."

"Well, I give you my word itis really me—the very sameTheo who won the Punjab Cup, and danced with you at Lahorethree months ago." Then he bit his lip sharply; for thethought smote him that he might never sit a pony or dancewith her again.

The sob that had been clutching at her throat escaped, inspite of herself. "Lahore!" she murmured. "It was all sobeautiful at Lahore!"

"Don't cry about it, darling. It will be just as beautifulagain, in time. Sit down on the floor—here, close to me. Ican't get a sight of you any other way."

She sat down, but in such a position that he had only ascant view of her tear-disfigured face. He pushed the dampringlets back from her forehead. In his eyes it was hermisfortune, rather than her fault, that she should be soinexorably chained to her own trouble.

Her spirit and her love revived under the magic of histouch. She caught his hand and pressed it against herburning cheek. It was cool and steady and sustaining—thehand of a brave man.

"Poor child," he said gently. "I'm an uncomfortable sort ofhusband for you. But little accidents of this kind willhappen to soldiers. Don't say you wish you hadn't marriedthis one!" And he smiled.

"No—no. But, Theo, did you get all these wounds and thingstrying to save the Boy?"

"And you might just as well have come back strong andsplendid, like you went away?"

"No use thinking of what might have been, darling. We've gotto set our teeth and face whatis."

"Needs must, Ladybird. If a man fails in that, he had betternot have been born. And you are going to be brave too,—mywife."

"Yes,—I hope so. But—it's much more horrible than I everimagined; and if it's going on for weeks and weeks——"

The prospect so unnerved her that she leaned her headagainst him, sobbing bitterly.

The low cry came straight from her heart; and Desmondunderstood its broken protest to the full. The effort touphold her was to be useless after all. He compressed hislips and gently released her hand.

"If it's as bad as that, my dear, and you really feel itwill be too much for you," he said in a changed tone, "Imight arrange for Honor to take you away in a day or two,till I am well enough to follow on. They all know here thatyou are not strong. One need not degrade you by telling—thewhole truth."

"Yes—there is!" she spoke hurriedly, with downcast eyes."Honor would never take me. She thinks it's dreadful that Ishould go. I never saw her so angry before. She—shesaid—terrible things——"

Desmond spoke slowly. Anger and amazement sounded in hisdeep voice; and his wife saw what she had done.

"Theo!—Theo!" she cried, clasping her hands, and wringingthem in distraction at her own foolishness, "I never meantto say that. I—I——"

"No—but you meant to do it," he said, breathing hard andspeaking with an effort. "You actually thoughtof—going—before I came? You would have simply—bolted, andleft me to come back to an empty house, if Honor had notprevented you? Great heavens! I can well believe she saidterrible things."

"Am I? Don't you think it is the other way about? I confessI'm in no humour to listen to you just now. I've had aboutas much as I can stand to-night; and Mackay told me I mustnot upset myself about things." He laughed harshly—a soundthat chilled her blood. "But no mere man could anticipatethis!"

"Well, I nevermeant to say it, and I think you'rehorrid, you don't understand——"

"No; thank God, I don't understand—cowardice and desertion.Get up now and leave me alone, please. It's the greatestkindness you can do me; and yourself also, I imagine."

"Oh, don't say that. It's not true; and I'm not going todream of leaving you. Won't you let me explain?"

"To-morrow, Evelyn, to-morrow," he answered wearily. "Ishall be able to give you a fairer hearing by then; and Ipray God I may have misjudged you. Now—go."

She bent down and kissed his hand; then rose and slippedsilently back into her own room.

Theo Desmond lay motionless, like a man stunned. This thirdblow, dealt him in quick succession, left him broken inheart and spirit, as he had never been broken in all hisdays.

It is written that a man must be defeated in order tosucceed; and in that moment Desmond bit the dust of theheart's most poignant tragedy and defeat—the shattering offaith in one who is very near to us. Nor was it theshattering of faith alone. The shock of his wife's unwittingrevelation, coming when he stood supremely in need of herloyalty and tenderness, struck a mortal blow at his love forher; though in his present state he was not capable ofrecognising the truth. He only knew that, for the first timein his life, he felt unutterably alone—alone in a dimnesswhich might deepen to permanent darkness; and that thewholesome vigorous realities of life seemed to have slippedfor ever out of reach. He only knew that his wife would haveturned her back upon him in his hour of extremity—openlydisgracing herself and him—but for the intervention ofHonor Meredith.

Her mere name called up a vivid vision of her beauty, aremembrance of the infinite compassion in her voice when shehad knelt beside him, soothing and strengthening him by somemiracle of womanly intuition, urging him to make allowancefor his wife's distress.

A sudden glow thrilled through him from head to foot. Hestirred slightly; and tried, without success, to turn in hischair. It was as if the compelling spirit of her had draggedhim back from the brink of nothingness to renewed life, tothe assurance that in his utmost loneliness he was not—norever would be—alone. And, in that moment of awakening, thevoice of sympathy came to him—tender, uplifting, clear asspeech.

By way of prelude she chose a piece of pure organ music—theexquisitely simple Largo of the Second Sonata. From that shepassed on to the Pastoral itself, opening it, as of custom,with the fine Andante movement—the presage of coming storm.

None among all that wondrous thirty-two is so saturate withopen-air cheerfulness and vigour as this Sonata, aptlychristened the Pastoral. Here we are made accomplices ofNature's moods, and set in the midst of her voices. Here, inswift succession, are storm and sunshine; fallingrain-drops; the plash and ripple of mountain streams; birdnotes of rare verisimilitude, from the anxious twitteringsbefore the thunder-shower, to the chorus of thanksgivingafter it has swept vigorously past. And Theo Desmond, lyingin semi-darkness, with pain for his sole comrade, knew thatthe hand of healing had been again outstretched to him,—notall in vain.

The Sonata ended in a brisk ripple of sound; and for a whileHonor sat motionless, her shapely hands resting on thekeyboard as if awaiting further inspiration.

Desmond moved again uneasily. He wondered what her unfailingintuition of his need would lead her to play next; and evenas he wondered, expectancy was lulled into a great rest bythe measured tranquillity of Beethoven's most stately anddivine Adagio—the Moonlight Sonata.

There are some people who get deeper into a piano thanothers, who breathe a living soul into the trembling wires.The magic of Honor's music lay in this capacity; and sheexerted it now to the limit of her power.

The Moonlight Sonata is cumulative from start to finish,passing from the exalted calm of the Adagio, through thegraciousness of the Allegretto, to that inspired andinspiring torrent of harmony the Presto Agitato. Itsincomparable effect of the rush and murmur of many waters,through which the still small voice of melody rings clear asa song dropped straight from heaven, leaves little room in alistener's soul for the jangling discords of earth. Intothat movement the great deaf musician seems to have flungthe essence of his impatient spirit;—that rare mingling ofruggedness and simplicity, of purity and passionate power,which went to make up the remarkable character of the man,and which sets Beethoven's music apart from the music of hiscompeers. Wagner, Chopin, Grieg,—these range the wholegamut of emotion for its own sake. But in the hands of themaster it becomes what it should be—the great upliftinglever of the world.

The listener in the darkened room drew a long breath, andclenched his teeth so forcibly that a spasm of pain passed,like a fused wire, through the wound in his cheek. But thekeener stress of mind and heart dulled his senses to thepin-prick of the flesh. For in the brief space of time sincethe music began, Theo Desmond—the soldier of proven courageand self-forgetfulness—had fought the most momentous battleof his life;—a battle in which was no flourish of trumpets,no clash of arms, no medal or honour for the winning.

But the price of conquest had still to be paid. There werestill practical issues to be faced, and he faced them withthe straightforward simplicity that was his. He saw as in alightning-flash, the hidden meaning of this girl's power tostimulate and satisfy him; saw the unnameable danger ahead;and in the same breath decided that Honor must go. Theremust be no risk of disloyalty to Evelyn, were it only inthought.

He could not as yet see how he was to retract his requestfor her presence. His stunned brain refused to cope withsuch harassing details. The thing must be said; and no doubthe would find strength to say it aright. For him that wasenough; and he deliberately turned his back on the subject.

The Presto was drawing to a close now in a cascade ofsingle notes, as stirring to the ear as the downrush of awaterfall to the eye; and during the silence that followedupon the last crashing chords, the bitter thought came tohim that Honor's departure would mean not only the loss ofher comradeship, but of the music, which had again becomeone of the first necessities of his life.

With a sensation altogether strange to him, since it had init an element of fear, he heard her shut the piano and cometowards the door of his room. Closing his eyes, he lay verystill, in the hope that she might believe him to be asleep.Ordinary speech with her seemed an impossibility just then.

He felt her come in, and pause beside his chair. Hisstillness clearly deceived her, for she said nothing;neither did she move away, as he had devoutly hoped shewould do.

Remembering that his eyes were hidden, he opened them; andwas rewarded by the sight of her cream-coloured skirt, andher hands hanging loosely clasped upon it. An intolerablelonging came upon him to push off the shade; to satisfyhimself with one glimpse of her face before banishing it outof his life. But strength was given him to resist, and torealise his own cowardice in deceiving her thus.

Then, because he was incapable of doing anything by halves,he made a slight movement and put out his hand.

"I am so glad," she answered in a low tone, allowing herhand to rest for a mere instant in his. "Now I want you toshut all trouble out of your mind, and go to sleep for along time. Will you?"

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid. But it's sound advice;and I'll do my best to act upon it."

And, without waiting for his possible answer, she slippedquietly out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVI.

STAND TO YOUR GUNS.

Wyndham, returning to the bungalow soon after ten o'clock,found it readjusted to its new conditions. Frank Olliver hadreturned to her empty home; and Desmond, at his own request,had had his camp-bed made up in the study, that he might inno way disturb his wife. She herself had retired early,without going in to him again. Honor noted and wondered atthe omission; but since Evelyn had said nothing about hershort interview with Theo, she forbore to question her orpress her unduly at the start.

When Paul arrived Desmond was sound asleep, wearied out withpain of body and mind; while Honor moved noiselessly to andfro, setting in readiness all that might be wanted beforemorning. Paul came armed with Mackay's permission to remainon duty for the night, taking what little rest he requiredon the drawing-room sofa, and Honor could not withhold asmile at his satisfaction.

"I believe you're jealous!" she said. "You want to oust me,and have him all to yourself!"

"You are right," he answered frankly; and going over to thebed, stood looking upon his friend in an unspeakablecontent, that even anxiety was powerless to annul.

For all that, it was late before Honor managed to leave herpatient, and slip away into the bare room where Harry Denvillay awaiting the dawn.

Save for the long scar across his face, no suggestion ofthat last desperate fight was visible; and in the presenceof the Great Silence, her own turmoil of heart and brain wasstilled as at the touch of a reassuring hand. She knelt along while beside the Boy. It pleased her to believe that hewas in some way aware of her companionship; that perhaps hewas even glad of it—glad that she should feel no lightestshrinking from the temple that had enshrined the brave jewelof his soul.

Arrived in her own room, she found Parbutti huddled on theground, in a state of damp and voluble distress. She couldnot bring herself to dismiss the old woman at once; thoughher heart cried out for solitude, and weariness seemedsuddenly to dissolve her very bones. She saw now that herlove had deepened and strengthened during Desmond's absence,as great love is apt to do; and the shock of his return,coupled with the scant possibility of her own escape, hadtried her fortitude more severely than she knew.

She submitted in silence to the exchanging of her tea-gownfor a white wrapper, and to the loosening of her hair,Parbutti crooning over her ceaselessly the while.

"Now I will soothe your Honour's head till weariness beforgotten, O my Miss Sahib, daughter of my heart! Sleepwithout dreams, my life; and have no fear for the CaptainSahib, who is surely favoured of the gods by reason of hisgreat courage."

While her tongue ran on, the wrinkled hands moved skilfullyover the girl's head and neck, fingering each separatenerve, and stilling the throbbing pulses by that mystery oftouch, which we of the West are just beginning to acquire,but which is a common heritage in the East.

"Go now, Parbutti," Honor commanded at length. "Thy fingersbe miracle-workers. It is enough."

And as Parbutti departed, praising the gods, Honor leanedher chin upon her hands, and frankly confronted the decisionthat must be arrived at before morning.

To her inner consciousness it seemed wrong and impossibleto fulfil her promise and remain; while to all outwardappearance it seemed equally wrong and impossible to go. Shecould not see clearly. She could only feel intensely; andher paramount feeling at the moment was that God asked ofher more than human nature could achieve.

The man's weakness and dependence awakened in her thestrongest, the divinest element of a woman's love, and withit the longing to uphold and help him to the utmost limit ofher power. It was this intensity of longing which convincedher that, at all costs, she must go. Yet at the firstthought of Evelyn her invincible arguments fell back like adefeated battalion.

If she had sought the Frontier in the hope of coming intotouch with life's stern realities, her hope had beenterribly fulfilled.

"Dear God, whatought I to do?" she murmured on a note ofpassionate appeal. But no answer came out of the stillness;and sheer human need was too strong upon her for prayer.

Rising impulsively, she went over to the wide-flung doorthat led into the back verandah, and rolled up the "chick,"flooding the room with light; for a full moon rode high inthe heavens, eclipsing the fire of the stars. She steppedout into the verandah, and passed to the far end, thatlooked across a strip of rocky desolation to the hills.

The whole world slept in silver, its radiance intensified bypatches of blue-black shadow; and with sudden distinctnessher night journey of a year ago came back to her mind. Whatan immeasurable way she had travelled since then! And howfar removed was the buoyant-hearted girl of that Marchmorning from the woman who rebelled with all her soulagainst the cup of bitterness, even while she drank it tothe dregs!

Deliberately she tried to gather into herself something ofthe night's colossal calm, to wrest from the starved scrubof the desert a portion of its patience, its astoundingperseverance; to stifle her craving for clear unprejudicedhuman counsel.

By a natural impulse her thought turned to Mrs Conolly, whoalone possessed both will and power to satisfy her need. Tospeak of her own trouble was a thing outside the pale ofpossibility. Death itself were preferable. But to consulther friend as to what would really be best for Evelyn wasquite another matter. She would go and see Mrs Conollybefore breakfast and be ruled by her unfailing wisdom.

Having arrived at one practical decision, her mind grewcalmer. She went back to her room, lowered the "chick" andknelt for a long while beside her bed—a white, graciousfigure, half-veiled by a dusky curtain of hair.

Habit woke her before seven; and she dressed briskly,heartened by a sense of something definite to be done. Asound of many feet and hushed voices told her that Wyndhamand the Pioneer officers had arrived. Chaplains were rare onthe Border in those days; and Wyndham was to read theservice, as he did on most occasions, Sundays included.

When Honor came out into the hall she found the chick rolledup and the verandah a blaze of full-dress uniforms. No manplays out his last act with more of pomp and circumstancethan a soldier; and there is a singular fitness in thisemphasis on the dignity rather than the tragedy of death.

The girl remained standing afar off, watching the scene,whose brilliance was heightened by an untempered April sun.

A group of officers, moving aside, revealed two scarlet rowsof Pioneers; and beyond them Paul's squadron, striking adeeper note of blue and gold. The band was drawn up ready tostart. Slanting rays flashed cheerfully from the brass oftrumpets, cornets, bassoons; from the silver fittings offlutes; from the gold on scarlet tunics. And in the midst ofthis ordered brilliance stood the gun-carriage, grey andaustere, its human burden hidden under the folds of theEnglish flag. Behind the gun-carriage the Boy's chargerwaited, with an air of uncomplaining weariness, the bootshanging reversed over the empty saddle.

With an aching lump in her throat Honor turned away. At thatmoment the shuddering vibrations of muffled drums ushered inthe "Dead March" and each note fell on her heart like ablow.

In passing the study door she paused irresolute, battlingwith that refractory heart of hers, which refused to sitquiet in its chains. It argued now that, after all, she washis nurse; she had every right to go in and see that all waswell with him. But conscience and the hammering of herpulses warned her that the greater right was—to refrain;and straightening herself briskly, she went out through theback verandah to Mrs Conolly's bungalow.

She had not been gone twenty minutes when Evelyn crept intothe study, so softly that her husband was not aware of herpresence till her fingers rested upon his hand.

There was no life in his tone; and its apathy—so incrediblea quality in him—gave her courage.

"Theo," she whispered, kneeling down by him, "is it any goodtrying to speak to you now? Will you believe that—I am everso sorry? I have been miserable all night; and I am notfrightened any more,—see!" In token of sincerity shecaressed his empty coat-sleeve. "Will you please—forgiveme? Will you?"

"With all my heart, Ladybird," he answered quietly. "Butit's no use speaking. A thing like that can't be explainedaway. It is simply wiped off the slate—you understand?" Andalmost before the words were out she had kissed him.

Then she slid down into a sitting position, one arm flunglightly across the rug that covered him.

In that instant the thunder of three successive volleysshook the house; and heart-stirring trumpet-notes soundedthe Last Post. With a small shudder Evelyn shrank closer toher husband, resting her head against his chair; and Desmondlay watching her in silent wonderment at the tangle of moodsand graces which, for lack of a truer word, must needs becalled her character. He wondered also how much might havebeen averted if she had come to him thus yesterday insteadof to-day. Impossible to guess. He could only wrench histhoughts away from the forbidden subject; and try to beatdown the strong new yearning that possessed him, byoccasionally stroking his wife's hair.

It is when we most crave for bread that life has thisironical trick of presenting us with a stone.

Honor, in the meanwhile, had reached Mrs Conolly'sbungalow. She found her in the drawing-room arrangingflower-vases, and equipped for her morning ride.

"Honor? You? How delightful!" Then catching a clearer viewof the girl's face: "My dear—what is it?"

Mrs Jim called out an order to the waitingsais; andfollowed Honor, who had gone over to the mantelpiece, andburied her face in the cool fragrance of a cluster of Gloirede Dijons.

"I can't have you looking like that, my child," she said."Your eyes are like saucers, with indigo shadows under them.Did you sleep a wink last night?"

"I see. You must be cruelly anxious about Captain Desmond,as we all are; but Iwill not believe that the worst canhappen."

"No—oh no!" Honor spoke as if she were beating off anenemy. "But the trouble that kept me awake was—Evelyn."

"Ah! Is the strain going to be too much for her? Come to thesofa, dear, and tell me the whole difficulty."

Honor hesitated. She had her own reasons for wishing toavoid Mrs Conolly's too sympathetic scrutiny.

"You sit down," she said. "I feel too restless. I wouldrather speak first." And with a hint of inward perplexityMrs Conolly obeyed.

"It's like this," Honor began, resting an arm on themantelpiece and not looking directly at her friend, "DrMackay has asked me to take entire charge of Theo for thepresent. He spoke rather strongly,—rather cruelly, aboutnot leaving him in Evelyn's hands. I think he wanted toforce my consent; and for the moment I could not refuse. Butthis is Evelyn's first big chance of rising above herself;and if I step in and do everything I take it right out ofher hands. This seems to me so unfair that I have beenseriously wondering whether I ought not to—go right awaytill the worst is over." And she reiterated the argumentsshe had already put before Theo, as much in the hope ofconvincing herself as her friend.

Mrs Conolly, watching her with an increasing thoughtfulness,divined some deeper complication beneath her unusualinsistence on the wrong point of view; and awaited the surerevelation that would come when it would come.

"You see, don't you," Honor concluded, in a beseeching tone,"that it is not easy to make out what is really best, whatis right to be done? And Evelyn's uncertainty makes thingsstill more difficult. One moment I feel almost sure shewould 'find herself' if I were not always at her elbow; andthe next I feel as if it would be criminal to leave herunsupported for five minutes at a time like this."

"That last comes nearer the truth than anything you havesaid yet," was Mrs Jim's unhesitating verdict. "Frankly,Honor, I agree with Dr Mackay; and I must really plead withyou to leave off splitting straws about your 'Evelyn,' andto think of Captain Desmond—and Captain Desmond only.Surely you care more for him, and for what comes to him,than your line of argument seems to imply?"

Honor drew herself up as if she had been struck. The appealwas so unlooked for, the implication so unendurable, thatfor an instant she lost her balance. A slow colour creptinto her cheeks, a colour drawn from the deepest wells offeeling; and while she stood blankly wondering how she mightbest remedy her mistake, Mrs Conolly's voice again came toher ears.

"Indeed, my child, you spoke truth just now," she saidslowly, a fresh significance in her tone. "It must beveryhard for you to make out what is right."

"Why should you suddenly say that?" she demanded, almostangrily. But the instant her eyes met those of her friendthe unnameable truth flashed between them clear as speechand with a stifled sound Honor hid her face in her hands.

Followed a tense silence; then Mrs Conolly came to her andput an arm round her. But the girl stiffened under the touchof sympathy implying mutual knowledge of that which belongedonly to herself and God.

"How could I dream that you would guess?" she murmured,without uncovering her face—"that you would even imaginesuch a thing to be possible?"

"My dearest," the other answered gently, "I am old enough toknow that, where the human heart is concerned, all thingsare possible."

"You know me very little, Honor, if you can dream of thatfor a moment. Come and sit down. No need to hold aloof fromme now."

Honor submitted to be led to the sofa, and drawn down closebeside her friend. The whole thing seemed to have become anincredible nightmare.

"Listen to me, my child," Mrs Conolly began, theinexpressible note of mother-love sounding in her voice. "Iwant you to realise, once for all, how I regard this matter.I think you know how much I have loved and admired you, andI do so now—more than ever. An overwhelming trouble hascome upon you, by no will of your own; and you are evidentlygoing to meet it with a high-minded courage altogetherworthy of your father's daughter."

"Don't speak of father," she entreated. "Only—now that youunderstand, tell me—tell me—whatmust I do?"

The passionate appeal coming from this girl—apt rather toerr in the direction of independence—stirred Mrs Jim's bigheart to its depths.

"Bravely spoken, my dear. In that case I can only say,'Stand to your guns.' You have promised to take over chargeof Captain Desmond, and a soldier's daughter should notdream of deserting her post. Mind you, I would not give suchadvice to ninety-nine girls out of a hundred in yourposition. The risk would be too serious; and I only daregive it to you because I amsure of you, Honor. I quiterealise why you feel you ought to go. But your own feelingsmust simply be ignored. Your one hope lies in starving themto death, if possible. Give Evelyn her chance by all means,but I can't allow you to desert Captain Desmond on heraccount. You must be at hand to protect him, and uphold her,in case of failure. In plain English, you must consent to bea mere prop—putting yourself in the background and leavingher to reap the reward. It is the eternal sacrifice of thestrong for the weak. You are one of the strong; and in yourcase there is no shirking the penalty without an imputationthat could never be coupled with the name of Meredith."

Honor looked up at that with a characteristic tilt of herchin, and Mrs Conolly's face softened to a smile.

"No, indeed. If you were soft and sympathetic, I should goaway at once. You have shown me quite clearly what isrequired of me. It will not be—easy. But one can do no lessthan go through with it—in silence."

"My dear, I am very proud of you," she said with quietsincerity. "I can see that you have drawn freely on aStrength beyond your own. Just take victory for granted; anddo your simple human duty to a sick man who is in great needof you, and whose fortune or misfortune is a matter of realconcern to many others besides those near and dear to him. Iknow I am not exaggerating when I say that if any seriousharm came to Captain Desmond it would be a calamity felt notonly by his regiment, but by more than half the FrontierForce. He has the 'genius to be loved,' that is perhaps thehighest form of genius——"

"Ah! but that is part of your hard programme, Honor. Youmust learn to talk of him, and to let others talk of him.Only you must banish him altogetherout of your ownthoughts. You see the difference?"

"The essence of danger lies there, and too few peoplerecognise it. I believe that half the emotional catastrophesof life might be traced back to want of self-control in theregion of thought. The world's real conquerors are those who'hold in quietness their land of the spirit'; and you havethe power to be one of them if you choose."

"Then the thing is as good as done." She rose on the words,and drew Honor to her feet. "There; I think I have said hardthings enough for one day."

"I know you don't expect me to thank you," she said; "weunderstand each other too well for that. And we will neverspeak of this again, please. It is dead and buried fromto-day."

"Of course. That is why I have spoken rather fully thismorning. But be sure you will be constantly in my thoughts,and—in my prayers."

Then she took possession of the girl, holding her closelyfor a long while; and when they moved apart tears stood inher eyes, though she was a woman little given to thatluxury.

"This has been a great blow to me, dear," she said. "I hadsuch high hopes for you. I had even thought of MajorWyndham."

"I wish it had been, with all my heart; and I confess I ampuzzled about you two. How has he come to be 'Paul' withinthis last fortnight?"

"It is simply that we have made a compact. He knows now thathe can never be anything more than—Paul—the truest frienda woman ever had."

"Is any real love ever wasted?" Honor asked so simply thatMrs Conolly kissed her again.

"My child, you put me to shame. It is clearly I who mustlearn from you. Now, go home; and God be with you as He verysurely will."

Then with her head uplifted and her spirit braced tounflinching endurance, Honor Meredith went out into the blueand gold of the morning.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE EXECRABLE UNKNOWN.

Honor found Evelyn in a state of chastened happiness,buttering toast for Theo's breakfast, which stood ready on atray at her side.

"Would you like to take this in yourself?" she said, as shecompleted her task. "I think he would be pleased. He wasasking where you were."

The suggestion was so graciously proffered that Honordeposited a light kiss on the coiled floss silk of Evelyn'shair as she bent above the table. Then she took up the tray,and went on into the study.

She entered, and set it down without speaking; and Desmond,who was lying back with closed eyes, roused himself at thesound.

"Thank you, little woman," he said. Then, with a start, "Ah,Honor,—it's you. Very kind of you to trouble.Good-morning."

The contrast in his tone and manner was apparent, even in sofew words; and Honor was puzzled.

"I hope you got some sleep last night," she said, "afterthat cruel thirty-six hours."

"More or less, thanks. But I had a good deal to say to Paul.You and he seem to have become very close friends while Ihave been away."

"We have; permanently, I am glad to say. I should have comein to you when I got up, but I was sure he would have doneeverything you could want before leaving."

"He did; and he'll be back the minute he's through with hiswork. He is an incomparable nurse; and with him at hand, Ishall not need to—trespass on so much of your time, afterall."

Honor bit her lip and tingled in every nerve, less at theactual words than at the manner of their utterance—amingling of embarrassment and schooled politeness, which sether at arm's length, checked spontaneity, and brought herdown from the heights with the speed of a dropped stone.

"It is not a question of trespassing on my time," she said,and in spite of herself a hint of constraint invaded hervoice. "But I have no wish to deprive Paul of his privilegeand right. You can settle it with Dr Mackay between you.Now, it's time you ate your breakfast. Can you manage byyourself? Shall I send Evelyn to help you?"

He knew quite well he could do nothing of the sort; but hisone need was to be alone.

"Very well. I shall be busy this morning with mail letters.Evelyn will sit with you till Paul comes; and Frank is sureto be round during the day. I pointed out to you yesterdaythat there were plenty of—others able and willing to seeafter you."

Before he could remonstrate she was gone. He drew in hisbreath sharply, between set teeth, and struck the arm of hischair with jarring force.

"I have hurt her—clumsy brute that I am. And I must doworse before the day's out. But the sooner it's over thebetter."

It was his invariable attitude towards a distasteful duty;and he decided not to let slip a second opportunity. Weakand unaided, he made what shift he could to deal with theintricacies of breakfast, choking back his irritability whenhe found himself grasping empty air in place of the teapothandle, sending the sugar-tongs clattering to the floor, anddeluging his saucer by pouring the milk outside the cup. Forthe moment, to this man of independent spirit, these trivialindignities seemed more unendurable than the loss of hissubaltern, the intrusive shadow threatening hisself-respect, or the fear of blindness, that lay upon hisheart cold and heavy as a corpse.

And on the other side of the door, Honor stood alone in thedrawing-room, trying to regain some measure of calmnessbefore returning to the breakfast-table.

Red-hot resentment fired her from head to foot. Resentmentagainst what, against whom? she asked herself blankly, andin the same breath turned her back upon the answer. Chieflyagainst herself, no doubt, for her inglorious descent fromthe pinnacle of stoicism, to which she had climbed barely anhour ago. It seemed that Love, coming late to these two, hadcome as a refiner's fire, to "torment their hearts, till itshould have unfolded the capacities of their spirits." ForLove, like Wisdom, is justified of all her children.

Breakfast, followed by details of housekeeping, reinstatedcommon-sense. After all, since she had resolved to remain inthe background, Theo had simplified affairs by consigningher to her destined position. She could quite well keep herpromise to Dr Mackay, and superintend all matters of moment,without spending much time in the sick-room. Evelyn hadagreed to accept her share of the nursing; and, as she hadsaid, there were others, whose right was beyond her own.

Shortly after tiffin, Wyndham arrived with Rajinder Singh;and finding them together in the drawing-room—after theshort interview permitted by Paul—Honor took theopportunity of fulfilling a request made by Theo on theprevious evening.

"I have to write to Mrs Denvil," she said to Paul. "Wouldthe Sirdar mind giving me a few details about the fightingon the 17th?"

Paul glanced approvingly at the old Sikh, who stood besidehim, a princely figure of a man, in the magnificent muftiaffected by the native cavalry officer—a long coat ofpeach-coloured brocade, and a turban of the same tint.

"Mind? He needs very little encouragement to enlarge onTheo's share in the proceedings."

"I would like to hear all he can tell me about that," sheanswered on a low note of fervour.

"You hear, Ressaldar Sahib." Paul turned to his companion."The Miss Sahib desires full news of the attack andengagement on Tuesday morning, that she may write of it toEngland."

The man's eyes gleamed under his shaggy brows, and helaunched into the story, nothing loth; his eloquence risingas he warmed to the congenial theme.

Paul Wyndham stepped back a few paces into a patch ofshadow, the better to watch Honor Meredith at his ease. Shehad balanced herself lightly on the arm of a chair; and nowleaned a little forward, her lips just parted in theeagerness of anticipation. A turquoise medallion on a finegold chain made a single incident of colour on the habitualivory tint of her gown; threads of burnished copper glintedamong the coils of her hair; and the loyal loving soul ofher shone like a light through the seriousness of her eyes.

And as he watched, hope—that dies harder than any qualityof the heart—rose up in him and prevailed. A day must comewhen this execrable unknown would no longer stand betweenthem; when she would come to him of her own accord, as shehad promised;—and he could wait for years, withoutimpatience, on the bare chance of such a consummation.

But at this point a growing change in her riveted hisattention—a change such as only the eyes of a lover coulddetect and interpret aright. She sat almost facing him; andat the first had looked towards him, from time to time,certain of his sympathy with the interest that held her. Butbefore five minutes were out he had been forgotten as thoughhe were not; and by how all else about her was forgottenalso. Not her spirit only, but her whole heart glowed in hereyes; and Paul Wyndham, standing watchful and silent in theshadow, became abruptly aware that the execrableunknown—whom he had been hating for the past fortnight withall the strength of a strong nature—was the man he lovedbetter than anything else on earth.

The Ressaldar was nearing the crowning-point of his storynow. Honor listened spellbound as he told her of thebreathless rush up that rugged incline, and of the sightthat greeted them after scaling the mighty staircase ofrock.

"None save the fleetest among us could keep pace with theCaptain Sahib, wounded as he was," the Sikh was saying, whenWyndham, with a hideous jar, came back to reality. "But Godgave me strength, though I have fifty years well told, sothat I came not far behind; and even as Denvil Sahib fell,with his face to the earth, at the Captain Sahib's feet, heturned upon the Afridi devils like a lion among wolves, andsmote three of them to hell before a man could say, 'Itlightens.' Yet came there one pig of a coward behind him,Miss Sahib. Only, by God's mercy, I also was there, to givehim such greeting as he deserved with my Persian sword, thathath passed from father to son these hundred and fiftyyears, and hath never done better work than in averting thehand of death from my Captain Sahib Bahadur, whom God willmake Jungi-Lat-Sahib [29] before the end of his days! Formyself I am an old man, and of a truth I covet no higherhonour than this that hath befallen me, in rendering twice,without merit, such good service to the Border. Nay, but whoam I that I should speak thus? Hath not the Miss Sahibherself rendered a like service? May your honour live long,and be the mother of heroes!"

Rajinder Singh bowed low on the words, which brought thegirl to her feet and crimsoned her clear skin from chin tobrow. By a deft question she turned the tide of talk into aless embarrassing channel; and Paul Wyndham, pulling himselftogether with an effort, went noiselessly out of the room.

Passing through the hall, he sought the comparative privacyof the back verandah, which was apt to be deserted at thistime of day. Here he confronted the discovery that torturedhim—denied it; wrestled with it; and finally owned himselfbeaten by it. There was no evading the witness of his owneyes; and in that moment it seemed to him that he hadreached the limit of endurance. Then a sudden questionstabbed him. How far was Theo responsible for that which hadcome about? Was he, even remotely, to blame?

Had any living soul dared to breathe such questions in hishearing Wyndham would have knocked the words down histhroat, and several teeth along with them, man of peacethough he was. But the very depth of his feeling for Desmondmade him the more clear-eyed and stern in judgment; and theintolerable doubt, uprising like a mist before his innervision, held him motionless, forgetful of place and time;till footsteps roused him, and he turned to find Honorcoming towards him.

"Why, Paul," she said, "what brings you here? I have beenlooking for you everywhere. I thought you had gone to him.Evelyn says he is alone, and he wants you."

The unconscious use of the pronoun did not escape Paul'snotice, and he winced at it, as also at the undernote ofreproof in her tone.

"Sorry to have kept him waiting," he said quietly, and forthe first time his eyes avoided her face. "I will go to himat once."

But on opening the study door he hesitated, dreading thenecessity for speech; glad—actually glad—that his face washidden from his friend. For all the depth of their reserve,the shadow of restraint was a thing unknown between them.But the world had been turned upside down for Wyndham sincehe left the familiar room half an hour ago. A spark thatcame very near to anger burned in his heart.

Desmond turned in his chair. Two hours of undiluted Evelynhad left him craving for mental companionship.

"Paul, old man," he said on a questioning note, "can't youspeak to a fellow? Jove! what wouldn't I give for a goodsquare look at you! It's poor work consorting with folk whoonly exist from the waist downward. You've not got to berunning off anywhere else, have you?"

"Come on then, for Heaven's sake, dear chap! I have beenwanting you all the morning."

The direct appeal, the pathos of his shattered vigour, andthe irresistible friendliness of words and tone dispelledall possibility of doubt, or of sitting in judgment.Whatever appearances might suggest, Paul stood ready toswear, through thick and thin, to the integrity of hisfriend.

He came forward at once; and Desmond, cavalierly oustingRob, made room for him on the lower end of his chair.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

YOU SHALL NOT—!

Quite a little party of a quiet kind assembled in thedrawing-room for tea—Frank Olliver, Mrs Conolly, Wyndham,and his subaltern George Rivers, a promising probationer ofa year's standing. The funeral of the morning, and anxietyas to the fate of Desmond's eyes, gave a subdued tone to theattempt at cheerfulness that prevailed. But Evelyn wasgrateful even for so mild a reversion to a more normalcondition of things.

Each in turn had paid a short visit to the wounded hero inthe study; but now they were grouped round the tea-table,leaving him temporarily alone. Evelyn had just filled hiscup; and being in no mood to interrupt her exchange oflight-hearted nothings with George Rivers, she glancedacross at Wyndham, who promptly understood the situation andthe mute request.

Honor, standing apart from the rest, noted thecharacteristic bit of by-play, and with a pang of envywatched Paul receive the cup and plate destined for Theo'sroom. It seemed a century since she had left him in themorning, with words wrung from her bitterness of heart andregretted as soon as they were uttered; and because of thelonging, that would not be stifled, she refrained from theoffer that came instinctively to her lips.

"Won't you take these yourself?" he said in a low tone. "Hehas seen plenty of me this afternoon; and when I spoke ofyou just now he said you had not been near him sincebreakfast. Is that your notion of taking charge of apatient? It isn't mine, I can tell you!"

He spoke lightly, easily; for if life were to be tolerable,the discovery he had made must be ignored, without andwithin.

"It is not mine either," she answered, flushing at theunmerited reproof. "But I am by way of handing over mycharge to you. Doesn't the arrangement suit you?"

"By all means. But Mackay rightly chose you. Besides, I amnot so selfish that I should want to deprive Theo of thepleasure of your ministrations."

"Deprive him? You are judging him by yourself! It is hardlya question of deprivation, surely."

"Hullo!" he said, "one doesn't expect that sort of tone fromyou where Theo is concerned. What do you mean me tounderstand by it?"

"Nothing—nothing at all! Only—he happens to preferyourministrations. He almost told me so. You or he can settle itwith Dr Mackay to-night. But I will take these in to him—ifyou wish."

She took the cup and plate from him, still smiling, andpassed on into the study.

As she bent above the table, Desmond lifted his head in avain effort to get a glimpse of her face.

"Thank you—thank you—how good of you!" he said, hisconstraint softened by a repressed eagerness, which gave hercourage to speak her thought.

"Why am I suddenly to be discomfited by such elaboratethanks, such scathing politeness?" she asked in a tone ofvaliant good-humour.

"Well, it is. Overmuch thanks for small services is a poorcompliment to friendship. I thought you and I agreed on thatpoint."

He answered nothing. He was nerving himself to the effort ofdecisive speech, which should set danger at arm's length andend their distracting situation once for all.

"I will look in again, in case you should want some more,"she said softly, "if you will promise me not to say 'thankyou!'"

"I promise," he answered with a half smile; and she turnedto go. But before she had reached the door his voicearrested her.

The note of constraint was so marked that the girl stoodspeechless, scarcely breathing, wondering what would comenext—whether his words would break down the barrier thatheld them apart.

"I have been thinking," he began awkwardly, "over what yousaid yesterday—about Evelyn. You remember?"

"And I have been wanting to tell you that I believe you wereright. You generally are. I believe we ought to give her thechance you spoke of. Besides—I asked too much of you. Thismay be a slow business; and really we have no right to tradeon your unselfishness to the extent I proposed. Youunderstand me?"

For the life of him he could not ask her to go outright; hisexcuse appeared to him lame enough to be an insult itself. Afierce temptation assailed him to push up the detested shadeand discover whether he had hurt this girl, who had done soinfinitely much for him. But he grasped the side of hischair, keeping his arm rigid as steel; and awaited heranswer, which seemed an eternity in coming.

Indeed, if he had struck her, Honor could scarcely have beenmore stunned, more indignant, than she was at that moment.But when she found her voice it was at least steady, if notdevoid of emotion.

"No, Theo," she said. "For the first time in my life Idon't understand you. But I see clearly—what you wish;and if you feel absolutely certain that you are making theright decision for Evelyn, I have no more to say. Formyself, you are asking a far harder thing to-day than youdid yesterday. But that is no matter, if it is really bestfor you both—I don't quite know what Dr Mackay will say. Iwill see him about it this evening; and you will please tellEvelyn—yourself."

He knew now that he had hurt her cruelly; and with knowledgecame the revelation that he was playing a coward's part inrewarding her thus for all she had done; in depriving Evelynof her one support and shield, merely because he distrustedhis own self-mastery at a time of severe mental stress andbodily weakness.

His imperative need for a sight of her face conquered him atlast. Quick as thought his hand went up to the rim of theshade. But Honor was quicker still. The instinct to shieldhim from harm swept everything else aside. In a second shehad reached him and secured his hand.

"Youshall not do that!" she said—anger, fear,determination vibrating in her low tone.

Then, to her astonishment, she found her own hand crushed inhis, with a force that brought tears into her eyes. But heremained silent; and she neither spoke nor stirred. Emotiondominated her; and her whole mind was concentrated on theeffort to hold it in leash.

For one brief instant they stood thus upon the brink of aprecipice—the precipice of mutual knowledge. But both weresafeguarded by the strength that belongs to an uprightspirit; and before three words could have been utteredDesmond had dropped her hand, almost throwing it from him,with a decisiveness that might have puzzled her, but thatshe had passed beyond the region of surprise.

Still neither spoke. Desmond was breathing with the shortgasps of a man who has ran a great way, or fought a hardfight; and Honor remained beside him, her eyes blinded, herthroat aching with tears that must not be allowed to fall.

There was more of bewilderment than of reproach in thewords, and Desmond, turning his head, saw the white marksmade by his own fingers upon the hand that hung at her side.

"Done?" he echoed, all constraint and coldness gone from hisvoice. "You have simply proved yourself, for the hundredthtime—the staunchest, most long-suffering woman on God'searth. Will you forgive me, Honor? Will you wipe out what Isaid—and did just now? I am not quite—myself to-day; ifone dare proffer an excuse. Mackay is right, we can't dowithout you—Evelyn least of any. Will you believe that, andstay with us, in spite of all?"

He proffered his hand now, and she gave him the one thatstill tingled from his pressure. He held it quietly,closely, as the hand of a friend, and was rewarded by herfrank return of his grasp.

"Of course I will stay," she said simply. "But don't letthere be any talk of forgiveness between you and me, Theo.To understand is to forgive. I confess Ihave been puzzledsince—yesterday evening, but now I think we do understandone another again. Isn't that so?"

"Yes; we understand one another, Honor," he answered withouta shadow of hesitation; but in his heart he thanked God thatshe did not understand—nor ever would, to her life's end.

Relief reawakened the practical element, which had beensubmerged in the emotional. She was watching him now withthe eyes of a nurse rather than the eyes of a woman.

When he had spoken, his arm fell limply; and he leaned backupon the pillows with a sigh of such utter weariness thather anxiety was aroused. She remembered that his hand hadseemed unnaturally hot, and deliberately taking possessionof it again, laid her fingers on his wrist. The rapidity ofhis pulse startled her; since she could have no suspicion ofall that he had fought against and held in check.

"Howis one to keep such a piece of quicksilver as you ina state of placid stodge!" she murmured. "I suppose I oughtto have forbidden you to talk. But how could I dreamthat—all this would come of it? You must lie absolutelyquiet and see no one for the rest of the evening. I willsend at once for Dr Mackay; and, look, your tea is all cold.You shall have some fresh—very weak—it will do you good.But not another word, please, to me or any one till I giveyou leave."

"Very well; I'll do my best to remain in a state of placidstodge, if that will ease your mind," he answered so humblythat the tears started to her eyes afresh. "Won't you let mesmoke, though? Just one cigarette. It would calm me downfinely before Mackay comes."

Without answering she took one from his case and gave it tohim. Then, striking a match, held it for him, till the wispof paper and tobacco was well alight; while he lay back,drawing in the fragrant smoke, with a sigh in whichcontentment and despair were strangely mingled.

It is to be hoped that, to the end of time, woman's higherdevelopment will never eradicate her delight in ministeringto the minor comforts of the man she loves.

"As soon as I have seen Paul, and sent for Dr Mackay," Honorsaid, "I will come back and stay with you altogether for thepresent."

"Thank you." He smiled directly the word was out. "I forgot!That's against regulations! But I swear it came straightfrom my heart."

It was such pure pleasure to have recaptured the oldspontaneous Theo, with whom one could say or do anything, inthe certainty of being understood, that even anxiety couldnot quell the new joy at her heart.

Re-entering the drawing-room, she beckoned Wyndham with hereyes and passed on into the hall. So surprisingly swift area woman's changes of mood, that by the time he joined heranxiety had taken hold of her again, to the exclusion of allelse.

"Oh, Paul, you did well to reprove me! We must send theorderly for Dr Mackay at once. He has fever now—ratherhigh, I am afraid. Did you notice nothing earlier?"

"I think he has been worrying over something, apart fromhis eyes and the Boy; but I can't get at the bottom of it.No need to make the others anxious yet; only—I won't leavehim again. I intend to stick to my charge after all," sheadded, with a sudden smile. "There was some sortof—misunderstanding, it seems. I don't quite know what, butthere's an end of it now."

"Thank God!" The words were no mere formula on PaulWyndham's lips. "Misunderstandings are more poisonous thansnakes! Go straight back to him, and I'll send the orderlyflying in two minutes."

The girl persuaded Evelyn to go early to bed, merely tellingher that as Theo was restless she would have to sit up withhim for a while; and Evelyn, secretly relieved at not beingasked to do the sitting up herself, deposited a light kisson her husband's hair and departed with a pretty air ofmeekness that brought a smile to Honor's lips.

She had felt mildly happy and oppressively good all day. Thetea-party had helped to lighten the hushed atmosphere of thehouse; and her last waking thought was of George Rivers'deep-toned voice and frankly admiring eyes. She decided thathe might "do" in place of Harry Denvil, who must naturallybe forgotten as soon as possible; because it was souncomfortable to think of people who were dead.

Desmond's temperature rose rapidly; and the two, who couldnot bear to leave his side, divided the night watchesbetween them. Amar Singh, his chin between his knees,crouched dog-like on the mat outside the door, presentinghimself, from time to time, with such dumb yearning in hiseyes that Honor devised small services for him in puretenderness of heart.

Paul took a couple of hours' rest at midnight, on thecondition that Honor should do the same towards morning; andsince she was obviously reluctant when the unwelcome hourarrived, he smilingly conducted her in person to thethreshold of her room.

"Good-night to you,—Miss Meredith! Or should it begood-morning?" he said lightly, in the hope of chasing thestrained look from her face.

"Good-morning, for preference," she retorted, with anattempt at a laugh. "You can take a horse to the water, butyou can't make him drink! I shan't sleep even for fiveminutes."

He moved as if to go, but she came suddenly nearer; and thehidden fear leaped to her lips.

"Paul—is there any real danger because of this fever? Oneis so afraid of erysipelas with a wound of that kind; and itwould be—fatal. Has Dr Mackay said anything definite? Tellme—please. I must know the truth."

In the urgency of the moment she laid a light hand upon him;and Wyndham, bracing the muscles of his arm, tried not to beaware of her finger-tips through his coat-sleeve.

"You evidently know too much for your own peace of mind," hesaid. "But Mackay is as inscrutable as the Sphinx. One couldsee he was anxious, because he was ready to snap one's headoff on the least provocation; but beyond that I know no morethan you do. We can only do our poor utmost for him everyhour, you and I, and leave the outcome—to God."

"Yes, yes,—you are right. Oh, Paul, what a rock you are ata bad time like this!"

Unconsciously her fingers tightened upon his arm, and athrill like a current of electricity passed through him.Lifting her hand from its resting-place, he put it aside,gently but decisively.

"I may be a rock," he remarked with his slow smile, "but Ialso happen to be—a man. Don't make our compact harder forme than you can help. Good-night again; and sleepsoundly—for Theo's sake!"

Before she could find words in which to plead forgiveness,he had almost reached the study door; and she stoodmotionless, watching him go, her face aflame with anger ather own unwitting thoughtlessness, and humiliation at theexquisite gentleness of his rebuke.

Surely there were few men on earth comparable to this man,whose heart and soul were hers for the taking. A cold fearcame upon her lest in the end she should be driven toretract her decision; to forego all, and endure all, ratherthan withhold from him a happiness he so abundantlydeserved.

"Why is it such a heart-breaking tangle?" she murmured,locking her hands together till the points of her sapphirering cut into the flesh. But she only pressed the harder.She understood now how it was that monks and fanatics stroveto ease the soul through torments of the flesh. A pang ofphysical pain would have been a positive relief just then.But there was none for her to bear. She was young, vigorous,radiantly alive. She had not so much as a headache after heranxious vigil. The high gods had willed that she should feeland suffer to the full. There is no other pathway to theultimate heights.

The soft closing of the study door sounded loud in thestillness; and she went reluctantly into her own room.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

To say that Owen Kresney was annoyed would be to do him aninjustice. He was furious at the unlooked-for interruption,which bade fair to cancel all that he had been at such painsto achieve. Pure spite so mastered him, that even the newsof Desmond's critical condition—which stirred the wholestation the morning after the funeral—awakened no spark ofpity in that region of concentrated egotism which must needsbe called his heart.

The "counter-check quarrelsome" would have been welcomeenough. But this impersonal method of knocking the groundfrom under his feet goaded him to exasperation. He had noteven the satisfaction of knowing that he had wroughtjealousy or friction between husband and wife. Desmond hadpractically ignored his existence. There lay the sting thatroused all the devil in Kresney; and the devil is a lightsleeper in some men's souls. But the Oriental strain in theman made him an adept at a waiting game; and finding himselfcavalierly thrust aside, he could do no otherwise thanremain in the background for the present, alert, vigilant,cursing his luck.

In the blue bungalow a strained calmness prevailed. Thework that must be done could only be carried through byliving from hour to hour, as Paul had said; and Evelyn couldnow no longer be shielded from the pain of knowledge.

On the morning after her first night of vigil, Honor came toher; and, keeping firm hold of both her hands, told her,simply and straightly, that the coming week would make theutmost demands upon her strength and courage.

"Did—didI make him bad?" she asked in an awe-struckwhisper, for she had not been able to keep her own counselin regard to her fatal interview with Theo.

"I think not—I hope not," Honor answered gravely. "But youdid wound him cruelly; and whatever happens, youmust notfail him now."

"I don't want to—fail him, Honor. But you know I'm not abit of use with sick people; and I can't all of a suddenturn brave and strong, like you."

Honor's smile expressed an infinite deal, but she did notanswer at once. She wanted to be very sure of saying theright word; and it is only when we try to grapple withanother's intimate need that we find ourselves baffled bythe elusive, intangible spirits of those with whom we sharesunlight and food and the bewildering gift of speech. Honorwas wondering now whether, by a supreme concentration ofwill, she could possibly infuse some measure of the soldierspirit into Theo Desmond's wife; and the extravagant ideaimpelled her to a sudden decision.

"Listen to me, darling," she said. "We havegot to pullTheo through this between us, you and I; and you always sayI can help you to do difficult things. Very well. I am quitedetermined that youshall be a brave wife to him, for thenext two weeks at least. And when I make up my mind about athing, it is as good as done, isn't it?"

She spoke very low, and her eyes had a misty softness. Butbehind the softness lay an invincible assurance, whichEvelyn felt without being able to analyse or understand.

"I don't know how you are going to manage it, Honor," shemurmured. "But I believe you could makeanybody doanything—especially me!"

Honor's eyes twinkled at the incoherent compliment. Thevisionary moment had passed, and she was her practical selfagain, the richer by a fixed resolve.

"At that rate we shall work wonders," she said cheerfully;"and I promise not to make you do anything alarming. Youshall begin by taking Theo's breakfast to him at once."

The ill news brought Frank Olliver round later in themorning. She did not stay long; and the look in her eyes asshe parted from Paul in the verandah touched him to theheart.

"You'll send me word how he goes on, won't you?" she said."I'll not be coming round much meself. There's plenty of youto look after him, and you'll not be needing any help fromme. 'Tis the first time I could say so with truth," sheadded, smiling through moist lashes. "An', no doubt, 'tis awholesome set-down for me self-conceit!"

"I don't believe you can say it with truth yet," Paulanswered promptly. "I shall get a chance to talk things overwith Honor this morning, and you shall hear the result. MayI invite myself to tea, please?"

"Ah, God bless you, Major Wyndham!" she exclaimed, withsomething of her natural heartiness. "It's a pity there'snot more o' your sort in the world."

A compliment, even from Mrs Olliver, invariably struck Pauldumb; and before any answer occurred to him she had canteredaway.

The first time he could secure a few minutes alone withHonor he put in an urgent plea for Mrs Olliver's services,and had the satisfaction of going round to her bungalow attea-time, armed with a special request from the girlherself.

Evelyn accepted, with a slight lift of her brows, Honor'sannouncement that Mrs Olliver would be only too glad to helpin nursing Theo. These odd people, who seemed to enjoy longnights of watching, the uncanny mutterings of delirium, andthe incessant doling out of food and medicine, puzzled herbeyond measure. She had a hazy idea that she ought to enjoyit in the same way, and a very clear knowledge that she didno such thing. She regarded it as a sort of penance, imposedby Honor, not altogether unfairly. She had just conscienceenough to recognise that. And as the hushed monotone ofnights and days dragged by, with little relief from the deadweight of anxiety, it did indeed seem as if Honor hadsucceeded in willing a portion of her brave spirit into herfriend. What had passed in secret between God and her ownsoul resulted in a breaking down of the bounds of self—anunconscious spiritual bestowal of the best that was in her,with that splendid lack of economy in giving which is thehall-mark of a great nature. And Evelyn took colour from thenew atmosphere enveloping her with the curious readiness ofher type.

Desmond himself, in moments of wakefulness, or passingfreedom from delirium, was surprised and profoundly moved tofind his wife constantly in attendance on him. At the timehe was too ill to express his appreciation. But a vision ofher dwelt continually in his mind; and the frequency of hername on his lips brought tears of real self-reproach to hereyes as she sat alone with him through the dread smallhours, not daring to glance into the darkest corners or tostir unless necessity compelled her; overpowered by thosevague terrors that evaporate like mist in the cold light ofdefinition.

In this fashion an interminable week slipped past, bringingthe patient to that critical "corner" with which too many ofus are familiar. Neither Paul nor Mackay left the study fortwenty-four hours; while the women sat with folded hands andwaited—a more arduous task than it sounds.

With the coming of morning, and of the first hopeful wordfrom the sick-room, an audible sigh of relief seemed to passthrough the house and compound. It was as if they had allbeen holding their breath till the worst was over. It becamepossible at last to achieve smiles that were not meredutiful distortions of the lips. James Mackay grew onedegree less irritable; Wyndham one degree less monosyllabic;Amar Singh condescended to arise and resume his neglectedduties; while Rob—becoming aware, in his own fashion, of astir in the air—emerged from his basket, and shook himselfwith such energy and thoroughness that Mackay whisked himunceremoniously into the hall, where he sat nursing hisinjured dignity, quietly determined to slip back, on thefirst chance, into the room that was his by right, thoughtemporarily in the hands of the enemy.

It was some five days later that Desmond, waking towardsmorning, found his wife standing beside him in expectantwatchfulness.

The low camp-bed lent her a fictitious air of height, as didalso the unbroken line of her blue dressing-gown, with itscloud of misty whiteness at the throat. A shaded lamp in afar corner clashed with the first glimmer of dawn; and inthe dimness Evelyn's face showed pale and indistinct, savefor two dusky semicircles where her lashes rested on hercheek. Desmond saw all this, because at night the shade wasdiscarded, though the rakish bandage still eclipsed hisright eye. He lay lapped in a pleasant sense of theunreality of outward things, and his wife—dimly seen andmotionless—had the air of a dream-figure in a dream.

Suddenly she leaned down, and caressed his damp hair with afamiliar lightness of touch.

"I heard you move, darling," she whispered. "I've beensitting such a long, long while alone; and I badly wantedyou to wake up."

"Such a brave Ladybird!" he said, imprisoning her fingers."You seem to be on duty all the time. They haven't beenletting you do too much, have they?"

"Oh no; I'm not clever enough to do much," she answered, alittle wistfully. "It is Honor who really does everything."

Desmond frowned. Mention of Honor effectually dispelled thedream. "I choose to believe that everythingisn't herdoing," he said with unnecessary emphasis.

But for once Evelyn was disposed to extol Honor at her ownexpense. She had been lifted, for the time being, higherthan she knew.

"Itis, Theo—truly," she persisted, perching lightly onthe edge of the bed, though she had been reminded half adozen times that the "patient's" bed must not be treated asa chair. "I don't know anything about nursing people. Honorjust told me that I was going to do it beautifully, that Iwasn't really frightened or stupid at all; and somehow, shehas made it all come true. She's been ever so kind andpatient; and I'm not half so nervous now when I'm left aloneall night. She writes out every little thing I have to do,and sits up herself in her own room. She's sitting therenow, reading or writing, so I can go to her any minute if Ireally want help. She knows it comforts me to feel there'ssome one else awake; and she does her own nights of nursingjust the same. I often wonder how she stands it all."

Desmond drew in his breath with a sharp sound. Theinfinitely much that he owed to this girl, at every turn,threatened to become a torment beyond endurance.

"There now, I'm tiring you, talking too much. I'm sure youought to be having something or another, even though you arebetter."

She consulted her paper; and returning with themedicine-glass half filled, held it to his lips, raising hishead with one hand. But at the first sip he jerked it backabruptly.

She took up the bottle, and examined it close to the light.There was an ominous silence.

The last words came out in a desperate rush, and there wastragedy in her tone. But Desmond laughed as he had notlaughed since his parting with the Boy.

She handed him the refilled glass; then, to his surprise,collapsed beside the bed and burst into tears.

"It's not nonsense. It's horrible to be uselessand—idiotic, however hard you try. It might easily havebeen—poison, and I might have—killed you!"

"Only it wasn't—and you didn't!" he retorted, smiling."You're upset, and worn out from want of sleep; that's all."

She made a determined effort to swallow down her sobs, andknelt upright with clasped hands.

"No, Theo, I'm not worn out; I'm simply stupid. And you'rethe kindest man that ever lived. But I mustn't cry any more,or you'll get ill again, and then Honor will be reallyangry!"

"Oh, shut up about Honor!" he broke out irritably; and sethis teeth directly the words were spoken.

Evelyn started. "I won't shut up about Honor! I love her,and you're very ungrateful not to love her too, when she'sbeen so good to you."

He thought the statement would have choked him. But Evelynnoticed nothing, and for a while neither spoke.

"Look here, Ladybird," he said suddenly, "I can't have youcalling yourself names as you did just now. You only getthese notions into your small head because I have condemnedyou to a life that makes demands on you beyond yourstrength. I ought to have seen from the start that it was acase of choosing between the Frontier and you. At allevents, I see it clearly now; and—it's not too late. Onecan always exchange into a down-country regiment, you know.Or I have interest enough to get a Staff appointmentsomewhere—Simla, perhaps. How would that suit you?"

"You don'tmean that, Theo—seriously?" she gasped; andthe repressed eagerness in her tone sounded the death-knellof his dearest ambitions.

"You have only to say the word, and as soon as I am on myfeet again I'll see what can be done."

But the word was not forthcoming; and in her changedposition he could see nothing of her face but its ovaloutline of cheek and chin. He waited; holding his breath.Then, at last, she spoke.

"No, Theo. It wouldn't be fair. You belong to the Frontier.Every one says so. And—I shall get used to it in time."

She spoke mechanically, without turning her head; andDesmond's arm went round her on the instant.

"But you haven't got to think of me," he urged. "I want todo what will make you happy. That's all."

"God bless you, my darling!" he whispered. But even inspeaking he knew that he could not accept her sacrifice;that her courage—barely equal to the verbalrenunciation—would be crushed to powder in the crucible ofdays and years. For the moment, however, it seemed best todrop the subject, since nothing definite could be donewithout Honor's consent.

"Now I ought to be attending to my business!" she said,freeing herself with a little nervous laugh. "It's gettingtoo light. I must put out the lamp and dress you up in yourshade again, you poor, patient Theo. Then we'll havechotahazri together."

She moved away from him quickly, and not quite steadily. Shehad let slip her one chance of escape, and she did not knowwhy she had done it. The impulse to refuse had beenunreasoning, overpowering; and now it was all over she onlyknew that she had done what Honor would approve, and whatshe herself would regret to the end of her life. How far thegirl whose soul had been concentrated on Evelyn's upliftingwas responsible for her flash of self-sacrifice, is aproblem that must be left for psychologists to solve.

Desmond had only one thought in his brain that morning—"Howin the world am I going to tackle Honor?" He foresaw apitched battle, ending in possible defeat; and decided todefer it till he felt more physically fit for the strain.For he possessed the rapid recuperative power of his type;and, the fever once conquered, each day added a cubit to hisreturning vigour.

One night, towards the close of the second week of hisillness, he awoke suddenly from dreamless sleep to alertwakefulness, a sense of renewed health and power thrillingthrough his veins. He passed a hand across his forehead andeyes, for the pure pleasure of realising their freedom fromthe disfiguring bandage, and glanced toward thewriting-table, whence the too familiar screened lamp flungghostly lights and shadows up among the bare rafters twentyfeet above.

It was Honor who sat beside it now, in a loose whitewrapper, her head resting on her hand, an open book beforeher. The light fell full upon her profile, emphasising itsnobility of outline—the short straight nose, the exquisitemoulding of mouth and chin; while all about her shouldersfell the burnished mantle of her hair.

For many moments Desmond lay very still. This amazing girl,in the fulness of her beauty, and in her superbunconsciousness of its effect upon himself, had him at adisadvantage; and he knew it. The disadvantage was onlyincreased by waiting and watching; and at last he spoke,scarcely above his breath.

She started, and instinctively her hand went to her hair,gathering it deftly together. But he made haste tointerpose.

His tone had in it more of fervour than he knew, and shedropped the heavy mass hastily, thankful to screen her facefrom view. Then, because silence had in it an element ofdanger, she forced herself to break it.

"You were sleeping so soundly that I thought you were safenot to wake till morning; and it was a relief to let itdown."

"Why apologise?" he asked, smiling. "What is it you arereading? Won't you share it with me? I feel hopelesslywide-awake."

"It would be delightful to read to you again," she saidsimply. "But you might prefer something lighter. I wasreading—a sermon."

"I have no prejudice against sermons. We get few enough uphere. What's your subject?"

"Ah!—" There was pain in the low sound. "You must know agood deal about that form of responsibility,—you who are sosuperbly strong." And again she was grateful for hersheltering veil of hair. "The text is from Romans, Isuppose?"

"It's a heavy penalty," he mused. "But one is bound to payit to the uttermost farthing. Isn't that so?"

"Then, let me off that promise I gave you last April. It wasa fatal mistake, and it's not fair on Ladybird."

She stifled an exclamation of dismay. It had been one thingto plead with him a year ago; but now it seemed impossibleto speak a dozen words on the subject without risk ofself-betrayal.

"I thought you cared more for Evelyn than that amounts to,"he said reproachfully.

The brief finality of her answers was curiouslydiscouraging, and for the moment Desmond could think ofnothing more to say.

He closed his eyes to concentrate thought and shut out thedistracting vision of her bowed head. When he opened themagain she was standing close to him—a white commandingfigure, in a dusky cloak of hair reaching almost to herknees.

"Theo," she said softly, with an eloquent gesture ofappeal, "you don't know how it hurts me to seem hard andunfeeling about Ladybird, when I understand so much too wellthe spirit that is prompting you to do this thing. I franklyconfess you are right from your point of view. But thereremains my point of view; and so long as I have the right toprevent it, you shall not spoil your life and hers."

Desmond would have been more, or less, than man if he couldhave heard her unmoved; and as he lay looking up at her hewas tempted beyond measure to take possession of thoseappealing hands, to draw her down to him, and thank her fromhis heart for her brave words. But he merely shifteduneasily.

"I don't quite understand you, Honor," he said slowly. "Itis strange that you should—care so much about what I dowith my life."

"Is it? I think it would be far more strange if I had livedwith you for a year without learning—to care. That is why Ican never say 'Yes' to your request."

The note of immobility in his low voice made her feelpowerless to resist him; but she steeled herself against thesensation by main force of will.

"At least I can forbid any further mention of it till youare fitter to cope with such a disturbing subject. Are youaware that it's only two o'clock? And you need sleep morethan anything else just now. I'll give you some beef-jelly,and sit in my own room for an hour, or I believe you willnever go off again at all."

"Honor,"—he began; but she checked him with smilingdecision. "Not another word to-night, Theo, or I must goaltogether."

The threat was more compelling than she knew; and sittingdown by the table, she took up her vigil as before.

CHAPTER XXX.

SHE SHALL UNDERSTAND.

Certain souls, like certain bodies, cannot breathe for longat a stretch the rarefied atmosphere of the heights; andtowards the end of the second week Evelyn's zeal began towear thin. Dr Mackay had at last spoken hopefully as to thefate of Desmond's eyes. Night-nursing was no longer anecessity; and with the relief from anxiety, from the effortto meet the demands upon her small stock of strength, camethe inevitable drop to the comfortable commonplaces ofeveryday life.

Nor was she alone in her sensations. In varying degreesthey affected every inmate of the blue bungalow during thatlast week of Desmond's imprisonment; and it is probable thatHonor unconsciously relaxed her mental concentration uponEvelyn which had been responsible for more than either knew.Her midnight talk with Desmond, and the knowledge that asecond contest lay before her, gave her food for muchtroubled reflection; while the comparative lightness ofsick-room duties left her free to grapple with arrears ofletters, work, and household accounts. Thus, being onlyhuman, and very much absorbed in matters practical, she madethe fatal mistake of relaxing her vigilance at the verymoment when Evelyn needed it most. But it is written that"no man may redeem his brother"; and, soon or late therelapse must have come. Honor could not hope to laypermanent hold upon the volatile spirit of her friend.

Desmond himself, whose patience under the burden of illnessand of a nerve-shattering fear had amazed even those whoknew him best, was approaching the irritable stage ofconvalescence,—the strong man's rebellion against Nature'sunhurried methods; against enforced restriction andimprisonment, when renewed life is pulsing through everyartery, renewed vigour stirring the reawakened brain.

Nor were matters enlivened by Mackay's decree that, if riskwere to be avoided, the detested shade must be worn forthree full weeks or a month. Thus to imprisonment was addedthe gall and wormwood of total dependence upon others; theunthinkable prospect of parting with Paul, with the Borderitself—with everything that had hitherto made life worthliving; and, worse than all, the undercurrent of striving toignore that veiled danger, which he refused to name, even inhis thoughts, and which lay like a millstone upon his heart.

Thus there were inevitable moments when his spirit kickedagainst the pricks; when his return to life and healthseemed a parody of a blessing, a husk emptied of thelife-giving grain. In these moods Evelyn found herselfpowerless to cope with him; and was not a little aggrievedwhen she discovered that his unvarying need, on black days,was the companionship of Paul Wyndham, whose insightdetected some hidden trouble, and who, as a matter ofcourse, devoted every spare moment to his friend.

One thing Desmond missed beyond all else—the sound of musicin the house. Since the terrible evening of his home-coming,the piano had not been opened; and his recent experience ofthe effect Honor's music could produce on him made him charyof asking her to play.

He saw very little of her in these days. Now and then shewould come and read to him; but their former open-heartedintercourse seemed irrevocably a thing of the past. With thereturn of the troops, however, interests multiplied.Desmond's hold on the hearts of all who knew him had seldombeen so practically proven; and the man was moved beyondmeasure at that which he could not fail to perceive. Hissmall study was rarely empty, and often overcrowded withmen—Sikhs, Gunners, Sappers, and, above all, his ownbrother officers, who filled the place with tobacco-smoke,the cheerful clink of ice against long tumblers, andfrequent explosions of deep-chested laughter; while Desmondthrew himself whole-heartedly into the good minute andenjoyed it to the full.

To Evelyn this new state of things was a littledisconcerting. During Theo's illness she, as his wife, hadenjoyed special attention and consideration; and since herincomprehensible refusal of his offer to throw up theFrontier, had even regarded herself as something of aheroine, if an unwilling one. Now, all of a sudden, she feltdeserted, unimportant, and more or less "out of it all." Thepast fortnight seemed an uplifted dream, from which she hadawakened to find herself sitting among the dust and stonesof prose and hard facts. Yet she could not complaindefinitely of anything or any one. Honor and Theo were kindand tender, as always; but the one was temporarily busy, andthe other very naturally enjoying a reversion to masculinesociety. Nobody seemed to want her. There seemed noparticular use for her any more.

To make matters worse, the whole station wore a subdued air.The Club compound was practically deserted; and Evelyn'sfirst outing in that direction left her with no desire torepeat the experiment for the present. The Sikhs had lost apopular captain; while a Gunner subaltern, who had returnedseriously wounded, was being nursed by Mrs Conolly and theonly woman in the battery.

This sort of thing was, as Theo had said, "part and parcel"of life on the Frontier; it was to this that she hadcondemned herself for the next twenty years at least; bywhich time she supposed she would be far too old to care forthe frivolities of life at all! If only Theo would begenerous and give her a second chance, she would not let itslip this time—she would not indeed!

Altogether the aspect of things in general was sufficientlydepressing. Then one afternoon she met Owen Kresney; and allat once life seemed to take on a new complexion. Here, atleast, was some one who wanted her, when every one elseseemed only to want Theo; some one who was really glad tosee her—rather too emphatically glad, perhaps; but theeagerness of his greeting flattered her, and she hadoverlooked the rest. She had been returning in her jhampanfrom her melancholy outing to the Club, when he had caughtsight of her in the distance, and cantering up to her side,had dismounted, and shaken hands as though they had not metfor a year.

"How awfully white and pulled down you look!" he had saidwith low-toned sympathy. "They must have been working youtoo hard. They forget that you are not a strapping womanlike Miss Meredith."

"No one has worked me too hard," she answered, flushing atthe veiled implication against her husband. "I wanted to doas much as the others."

"Of course you did. But you are too delicate to work likethat, and it isn't fair to take advantage of yourunselfishness. I hope you're going off to the Hills verysoon, now that Desmond is better?"

Her voice had an unconscious weariness, and he bent a littlecloser, scanning her face with a concern that bordered ontenderness. "We have thought of you a great deal these twoweeks, Mrs Desmond," he said. "We hardly cared to go out totennis, or anything, while you were in such trouble. But nowit has all come out right, you must be dreadfully in want ofcheering up. Won't you come home with me and have a talk,like old times? Linda would be awfully pleased to see youagain."

The temptation was irresistible. It emphasised her vaguesense of loneliness, of being left out in the cold. Thelonging to be comforted and made much of was strong uponher.

"It is very nice of you to want me," she had said, as simplyas a child. To which he had replied with prompt, if somewhatcheap, gallantry that no one could possibly help wantingher; and his reward had been a flush, as delicate in tint asthe inner surface of a shell. This man had one strong pointin his favour—he invariably talked to her about herself; atrick Desmond had never learnt, nor ever would.

She had spent more than an hour in Miss Kresney's stuffy,dusty drawing-room, and had left it with a pleasantlyrevived sense of her own importance; had left Kresneyhimself in a state of carefully repressed triumph; for shehad promised him an early morning ride in two days' time.

It was all harmless enough so far as she wasconcerned—merely a case of flattered vanity and idle hands.But the strong nature, the large purpose, lies eternally atthe mercy of life's little things.

She said nothing to Honor or Theo of her meeting withKresney, or of the coming ride. A fortnight of submission tothe former had evoked a passing gleam of independence. Theywould probably make a fuss; and since they neither of themneeded her, she was surely at liberty to amuse herself asshe pleased.

On her return a buzz of deep voices greeted her from thestudy, and it transpired that Honor had gone over to MrsConolly's. Thus she had leisure before dinner to argue thematter out in her mind to her own complete justification. IfMr Kresney chose to be polite to her, why should she rebuffhim and hurt his feelings, just because Theo had some stupidprejudice against him? On the other hand, where was the useof vexing Theo, when every one was doing their best toshield him from needless irritation? As soon as his eyeswere right they would go to the Hills together. She wouldhave him all to herself; and Kresney sank into immediateinsignificance at the thought.

Meanwhile the man's assiduity and thinly veiled admirationformed a welcome relief in a desert of dulness. Besides, onewas bound to be pleasant to a man when one practically owedhim two hundred rupees.

Unwittingly she shelved the fact that Kresney was beginningto exercise a disturbing fascination over her; that theinsistence underlying his humility alternately pleased andfrightened her; the lurking fear of what he might say nextgave a distinct flavour of excitement to their everymeeting.

The slippery path that lies between truth and directfalsehood had always been fatally easy for her to follow;and she followed it now more from natural instinct, and fromthe child's dread of making people "cross," than from anydeliberate intent to deceive. It was so much easier to saynothing. Therefore she said nothing; and left the future tolook after itself.

On returning from her first ride with Kresney, she foundHonor in the verandah giving orders to a sais. The girllifted her out of the saddle, and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Such a very early Ladybird!" she said, laughing. "You mighthave let me come too."

Accordingly they went out together the next morning, but onfuture occasions Evelyn returned more cautiously, andchanged her habit before appearing at the breakfast-table.She went out once or twice in the afternoons also, andHonor's thoughts flew to the Kresneys as a matter of course;but remembering a certain incident at Murree, she held herpeace. She was disheartened, and very far from satisfied,nevertheless.

In this fashion ten days slipped uneventfully past. Then, ona certain afternoon, Kresney again met Evelyn bychance,—and begged her to come back with him to tea beforegoing home. Her consent was a foregone conclusion; and asthey neared Kresney's whitewashed gate-posts, CaptainOlliver trotted past. He had already met Miss Kresneyjogging out to tea on a long-tailed pony of uncertain age;and glancing casually back over his shoulder, he saw MrsDesmond's jhampan entering the gateway. Whereat he sworevigorously under his breath, and urged his pony to a briskerpace.

But of these facts Evelyn was blissfully unaware. Heruppermost thought was a happy consciousness of looking herbest. From the forget-me-nots in her hat to the last frillof her India muslin gown all was blue—the fragile blue ofthe far horizon at dawn. And Kresney had an eye for suchthings.

"Why, what a fool I am!" the man exclaimed with acreditable air of frankness. "I clean forgot she had goneout to tea. But you're not going to desert me on thataccount! You wouldn't be so unkind!"

Evelyn felt herself trapped. It would seem foolish andpointed to go; yet she had sense enough to know that itwould be very unwise to stay. She compromised matters bysaying sweetly that she would come in just for ten minutes,to have a cup of tea before going back in the sun.

Kresney looked his gratification—looked it so eloquentlythat she lowered her eyes, and went forwards hurriedly, asif fearing that something more definite might follow thelook.

But the man, though inwardly exultant, was well on hisguard. If he startled her this first time, he could not hopeto repeat the experiment. He chose the most comfortablechair for her; insisted on an elaborate arrangement ofcushions at her back; poured out her tea; and plied herassiduously with stale sponge-cake and mixed biscuits. Thendrawing up his own chair very close, he settled himself tothe congenial task of amusing and flattering her, with suchsuccess that her ten minutes had stretched to an hour beforeshe even thought of rising to go.

Captain Olliver, meanwhile, had ridden on to the bluebungalow, which chanced to be his destination; and had spenthalf an hour in desultory talk with Desmond, Wyndham, andthe Colonel, who had fallen into a habit of dropping inalmost daily.

As he rose to take his leave, a glance at Wyndham broughtthe latter out into the hall with him.

"Yes. Can we have a few words alone anywhere? It concernsDesmond, and I can't speak to him myself."

"Nothing serious, I hope. Come in here a minute." And he ledthe way into his own Spartan-looking room.

But Olliver balanced himself on the edge of the table,tapped his pipe against it, and loosened the contentsscientifically with his penknife before complying with therequest.

"The truth is," he began at length, "that it's about MrsDesmond and that confounded cad Kresney."

"Ah!" The note of pain in Wyndham's voice made the otherlook at him questioningly.

"Well,—it was rather marked while Desmond was away. Nothingto trouble about, though, if it had been any other man thanKresney."

"That's precisely what my wife says. You know what a lot shethinks of Desmond; and I believe she's capable of tacklingthe little woman herself, which I couldn't stand at anyprice. That's why I promised to speak to you to-day. Hope itdoesn't seem infernal cheek on my part."

Each instinctively avoided the other's eyes; while Olliver,in a few curt sentences, spoke his mind on the subject inhand.

The bond that links the inhabitants of small isolated Indianstations is a thing that only the Anglo-Indian can quiteunderstand. Desmond's illness, and the possible tragedyoverhanging him, had roused such strong feeling in Kohat,that his wife's conduct—which at another time would merelyhave supplied material for a little mild gossip—hadawakened the general sense of indignation, more especiallyamong the men. But men are not free of speech on thesematters, and it was certain pungent remarks made by littleMrs Riley of the Sikhs which had set Frank Olliver's Irishtemper in a blaze. The recollection of what she had seenduring Desmond's absence still rankled in her mind; and herhusband, with a masculine dread of an open quarrel betweenthe only two ladies in the Regiment, had accepted the lesserevil of speaking to Wyndham himself.

"Mind, I give Mrs Desmond credit for being more passive thanactive in the whole affair," he concluded, since Paul seemeddisinclined to volunteer a remark. "But the deuce of it is,that I feel sure Desmond knows less about the thing than anyone else. Can you see him putting up with it under anycircumstances?"

Wyndham shook his head; and for a while they smoked insilence thinking their own thoughts.

"You want me," Paul asked at length, "to pass all this onto Desmond? Is that it?"

"That's a ticklish question. But I'm inclined to think itis. We can't be expected to stand a bounder like Kresneyhanging round one of our ladies. Why, I met him as I camehere, taking her into his bungalow; and I had only justpassed the sister on that old patriarch she rides. I callthat going a bit too far; and I fancy Desmond would agreewith me."

"No, no. Of course not. You can make things clear withoutsaying too much. Beastly unpleasant job, and I'm sorry to beforcing it on you. But you must know that you're the onlychap in the Regiment who could dream of speaking two wordsto Desmond on such a delicate subject."

"I doubt if he will stand it, even from me; and I'd a dealsooner wring Kresney's neck. But I'll do the best I can, andtake my chance of the consequences to myself."

Thus reassured, Olliver departed, and Wyndham, watching himgo, wondered what he intended to say.

There are few things more distasteful to a well-bred manthan the necessity of speaking to a friend, howeverintimate, on the subject of his wife's conduct or character;because there are few things a man respects more intimatelythan his fellow-man's reserve. Wyndham knew, moreover, thatthe real sting of his communication would lie less in thefacts themselves than in Mrs Desmond's probable concealmentof them; and his natural kindliness prompted him to apassing pity for Evelyn, who, in all likelihood, had not yetpenetrated beyond the outer shell of her husband's stronglymarked character.

The only means of tempering the wind to the shorn lamb layin speaking first to Honor; and on that idea Wyndhamunconditionally turned his back. Mrs Desmond had broughtthis thing upon herself. She must face the consequences asbest she might.

But on entering the study, the words he had come to say werechecked upon his lips.

Desmond stood beside the writing-table, where the greenshade lay discarded; and a noticeable scar on his rightcheek was all that now remained of the wound which hadthreatened such serious results. His whole attention wascentred upon Rob, who pranced at his feet with ungainlycaperings, flinging dignity to the winds, and testifying,with heart and voice and eloquent tail, to the joy that wasin him.

Paul's sensitive soul revolted from the necessity ofimparting ill news at such a moment; and it was Desmond whospoke first.

"Mackay's been here this minute making a final examinationof my eyes. Gave me leave, thank God, to discardthatabomination; and Rob hasn't left off congratulating me sinceI flung it on the table. The little beggar seems tounderstand what's happened just as well as I do." He turnedon Wyndham with a short satisfied laugh. "By Jove, Paul,it's thundering good to lookyou squarely in the faceagain! But why,—what's the trouble, old man? Have you heardbad news?"

Desmond motioned him to a chair; and, as he seated himselfwith unhurried deliberation, laid a sympathetic hand on hisshoulder.

"It concernsyou, my dear Theo," Paul answered slowly."And it is about—your wife."

Desmond frowned sharply, and Wyndham saw the defensive lookspring into his eyes.

Desmond's mouth took an expression Wyndham knew well. Anenemy might have called it pig-headed.

And he went leisurely over to the mantelpiece, where heremained, leaning on one elbow, his back towards hiscompanion. Paul saw plainly that he was ill at ease, andcursed the contingency which compelled him to furtherspeech.

"Forgive me if I seem intrusive, Theo," he began, "but I amafraid there is more to be said. This afternoon Olliverspoke to me——"

"What the hell has Olliver got to do withmy wife? I havenever interfered with his."

Paul Wyndham looked very steadily into the disturbed face ofhis friend. Then he brought his hand down on the green baizeof the table before him.

"Theo—my dear fellow," he said, "it is hard enough for me,in any case, to say what I must. Is it quite generous of youto make it harder?"

The fire died slowly out of Desmond's eyes, giving place toa look of stubborn resignation.

"Forgive me, Paul. Sorry I lost my temper. Let me have thebare facts, please. Though I probably know them already."

And he returned to his former attitude, the fingers of hisleft hand caressing mechanically the stem of a tall vase.

His last remark made Paul watch him anxiously. He waswondering whether Theo's determination to shield his wifewould possibly goad him into a direct lie; and he devoutlyhoped not.

"Well," he began at length, "Olliver spoke to me becausethere seems to be rather a strong feeling in the Regimentabout Mrs Desmond and—Kresney being so constantly togetheragain just now——"

The vase Desmond was handling fell with a crash on theconcrete hearth, and the blood spurted from a surface cut onhis finger. But beyond thrusting the scarred hand into hiscoat pocket, he made no movement.

"Go on," he said doggedly; and Paul obediently went on,addressing his unresponsive back and shoulders.

"You see, it was rather—noticeable while you were away.Perhaps the fact that we all dislike Kresney made it moreso; and it naturally strikes one as very bad taste on hispart to be forcing himself on your wife at a time like this.It seems there was some slight talk at the Club too—notworth noticing, of course. But you know Mrs Olliver takesfire easily, where any of us are concerned; and Olliverseemed afraid she might speak to Mrs Desmond, unless I cameto you. He met them again this afternoon; and he felt youought at least to know exactly how matters stand——"

"He might have taken it for granted that I should do thatwithouthis interference."

Desmond's temper was flaring up again; and his words broughtthe anxious look back to Paul's eyes. Theo was sailing verynear the wind.

"We all know you too well to believe that youwould—tolerate such a state of things—if you were awareof them," he answered slowly, choosing his words with care."Please understand, Theo, that it is Kresney who iscriticised; and that Olliver put the whole thing before meas nicely as possible. I feel I have been clumsy enoughmyself. But it goes against the grain to say anything atall, you understand?"

Desmond's sole answer was a decisive nod of the head. Thensilence fell—a strained silence, difficult to break. Yet itwas he himself who broke it.

"I can do no less than thank you," he said stiffly. "It wasa hateful thing to have thrust upon you; but Frank'sintrusion would have been unendurable. The truth is—" hepaused, for the words were hard to bring out—"I haveknown—all along that my wife was more friendly with—theseKresneys than I quite cared about. One could make no validobjections without seeming uncharitable, and she is stilltoo new here to understand our point of view. But I must seeto it now that sheshall understand, once and for all. Itis intolerable to have one's brother officers—makingremarks, even with the best intentions. Will you ask Honorto tell my wife, when she comes in, that I want to see her?"

Silence again; and Paul rose to his feet. It hurt him toleave his friend without a word. But the attitude Desmondhad adopted precluded the lightest touch of sympathy, andWyndham could not choose but admire him the more.

"By the way"—Desmond turned upon him as he went withstartling abruptness—"Honor isn't in any way mixed upwith all this, is she?"

Something in his look and tone made Wyndham glance at himintently before replying. "Of course she saw how things werewhile you were away. But she has been out very littlelately; and as far as I can judge, she knows nothing aboutthe talk that is going on now."

"Thank Heaven!" Desmond muttered into his moustache; butPaul's ear failed to catch the words.

Paul's eyes rested thoughtfully upon his friend, who,absorbed in his own reflections, seemed to have forgottenhis presence. Then he went slowly away, revolving the matterin his mind.

While avoiding the least shadow of false statement, Desmondhad succeeded in shielding his wife from the one seriousimplication suggested by her conduct, or at least would haveso succeeded, but for the tell-tale crash of glass upon thehearth-stone. Yet the most vivid impression left on Paul bytheir short interview was the look in Theo's eyes when hehad asked that one abrupt question about Honor Meredith.

Wyndham reined in the involuntary thought, as a man reinsin his horse on the brink of a precipice. Common loyalty tothe friend he loved, with the unspoken love of half alifetime, forbade him to look that shrouded possibilityfrankly in the face.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE LOSS OF ALL.

Evelyn Desmond closed the door behind her; and at sight ofher husband transformed into his very self—freed at lastfrom all disfigurements—she ran to him with outstretchedarms.

But Desmond had no answer to give her. He simply squared hisright arm, warding off her hands.

Then she saw the hard lines of his mouth, the inexpressiblepain in his eyes; and, clutching at his rigid forearm, triedto force it down. She might as well have tried to shift abar of iron.

"What's the matter with you now?" she asked, half petulant,half fearful. "Has anything else gone wrong? Haven't we hadenough misery and depression——?"

"There's no more call for acting, Evelyn," Desmondinterposed with an ominous quietness more disconcerting thananger—"Doesn't your own conscience tell you what may havegone wrong?"

At that the colour left her face. "You mean—is itabout—me?" she asked with shaking lips.

"Yes. About you." Her pitiful aspect softened him; he tookher arm and set her gently down upon a chair;—the selfsamechair that Paul had occupied half an hour ago. "Don't befrightened," he said gently; "I won't hurt you more than Imust. Ever since we married I have done my utmost to helpyou, spare you, shield you; but now—we've got to arrive ata clear understanding, once for all. First I want you toanswer a question or two, straightly, without prevarication.You went out early, it seems. Where?"

"I met Mr Kresney—quite by chance. He wanted me to come into tea. He said Miss Kresney would soon be home—andI—I——"

"No need for polite fabrications;" he took her up quickly."You went in. Miss Kresney didnot come home. Is this thefirst time he has trapped you with a convenient lie? Tell methat."

"If you're going to get so angry, Theo, I won't tell youanything, and Iwon't be questioned like a creature in awitness-box! Some one's been saying horrid things of me.Major Wyndham, I suppose. You wouldn't listen to any oneelse. It's very mean of him——"

Desmond took a hasty step forward. "How dare you speak so ofthe straightest man living!" he cried with imperious heat."You, who have taken advantage of my blindness to deceive medeliberately a second time, on account of a cad who isn'tfit to tie your shoe-strings. I've been blind in more thanone way lately. But that is over now. I am not likely torepeat the mistake of trusting you implicitly—after this."

She cowered under the lash of his just wrath, hiding herface and crying heart-broken tears—the bitterest she hadyet shed. In snatching at the shadow it seemed she had lostthe substance past recall.

"Oh! You are cruel—horrible!" she wailed, with herdisarming, pathetic air of a scolded child that made a roughword to her seem cowardly as a blow.

"No need to break your heart over it," he said more gently;"and as to cruelty, Evelyn, haven't you abused my faith inyour loyalty and dragged my pride in the dust by lettingyour name be coupled with that man's, though I told youplainly I had good reasons for distrusting and dislikinghim. I suppose he made a dead set at you while I wasaway—cowardly brute! But what hits me hardest of all is notyour indiscretion; it's your persistent crookedness thatpoisons everything. It was the same over your bills lastyear—as I told you then. It's the same now. It's a poorlook-out if a man can't trust his own wife; but I supposeyou must have lied to me—and to Honor, a dozen times thislast week."

It had cost him an effort to speak so plainly and at suchlength; but his wife's uneven breathing was the only answerhe received.

"N—no," she answered in a choked voice, without uncoveringher face; "it wouldn't be any use."

"No—no. But you brave, strong sort of people can't everknow how hard little things are for—for people like me. Ithas been so—dull lately. You had—all those men, and—I waslonely. It was nice to have some one—wanting me—some onenot miles above my head. But I knew you would be cross if Itold you—and—and—" tears choked her utterance—"oh, it'sno good talking. You'd never understand."

"I understand this much, my dear," he said. "You are done upwith the strain of nursing, and badly in need of a change.But we shall soon get away on leave now; and I will see toit that you shall never feel dull or out of it again. Onlyone thing I insist upon—your intimacy with—that man is atan end. No more riding with him; no more going to hisbungalow. From to-day you treat him and his sister as mereacquaintances."

She faced him now with terror-stricken eyes. For while hespoke, she had perceived the full extent of her dilemma.

"But, Theo—there isn't any need for that," she urged, witha thrill of fear at her own boldness. "They would think itso odd. What excuses could I possibly make?"

"That's your affair," Desmond answered unmoved. "You are abetter hand at it than I am. My only concern is that youshall put an end to this equivocal state of things forgood."

At that she hid her face again, with a sob of despair. "Ican't do it—Ican't. It's impossible!" she murmuredvehemently more to herself than to him.

Her unexpected opposition fanned his smouldering wrath to ablaze. He took her by the shoulder—not roughly, but verydecisively.

It was the first time he had touched her untenderly; and shequivered in every nerve.

"Great Heavens, Evelyn!" he broke out, "don't you see thatyou are forcing upon me a suspicion that is an insult to usboth?"

She looked up at him in blank bewilderment, then jerkedherself free from his hand.

"I—I don't understand what you mean. But if youwillthink horrid things of me you may. I can't explain and—Iwon't!"

"You—won't," Desmond repeated slowly, frozen incredulityin his eyes; and she, fearing she had gone too far, caughtat the hand she had shaken off.

"Oh, Theo, whatdoes it matter after all?" she urgedbetween irritation and despair, "when you know quite wellit's you—that I love?"

The appeal was too ill-timed to be convincing; and Desmond'ssmile had a tinge of bitterness in it.

"You have an uncommonly original way of showing it," hesaid coldly; "and the statement doesn't square with yourrefusal to explain yourself. You have broken up thefoundations of—things to-day, Evelyn! You have killed mytrust in you altogether. You may remember, perhaps,—whatthat involves." And withdrawing his hand he turned and lefther.

But he had roused her at last by the infliction of a paintoo intense for tears. She sprang up, knocking over thechair that fell with a thud on the carpet, and hurried afterhim, clinging to his unresponsive arm.

"Theo, Theo, take care what you say! Do you mean—truthfullythat you don't—love me any more?"

"God knows," he answered wearily. "Let me alone now, forHeaven's sake, till I can see things clearer. But I'll notalter my decision about Kresney, whatever your mysteriousimpossibilities may be."

Freeing himself gently but deliberately, he went over to theverandah door and stood there, erect, motionless, his backtowards her, looking out upon the featureless huts of theservants' quarters with eyes that saw nothing save a visionof his wife's face, as it had shone upon him, more than twoyears ago, in the Garden of Tombs.

And it was shining upon him now—had he but guessed it,—notwith the simple tenderness of girlhood; but with thedespairing half-worshipping love of a woman.

When he heard the door close softly behind her, he cameback into the room, mechanically righted the chair, andsitting down upon it buried his face in his hands.

CHAPTER XXXII.

EVEN TO THE UTMOST.

When Evelyn Desmond stumbled out of her husband's presence,stunned, bewildered, blinded with tears, the one coherentthought left in her mind was—Honor. Amid all that wasterrifying and heart-breaking, Honor's love stood sure; arock in mid-ocean—the one certainty that would never failher, though the world went to pieces under her feet.

"Come in," the low voice sounded from the other side. Thegirl was standing before the looking-glass, pinning on herhat.

"I was going across to ask after Mr Bradley," she explained,completing the operation before looking round. But at sightof Evelyn's face she hurried forward, holding out her arms.

"Everything's happened! It's all finished between Theo andme. Broken up. He said so—and—I'm going away. Thereare—other people who care. I won't stay with a man whodoesn't love me—or trust me——"

But Honor, holding her closer, looked searchingly into herface. "Evelyn, that isnot true!"

"Oh, you poor, poor child!" Honor murmured, kissing her witha strange fervour of sympathy. "But tell me—what's thereason of all this? If Theo did say such terrible things, hemust have been cruelly hurt or very angry——"

"He was—very angry. I'm sure he won't forgive me this time;and I do believe it would be better all round if I wentright away and left him in peace with his polo and hissquadron and his precious Frontier Force——"

She spoke with such tragic certainty that the girl smiled inspite of herself. "Why? What have you done? Tell me—quick!"

"Oh! It's notme that's done," Evelyn declared with herengaging air of injured innocence. "It's other people—MajorWyndham, I believe—making remarks to him about me and—MrKresney."

"Why on earth shouldn't I? But now Theo's simply ordered meto drop them. It's quite impossible. I—I told him so."

Evelyn regarded her with a misty smile. "You're verywonderful, Honor. But evenyou can't help now. Yousee—it's money——"

"Promise you won't stop loving me and be angry—like Theowas," Evelyn pleaded, the incurable child flashing out inthe midst of her distress. "I've had enough for to-day."

Then the small sordid tragedy came out in broken snatches,to the last particle. For once in her life Evelyn Desmondspoke the unvarnished truth, adorning nothing, extenuatingnothing; and Honour listened in an enigmatical silence—asilence which held even after the last word had been spoken.Evelyn looked up at her nervously.

"No,—I am not angry," Honor answered slowly. "Where wouldbe the use? I am simply—astounded that you coulddare torun such risks with the love of a man who is one among athousand."

She spoke the last words with unguarded enthusiasm; notperceiving, till they were out, the intent look on Evelyn'sface.

"I knew you were friends with Theo, Honor," she said, "but Inever thought you admired him as much—as allthat."

"I am not alone in my opinion," she said with an uneasylaugh. "There are dozens of others who would say no less. Itis only that I want you to realise your good fortune beforeit is too late."

"But itis too late. If he's angry now he'll be furiouswhen he knows. And unless I go away he willhave to know."

"You shall not go away. And he must never know. He hassuffered enough as it is——"

"A hundred and fifty—no, two hundred. And I can't possiblypay it for months and months."

By this time Honor had crossed to the chest of drawers nearher bed and had taken out a small japanned cash-box. Evelynwatched her movements with ecstatic enlightenment.

But the girl neither answered nor turned her head. She tookout a small sheaf of notes, locked the cash-box, and put itaway. Then taking an envelope from her rack, she sealed andaddressed it, while Evelyn leaned against thedressing-table, white and speechless from the shock ofrelief.

"The whole amount is in there," Honor said, handing her theenvelope, and speaking in a repressed voice. "Luckily I hadhardly touched my month's money. This makes you free to doas Theo wishes. I don't want a penny of it back—ever. AndTheo is never to know anything about the whole transaction.Promise me that; and don'tdare to break your word."

"I promise faithfully. Oh, Honor, you are my good angel!Shall I take it now—at once?"

"No. Not you. I must go myself. It ought to be delivered tohim in person, and I must have a stamped receipt."

"Honor, how horrid! Just as if he were a shop!Besides—nobody butme can give it—or explain——"

"Just whatever comes into my head. Married women understandthese sort of things. I shall know what to say—at thetime."

"There you go!" Tears threatened again and her voice shook."You talk about loving me and you don't trust me any morethan Theo does. If I mayn't do this my own way I won't takethe money at all."

"Don't talk nonsense, child," Honor cried desperately, herown self-control almost at an end. "Youmust take it. Andif you insist on running risks with your eyes open, there'sno more to be said except make haste and get the wretchedthing done with. Go at once, in your jhampan—anddon'tleave it. Ask for Miss Kresney; and—shop or no shop—mindyou get a proper receipt. Then come straight home and tellTheo you will do what he wishes. He will have had time tothink things over and it will be all right. I know it will.Perhaps you would like me to speak of it to him, if I getthe chance?"

"Yes—yes. Do, please! You dear, wonderful Honor! I don'tknow how to say thank you enough——"

But Honor disengaged herself something hurriedly. The acheof rebellion at her heart made Evelyn's effusivenessunendurable.

"Don't thank me at all," she said. "I don't want yourthanks. I don't—deserve them. Take care of that envelope;it is worth more than two hundred rupees to you—and to me.Now go!"

And taking her by the shoulders, she put her gently outsidethe door. Then, drawing a deep breath of relief, stood alonewith the realisation of all that had passed.

It seemed that she was not to be spared one drop of the cupof bitterness; that to her had been assigned the task ofSisyphus, the ceaseless rolling upward of a stone that asceaselessly rolled down; the continual re-establishment ofEvelyn in the shrine of her husband's heart. And there wouldbe no end to it, even after John's return. So long as thesetwo had need of her, heart and brain and hands would be attheir service. She did not definitely think this, becausetrue heroism is unaware of itself. "It feels, and neverreasons; and therefore is always right."

Honor was aware of nothing just then, but the keen pang ofself-reproach. "God forgive me!" she murmured, forming thewords with her lips. "I did it forhim."

Then she started, and the blood flew to her face. ForDesmond's voice, imperious, entreating, rang clear throughthe quiet of the house.

And without a thought of what she intended to say, Honorwent out to the completion of her day's work. That was herpractical way of looking at the matter.

"It will be easy enough," she reflected as she went. Theentreaty in Desmond's voice assured her of that.

But in the drawing-room doorway she stood still,extraordinarily still. For Desmond himself confronted her;and she had not anticipated the ordeal of a face-to-faceencounter.

Involuntarily, inevitably, their eyes met, and lingered ineach other's depths. It was their first real greeting sincehis return; and they felt it as such. It was the first timealso that Desmond had seen her completely since hislightning-flash of self-knowledge; and in the same instantthe same thought sprang to both their minds—that, in thepast three weeks, the detested shade had served them betterthan they knew.

For a full minute it seemed as if these two, whose couragewas above proof, did not dare risk movement or speech. Butit was no more than a minute. Each was incapable ofsuspecting the other's hidden fear; and now, as always,Evelyn was the foremost thought in the minds of both.

Honor knew what must come next; knew also that she couldneither lie to him nor tell him the truth.

"Yes, Theo, I do know," she answered, coming into the room,and speaking with a noble directness that was like a lightthrown across tortuous ways. "It was unavoidable. I wouldrather not say any more. You can trust me, can't you?"

"As I trust God and my own soul," he replied with profoundconviction. "Did she seem—much upset?"

"Yes,—terribly upset. Not without reason. She told meeverything. May I speak of it, Theo? You won't thinkme—intrusive?"

"You? Say what you please. I was a brute to her; and Iknow it. But I swear I wasn't hard on her till she refusedto break with Kresney. Did she give you any sort of reasonfor that?"

"Yes; and I have quite cleared up the difficulty; though I'mafraid you mustn't ask me how."

"You seem hedged about with mysteries this evening," heremarked, a trifle curtly. "I confess I like daylight, andstraight roads."

"Not more than I do, Theo. But you have said you can trustme; and at least I can assure you that there was no questionof personal reluctance. Whatever Evelyn's failings may be, Iknow thatyou are the one big thing in her life."

Desmond compressed his lips, and looked down thoughtfully atthe bearskin under his feet; while Honor allowed her eyes todwell on the goodly lines of his face. Then he squared hisshoulders and looked up at her.

"Honor—if that is true—and I think it is—you are boundto let me help her by the only means in my power. Give meback that promise of mine. I am strong enough now to tacklethe subject; and I warn you fairly that I mean to have myown way. So don't waste time by beating about the bush."

The unexpected attack unbalanced her, and the blood left herface; but there was no hint of yielding in her eyes. Theywere equally matched these two—strength for strength; willfor will. The ultimate victory might rest with either.

"Yes, precisely—to-day. My mistake—my selfishness, hasbeen very painfully brought home to me in the last hour; andI don't ask it of you—I demand it."

The hot blood mounted to his temples, but he shut his teethto keep back hasty speech. Then, as the silence grew anddeepened between them, anger gave place to an unboundedadmiration.

They were standing now face to face, beside the mantelpiece,exactly as they had stood on that eventful April afternoon ayear ago. The memory came to them simultaneously; and eachsaw the light of it spring into the other's eyes. Honor'sface softened.

"You remember," she urged. "I see that you remember; and thearguments you admitted then hold even more strongly now.Besides—you said I had earned the right——"

"So you have—ten times over since then. But to-day I seemy duty to Ladybird so clearly, that no one—not evenyou—must stand in the way of it. You would realise betterhow I feel, if you had heard her pitiful excuses. She was'dull.' She was 'lonely.' I had 'all those men,'—so I had.She was right, poor child! Truth is, my life is so richlyfilled with 'all those men,' that I sometimes wonder if Iwas justified in bringing a woman into it at all. But havingdone so, I'm bound to take her where she won't be tempted toentangle herself with cads like Kresney, just because shefeels dull and lonely. That's the source of half thecatastrophes one hears of in this country; and in nine casesout of ten I blame the husband more than the wife. You see,I happen to believe that when a man takes a woman's lifeinto his hands, he makes himself responsible not only forher honour, but for her happiness and well-being. I'm notsetting up a standard for other fellows, remember. I amsimply stating my own by way of explanation."

"I can only say that Evelyn is—a singularly fortunatewoman. If most men held such views there would be ninety percent fewer marriages in the world."

"Possibly. But that doesn't put me in the wrong. Now, I haveset the picture before you as I see it——"

"Oh, hang it all!" Desmond protested with an embarrassedlaugh. "One's bound to leave out something. That's the wholeart of making a decent picture! But it strikes me we've hadenough of argument. Whether I have convinced you or not,Honor, youmust let me off that promise."

"Forgive me, if you know how, Theo," she said; "but Icannot—I will not give up my right to save you fromyourself."

Desmond simply raised his head and looked at her, as thoughhe could not believe that he had heard aright; and when atlast he spoke, his voice had the level note of authoritywhich she had been dreading to hear.

"At the risk of seeming brutal, Honor, I warn you that I'llnot give you one minute's peace till you unsay thosewords—for Ladybird's sake."

Then, to his unspeakable consternation, she took a stepbackward and sank into the chair behind her, pressing bothhands over her eyes.

"Do whatever you think right," she murmured brokenly. "Youare too strong for me altogether."

There are victories more bitter than defeat; and Desmond hadno words in which to answer this girl, who cared sostrangely, so intensely, much what became of him.

When a woman breaks down utterly in the presence of the manwho loves her—whether he dare acknowledge it or no—wordsare not apt to meet the exigencies of the case; and Desmondhad no other panacea at his command. He could only standlooking down upon her, his hands thrust deep into hispockets, as if he feared that they might go out to her oftheir own accord; his eyes darkened with such intensity ofpain that it was well for both that hers were shielded fromsight of them.

He longed, beyond all things on earth, to kneel down andcomfort her. He knew that three words from him would put anend to her distress, and cancel his own quixotic plan ofaction. But the words were not uttered; and he remainedstanding on the hearth-rug with his hands in his pockets.There was no sign in the quiet room that anything noteworthyhad taken place. Yet on those two prosaic details the futureof three lives depended—a man silent when he might havespoken; planted squarely on his feet when he might have beenon his knees.

Rob got up and stretched himself elaborately, vented hisboredom in a long musical yawn, then settled down to sleepagain in a more expansive attitude; and Evelyn's Frenchclock struck six with cheerful unconcern.

The silence, which seemed interminable, might possibly havelasted three minutes, when Honor let fall her hands, andlooked up at the man who had mastered her. He looked what hewas—unconquerable; and if she had not loved him already,she must infallibly have loved him then.

"Please understand," she said, and her voice was not quitesteady, "that I have notgiven my consent to this. Youhave simply wrenched it from me by the sheer force of—yourpersonality. You have not altered my conviction by ahair's-breadth. What you have set your heart on is a pieceof unjustifiable quixotism; and I have only one thing to begof you now. Do nothing decisive till you have spoken toPaul."

"No, certainly not." The refusal came out short and sharp."If you two combined forces against me I should be done for!Leave me to manage Paul alone."

"Theo—Theo," she protested, "if you really persist in this,and carry it through, I don't think I shall ever forgiveyou."

And now his hands went out to her irresistibly, in the oldimpulsive fashion, that seemed an echo from a former life.

With superlative courage she turned and surrendered both herown. She wanted to prove herself, at all points, simply hisfriend; and he gave her no cause to repent of her courage,or to suspect the strong restraint he put upon himselfduring that brief contact, which, at a moment so chargedwith emotion, might well have proved fatal to them both.

But for her, speech was impossible. She bowed her head, andleft him standing alone, with the dregs of victory.

On reaching the blessed shelter of her own room she boltedthe door; and for once in her life grief had its way withher unhindered.

She could not guess, while railing against Desmond'stenacity of purpose, that the same passionate self-reproachwhich had urged her to go all lengths for Evelyn, was urginghim now to a supreme act of self-devotion to his wife'shappiness.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE ONE BIG THING.

His wife herself was, in the meanwhile, journeying hopefullyback to the Kresneys' bungalow, on the shoulders of fourlong-suffering jhampanis, who murmured a little amongthemselves, without rancour or vexation, concerning theperplexing ways of Memsahibs in general. For the native ofIndia the supreme riddle of creation is the English "Mem."

They had but just cast aside their liveries and, squattingon their heels in a patch of shadow, had embarked onleisurely preparations for the evening hookah and theevening meal. The scent of curry was in their nostrils; theregular "flip-flap" of the deftly turned chupattie was intheir ears; when a flying order had come from thehouse—"The Memsahib goes forth in haste!" With resignedmutterings and head-shakings they had responded to the callof duty, and themate,[30] who was a philosopher, had aword of comfort for them as they went. "Worse might havebefallen, brothers, seeing that it hath pleased God to makeour Memsahib light as a bird. Had it been the Miss Sahib,now——" A unanimous murmur testified that the Miss Sahibwould have been a far weightier affair!

And on this occasion they must have found their mistresseven lighter than a bird; for instead of lying back amongher cushions, she sat upright, in strained anticipation,pressing between her hands the miraculous envelope which wasto buy back for her all that she had so lightly flung away.

Honor had spoken truth when she said that Desmond was theone big thing in Evelyn's life. Everything else about herwas small as her person, and little more effectual. But thisimpetuous, large-hearted husband of hers—whose love she hadbeen so proud to win, and had taken such small pains tokeep—could by no means be chiselled into proportions withthe rest of the picture. He took his stand, simply andnaturally, on the heights; and if it was an effort to keepup with him, it was a real calamity to be left behind.Understand him she could not, and never would; but itsufficed that she saw him fearless, chivalrous, admired onall sides, and singularly good to look at. This last shouldperhaps have been set down first; for there is no denyingthat her remorse, her suffering, had been less overwhelmingwithout that unexpected vision of his face.

But things were going to be all right soon. She would neverhide anything from him again—never. And the resolve may becounted unto her for righteousness, even if there could besmall hope of its fulfilment.

Such absorbing considerations crowded out all thought ofHonor's generosity. It was just Honor. No one else wouldever give you two hundred rupees, at a moment's notice, asif it were sixpence. But you might expect anything fromHonor—that was how she was made. And the one importantpoint was—Theo. Nothing else really mattered at all.

As Kresney's bungalow came in sight she found herselffervently hoping that he might have gone out; that she mighthave to encounter nothing more formidable than Miss Kresney,or, better still, the bearer.

But before the gate was reached, she caught sight of him inthe verandah, taking his ease very completely in one ofthose ungainly chairs, with arms extending to long woodenleg-rests, which seem to belong to India and no othercountry in the world. He had exchanged his coat for aJapanese smoking jacket, whose collar and cuffs could illafford to brave daylight; and his boots for slippers ofLinda's making, whose conflicting colours might have set anoyster's teeth on edge! His own teeth were clenched upon arank cigar; and he was reading a paper-bound novel that shewould not have touched with a pair of tongs.

He had never appeared to worse advantage; and Evelyn, freshfrom her husband's air of unobtrusive neatness anddistinction, was conscious of a sudden recoil—a purelyphysical revulsion; to which was added the galling thoughtthat she owed her recent suffering and humiliation to herintimacy with a man who could look like that!

As she turned in at the gate, he sprang up and ran down thesteps. Her return astounded him. He was prepared foranything at that moment, except the thing that happened—acommon human experience.

"Back again, Mrs Desmond!" he cried cheerfully. "This is amost unexpected pleasure.Rukho jhampan."[31]

But Evelyn countermanded the order so promptly thatKresney's eyebrows went up. She handed him her note,clutching the wooden pole nervously with the other hand.

"I had to come out again—on business," she said, with thatready mingling of the false and true which had been herundoing. "And I thought I could leave this for Miss Kresneyas I passed. Will you please give it to her. I am sorry sheis not in."

"You are in trouble?" The intimate note in his voice jarredfor the first time. "Something has upset you since you left?You are quite knocked up with all this. You ought to havebeen in Murree two weeks ago."

And, presumably by accident, his hand came down upon herown. She drew it away with an involuntary shudder; andKresney's sallow face darkened.

"You have no business to say that," she rebuked him withdesperate courage; "I prefer to be with my husband till heis well enough to go too. You won't forget my note, willyou? Good-night."

As he stood watching her depart, all that was worst in himrose to the surface and centred in his close-set eyes. "ByGod, you shall be sorry for that!" he muttered.

But in mounting the steps his curiosity was awakened by thebulkiness of Linda's letter. He turned it over once ortwice; pressed it between his fingers and detected thecrackle of new bank-notes.

"So that's it, is it? Well, I can forgive her. No doubt shehad a jolly hot quarter of an hour; and I hope that fellowis enjoying himself now—like hell!" Then, without aglimmer of hesitation, he opened his sister's letter.

And, out in the road, Evelyn's jhampanis were experiencingfresh proof of the indubitable madness of Memsahibs.

No sooner were their faces set cheerfully homeward, thanthey were brought up short by an order to turn and carry herin the opposite direction. No destination was specified; andthe road indicated led out towards the hills. Hookahs andchupatties tugging at their heart-strings, roused them tomild rebellion. The mate, as established spokesman, murmuredofkhana [32] and the lateness of the hour; adding that theroad behind them led away from the Sahibs' bungalows to theboundary of the station.

But Evelyn, whose Hindustani was still a negligiblequantity, made no attempt to follow the man's remarks. Shereiterated her wish, adding irritably, "Make no foolishtalk. It is an order!"

Those magic words,Hukm hai, are the insignia of authoritythrough the length and breadth of India; and consoling oneanother with the reflection that if the Memsahib had smallunderstanding, the Sahib was great, they jogged obedientlyalong the lonely road toward the hills.

Evelyn's order had been given on the impulse of a moment.The idea of confronting her husband again in less than tenminutes had overpowered her suddenly and completely. She hadonly one thought—to gain-time; to screw up her courage forthe ordeal; and to realise a little what she intended tosay. It is only the strong who dare to trust that the rightwords will be given them.

Her interview with Kresney had unnerved her; and a lurkingdoubt quenched the spark of hope at her heart. Would Theoaccept her tardy obedience without asking unanswerablequestions. Or would he simply put her aside, with hisinexorable quietness, that was far more terrible than anyspoken word?

In all the pain and bewilderment of their short interview,nothing had so smitten her as his recoil—first andlast—from the touch of her hands. The bare possibility thathe might treat her so again made return seem out of thequestion. And her unhappiness struck deeper than the fear ofthe moment. For the first time she realised her owninstability of feeling and purpose; and with the realisationcame a new paralysing fear of the future—of herself.

For the first time it dawned upon her that she was unworthyof the love and faith that had been given her in suchgenerous measure;—which was proof conclusive, though shedid not guess it, that Honor Meredith had not laboured invain. To know oneself unworthy is to have achieved the firststep upward. A year ago she would have been incapable ofsuch knowledge; and now that it had come to her she wasafraid.

Sudden cessation of movement roused her; and the mate,turning his head, spoke with respectful urgency.

"Protector of the Poor, it is not well to go farther. Beholdthe swift going of the sun. Before your servants can reachthe bungalow there will be no more light, and it is againstorders——The Sahib will make angry talk."

Evelyn did not follow the whole of this appeal; but theman's anxiety was evident. She caught the words "Sahib" and"angry" with an inward shudder; she had endured enough ofthe Sahib's anger for one day, and her own common-sense toldher that she had behaved foolishly.

Even outlying bungalows were no longer in sight. A boundarypillar gleamed ghostlike a few hundred yards ahead. The lastrim of the sun had already slipped behind the hills. Theirharsh peaks black against a sky of faint amber, had athreatening look; and darkness was racing up out of theeast. The mate was right. It would be upon them almostbefore they could reach the bungalow; and to be out aftersunset was strictly against the rules of the station.

Sudden terror clutched her; a nameless dread of thecountry—of the natives—which she had never been able toshake off; a paralysing sense that she was alone in theirmidst—alone on the verge of night.

Fear unsteadied her voice as she answered the man. "Turn,turn at once, and go quickly,—run; the Sahib will givejacksheesh—run!"

But before they could obey, a white figure sprang up frombehind a cluster of rocks. Quick as thought followed aflash, a report, a heart-piercing scream; and the men, witha cry of "Ghazi! Ghazi!" unceremoniously set down theirmistress and fled.

The fanatic fled also, certain of a passport into Paradise;and as Evelyn Desmond fell back among her cushions, ashadow, that had not been there before, crept slowly acrossthe shoulder of her muslin dress. The oncoming darknessmattered nothing to her now; and she herself, a mere atom oflife, blown out like a candle, mattered less than nothing tothe desert and the imperturbable hills.

But justice does not invariably tarry. The arm of the Lordis not shortened, though in these days of omniscience manhas a larger faith in his own; and the Ghazi, headingpost-haste through the dusk plunged unwittingly into a groupof villagers and cattle returning home.

A short scuffle ensued, shouts and the tramping offeet—sounds which brought the flying jhampanis back in atwinkling, surcharged with voluble valour and explanations.Resistance was useless. Moreover, to the fanatic, death isthe one great gift. With stoical indifference the man foundhimself overpowered and disarmed. Zealous villagers,unrolling turbans and kummerbunds, made fast his arms, boundhim securely about the waist and neck, and in thisignominious fashion led him back to where Evelyn Desmond layuntroubled and alone.

The jhampanis shouldered their burden once more; and fellto discussing, in lively detail, the hanging and subsequentburning that awaited the Taker of Life, who walkedunconcernedly in their midst.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

C'ÉTAIT MA VIE.

Desmond's voice, followed by a peremptory rap on the door,startled the girl back to a realisation of the flight oftime. The sun had set, and a grey light filled the room.Without a passing thought of the tears upon her face, shelowered the bolt and confronted Evelyn's husband.

"Ladybird isn't back yet," he said quickly. "It'll be darkin ten minutes. Imust know where she went to, and goafter her myself."

Honor bit her lip. To tell him at such a moment would bemadness; yet he was in an ill mood to oppose.

"Can't you send the orderly?" she asked, with something lessthan her wonted assurance.

"No. I am going myself. This is no time to fuss overtrifles. Something may have gone wrong——"

The shuffling and grunting of jhampanis, and the thud of thelowered dandy, were distinctly audible in the stillness.

"There she is!" Desmond said eagerly; and a moment later theblood in his veins was chilled by a long-drawn wail from theverandah. "Hai—hai—mere Memsahib murgya!"[33]

Before the cry had spent itself he was through the "chick,"down the verandah steps at a bound, and bending over hisunconscious wife. Her head had dropped down to one shoulder,and on the other ominous stains showed darkly in the halflight.

"Great God—murder!" Desmond muttered between his teeth."What devil's work is this?" he added, turning upon thecowering jhampanis.

"Ghazi, Sahib; Ghazi," they told him in eager chorus, with achildish mingling of excitement and terror; and would fainhave enlarged upon their own valour in pursuing the Taker ofLife, but that Desmond's curt "chupraho"[34] checked themin mid-career.

"Stay where you are, Honor," he added to the girl, who hadfollowed him, and now stood at the head of the steps. "I ambringing her in."

He took up one limp hand and laid his fingers on her wrist.A faint flutter of life rewarded him.

"Thank Heaven!" he murmured; and lifted her tenderly in hisarms. But at the foot of the steps he paused.

"Nassur Ali—the Doctor Sahib. Ride like the wind!" Thenturning again to the jhampanis, big with harrowing detail,added: "The devil who did this thing, hath he escaped?"

"Nahin,nahin,[35] Sahib. Would your Honour's servantspermit? The jackal spawn is even now in the hands of thepolice. May his soul burn in hell——"

"It is enough—go!" Desmond commanded in the peremptoryvernacular; and mounted the steps with his burden.

Honor stood awaiting him in the drawing-room, white as herdress, tears glistening on her cheeks and lashes, yet verycomposed withal.

At sight of his face she started; it was grey-white and setlike a rock. Only the eyes were alive—and ruthless, as shehad never yet seen them, and prayed that she never might seethem again.

"They've got the man," he said between his teeth. "I wish toGod I could shoot him with my own hand."

Then he went forward to the sofa, and laid his wife upon it.His quick eye detected at once the nature of the wound."Lung," he muttered mechanically. "No hope."

With the same unnatural calmness, he drew the long pins outof her hat—the poor, pretty hat which had so delighted hersix hours ago; and as she moved, with a small sound of pain,he applied the spirit to her lips.

The faint note of distaste struck on her husband's heart;for he did not understand its meaning.

"Ladybird—look!" he entreated gently. "It is Theo." Sheopened her eyes, and gazed blankly up at him, where heleaned above her.

Then, as recognition dawned, he saw the shadow of feardarken them, and instantly dropped on one knee enclosing herwith his arm.

"My God!" the man groaned under his breath. But before hecould grasp the full horror of it all, she shrank closer tohim, clutching at his arm, her eyes wide with terror.

"Not if human power can save you, my dear little woman.Mackay will soon be here."

The necessity for speech tortured him. But her one coherentlonging was for the sound of his voice.

"Don't let me die, please—not yet. I won't make you angryany more, I promise. And—it frightens me so. Keep tighthold of me; don't let me slip—away."

Desmond had a sensation as if a hand had gripped his throat,choking him, so that he could neither speak nor breathe. Butwith a supreme effort he mastered it; and leaning closer toher, spoke slowly, steadily, that she might lose no word ofthe small comfort he had power to give.

"I am holding you, my darling; and I will hold you to thevery end. Only try—try to be brave, and rememberthat—whatever happens, you are safe—in God's hands."

"But I don't understand about God! I only want—you. I wantyour hands—always. Where is the other one? Putit—underneath me—and hold me—ever so close."

He obeyed her, in silence, to the letter. She winced alittle at the movement; then her head nestled into itsresting-place on the wounded shoulder, with a sigh that hadin it no shadow of pain; and bending down he kissed her,long and fervently.

"Theo—darling," she breathed ecstatically, when her lipswere free for speech, "now Iknow it isn't true—what yousaid about not—caring any more. And I am—ever so happy.God can't let me—die—now."

And on the word, a rush of blood from the damaged lungbrought on the inevitable choking cough, that shattered thelast remnant of her strength. Her fingers closedconvulsively upon his; and at the utmost height ofhappiness—as it were, on the crest of a wave—her spiritslipped from its moorings;—and he was alone.

Still he knelt on, without movement, without thought, almostit seemed without breathing, like a man turned to stone;holding her, as he had promised, to the very end,and—beyond.

Honor, standing afar off, dazed and heart-broken, one handclasping the back of a chair for support, heard at last therattle of approaching hoofs, and nerved herself for theordeal of speech. But when Mackay entered with Paul Wyndham,Desmond made no sign. The little doctor's keen eye took inthe situation at a glance; and at the unlooked-for relief ofPaul's presence, Honor's strained composure deserted her.She swayed a little, stretched out a hand blindly towardshim, and would have fallen, but that he quietly put his armround her, and with a strange mixture of feelings saw herhead drop on to his shoulder. But it was only for a moment.Contact with the roughness of his coat roused her on theverge of unconsciousness. She drew herself up, a faintcolour mantling in her cheeks, and tried to smile.

"Come away," Paul whispered, leading her to the door. "Wecan give him no help—or comfort—yet."

AFTERMATH.

Some two weeks after that day of tragedy—a tragedy that hadstirred and enraged the whole station—Theo Desmond and PaulWyndham left Kohat on furlough, long over-due to both. Sucha wander-year, spent together, had, from early days, beenone of their cherished dreams; but, as too often happens,there proved little family likeness between the dream andthe reality. In the dream, Desmond was naturally to be theleading spirit of their grand tour. In the reality, allpractical plans and considerations had devolved on Paul, andTheo it was who assented, unquestioning, uncaring, so longas he could put half the world between himself and Kohat.

His long illness, the fear of losing his sight, the doubleshock of self-revelation and loss had affected him mentallyas blow on blow affects a man physically. Since the night ofhis wife's death none had seen him strongly moved, either bysorrow, pleasure, or anger. He had said and done all thatwas required of him with a strained unnatural precision.Even to the few who had drawn nearest to him in former timesof trouble, he seemed now like a house whose every door islocked and every shutter drawn.

Outwardly unmoved, he had endured the ordeal of Evelyn'sfuneral, the storm of public surprise and indignationaroused by her murder. Though British officers, not a few,have been victims to fanaticism in India, no Englishwomanhad ever been shot at before, and the strong feeling arousedby so dastardly a crime had been long in subsiding. The newshad been wired to Peshawur. The Commissioner had gallopedacross thirty miles of desert next morning; and beforeEvelyn's funeral, at sundown, her death had been openlyavenged by the hanging of her murderer and the burning ofhis body.

On that day Honor had gone over to Mrs Conolly's bungalow,there to remain till Meredith's arrival; and in the twoweeks that followed, Desmond had seen little of her—or ofany one save Paul. She had helped him in disposing ofEvelyn's personal belongings; and at his earnest request,had accepted one or two of her trinkets, the remainder beingsent home to her mother. At his request also, Honor hadtaken over charge of his piano while he was away; and if atouch of constraint marked their parting, neither was awareof it in the other.

By one sole distinction he had set her apart from the rest.To her, and her only, he could and did speak of his wife;for the simple reason that in her he recognised a love and asorrow that matched his own—a sorrow untainted by thelurking after thought, "Better so"; and that tacitrecognition had been for Honor the single ray of light inher dark hour. Once, before parting, she had spoken of it toPaul, who thenceforward knew his friend's aloofness for whatit was—not the mere reserve of the strong man in pain, butthe old incurable loyalty to his wife that had kept them allat arm's length in respect of her while she lived.

So they two went forth together on their sorrowfulpilgrimage; and, once gone, there fell a curtain of silencebetween Desmond and those he had left behind. Week afterweek, month after month, that silence remained unbroken,though Olliver and his wife wrote and John Meredith wrotealso on his return; though they plied him with questions,with news of the Regiment and Border politics, never a sightof his handwriting came to cheer them. But for Paul'sunfailing, if discouraging bulletins, no word of him wouldhave reached them at all.

Honor herself wrote twice, without avail; and thereafteraccepted the fiat of silence, gleaning what comfort shemight from a steady correspondence with Paul. It was not inher to guess how those fortnightly letters, so frank inexpression, so reserved in essence, had upheld him throughthe darkest and most difficult months of his life; months inwhich he could only stand aside and wait till the man heloved, as Jonathan loved David, should come forth out of thehouse of sorrow and take up the broken threads of life oncemore.

Meantime, with inexhaustible patience, he continued to tryone place after another, one distraction after another, withsmall result. It was a costly prescription, and thoughDesmond imagined he contributed his share, the chief of itwas paid by his friend. During those first months he readlittle, talked little, and rarely expressed a definite wish.He would go anywhere, do anything in reason, so long as nomental effort was required of him; but music—to Paul'sutter mystification—he decisively refused to hear. For thetime being the man's whole nature seemed awry, and therewere moments when Paul's heart contracted with dread of theworst.

Christmas found them at Le Trayas, on the Esterelles coast,an isolated paradise unprofaned by sight or sound of thenoisy, restless life of the French Riviera. Here TheoDesmond had spent whole hours at a stretch, basking in thetemperate December sunshine, under feathery mimosa bushes,that glorify the foothills,—silent as ever, yet seeminglycontent.

Still he wrote no line to the Regiment, that for thirteenyears had stood second only to his God, and very rarelyasked for news of it or his friends. By now their lettersbetrayed hints and more than hints of increasing anxiety.The men wrote tentatively; but Frank Olliver, nothing if notdirect, poured forth her loving, unreasoning Irish heart onclosely-written sheets of foreign paper, to Wyndham'salternate distraction and delight.

"Is there no manner of wild tale you could invent now torouse the blessed man?" she wrote about this time. "Sureit's past believing that his pretty doll of a wife—who wentnear to ruin him living—should stand between him and usthat love him, worse than ever now she's dead. The fear ofit haunts me like a bogey and makes me go red hot inside."

The selfsame fear made Paul Wyndham go cold in the smallhours; but he could not bring himself to write of it, evento Frank.

At last, in the second week of the New Year, there came newsthat wrought a change in Desmond; news from John Meredith ofhis father's broken health and his sister's immediatedeparture for England. She would sail in a week, he wrote,and would travel overland.

"Theo, let's go and meet her at Marseilles!" he saideagerly, "and see her safe into the express. It would pleaseMeredith—and her too."

For the fraction of a second, an answering eagerness glowedin Desmond's eyes; then vanished, leaving his face apolitely interested mask. But Paul had seen the flash andpressed his point accordingly.

"Ofcourse you'll come, Theo. A sight of her will do usboth good. I'm glad I thought of it."

"So am I," Desmond agreed, without a particle of gladness inhis level tone. "But—you can leave me out of the programme.One of us is enough—for all that is needed; and it's onlyright it should be you."

Desmond's set face softened to a smile. "Don't you, old man?Then you must take my word for it."

In spite of that smile Paul heard the note of finality inhis friend's voice and said no more.

On the appointed morning he set out alone to meet the ship,pain and elation contending in his heart. But when, at last,he set eyes on Honor Meredith, and saw her whole facelighten at sight of him, complexities were submerged in aflood-tide of simple, human joy.

But the exalted moment was short-lived. He could not fail tosee how, instinctively, her glance travelled beyond him; howher lower lip was indrawn for the space of a heart-beat; andwhen their hands met, he, as instinctively, answered herthought.

"I couldn't persuade Theo to come. He is still difficult torouse or move. The news of your father did seem to stir himand I am hoping he will write."

She let out her breath unsteadily. "Oh, if he only would!This interminable silence seems—so inhuman. In a way, Iunderstand it; but the others, out there, are gettingterribly unhappy over it; John and Frank more than all.You don't think—do you—that there is really anyfear——?"

The look in her eyes recalled that terrible night of Marchwhen they two had watched over Theo in turn; and Paul knewthat now—as then—she craved no cheap consolation, but thetruth.

"There have been bad moments," he admitted, "when one wasafraid——But now I honestly believe that hewill fightagain and live again with his old zest; and I want you tobelieve it too, with all your heart."

"I will believe it—with all my heart," she answered verylow and steadily. "Have you any plans—beyond Le Trayas?"

"Nothing definite. I just keep my eye on him and actaccordingly. In April, I think Bellagio would be a soundmove. There, if anywhere, the call of the spring shouldprove irresistible. At least it's a prescription worthtrying."

She smiled; and, even in smiling, he noted the patheticdroop of her eyelids and the corners of her lips.

"How wise you are for him, Paul! And youwill come homefor a little before going back?"

The crowd about them, surging chaotically to and fro,recalled them to prosaic considerations of luggage and acorner seat in the express, which Paul—unhurried yetsingularly efficient—did not fail to secure. That done,Honor was confided to the care of an assiduous guard, andwas supplied with fruit, chocolate, and more newspapers thanshe could possibly digest;—trifling services which thegirl, in her great loneliness, rated at their true value.

By that time the platform had emptied its contents into thehigh, dingy-looking carriages of the Paris-Lyons Express. Agong clanged. Honor put out an ungloved hand and had someado not to wince before it was released.

"Thank you—for everything," she murmured, sudden tearsstarting to her eyes. "I only wish Theo could have cometoo!"

In spite of herself the blood flew to her cheeks. But beforeshe could answer, the train jolted forward—and she wasgone.

Paul Wyndham stood a long while motionless, looking intoempty space; then, with a sensible jar, he came verycompletely back to earth.

It was near sunset when he reached their haven of refuge, asmall hotel set in a rocky garden overlooking the sea. Nosign of Theo within doors,—and Paul strolled down thenarrow pathway that led to his friend's favourite seat.There, at the far end, leaning upon the balustrade, hesighted an unmistakable figure black against a blazingheaven rippled with light clouds that gave promise ofgreater glory to come.

Footsteps behind him roused Desmond. He started and turnedabout with a new eagerness that was balm to the heart of hisfriend.

"Ah—there you are! It's been a long day." His eyesscanned Wyndham's face. "You've seen her?" he askedabruptly.

"She looked very beautiful," Paul answered simply, an oddthrill in his voice. "But not—not like her old self. Onecan see—she has suffered."

Desmond bit his lip and turned away again. A sudden mistblurred the sunset splendour, the bronze and purpleiridescence of the sea. Paul went on speaking.

He leaned on the balustrade as before and tacitly dismissedthe subject; but Wyndham, regarding him thoughtfully, andremembering Honor's tell-tale blush, fell to dreaming of agolden future for these two who were dearer to him than hisown soul.

"Nothing brilliant. Quite the reverse. I'm a coward atheart. That's all about it."

"Well—you're going to, old man, plain as daylight. It'slike this——" he squared his shoulders with a jerk andthrust both hands into his pockets. "I can't face—goingback to Kohat. I've suspected it for some time. Now I knowit. There's too much—that is to say—thereare reasons.Pretty big ones. But they don't bear talking of. Think me abroken-backed cornstalk if you must. It'll hurt. But itcan't be helped."

For an instant Paul's heart stood still. Then: "Don't talkthat brand of nonsense to me, old man," he said gently. "Butif you really can't go back—what then?"

"I said—to Kohat. The reliefs will take us to Dera in theautumn. Well—I want to work another six months on urgentprivate affairs——" he tried to smile. "Do you think theColonel will come within a hundred miles of understandingand be persuaded to back me up?"

"I think, just at present, he would be loth to refuse youanything, Theo. But still——"

"Damn the Regiment!" Desmond flashed out, and turning on hisheel strode off toward a wooded headland, whose red rockstook an almost unearthly glow from the setting sun.

For several seconds Paul looked after him, scarcely able tobelieve his ears. If Theo had arrived at damning theRegiment, Frank's fear might not prove to be chimericalafter all; and yet the flash of temper, the renewed energyof speech and movement were symptoms of the best.

Paul sat down on the bench, folded his arms, and proceededto consider, in practical fashion, how they could secure thedesired extension of leave. Theo might dub himself coward ifhe would. Paul knew better. He had long ago guessed thatstronger forces were at work in his friend than mere sorrowfor the loss of a wife, however dear—and he had guessedright. It was Desmond's sensitive conscience that had beenhis arch tormentor throughout those months of silence andstrangeness that had brought him near to madness and Paulnear to despair.

Tragedy on tragedy—loss of the Boy, dread of blindness, theshock of his own discovery of Evelyn's defection, and theawful fashion of her death—had so unsteadied andoverwrought his strong brain that, even now, he couldneither see nor think clearly in respect of those mostterrible weeks of his life. Obsessed by an exaggerated senseof his own disloyalty to the wife who should never have beentransplanted to such stony soil, he saw himself virtuallyher murderer, in the eyes of that God who was, for him, novague abstraction but the most commanding reality of hisconsciousness.

Day after day, week after week, he had lived over and overagain the events of that fateful month, from the moment ofhis return, to the last bewildering, unforgettable scenewith his wife. Always he discovered fresh excuses for her.Always he lashed himself unsparingly for his ownfailings;—the initial folly of bringing her to theFrontier, his promise to Honor that had delayed hisdetermination to exchange, and more than all, that finalstraight speaking—wrung from him by pain and shame—thathad made fear of him outweigh even her childish terror ofthe dark. In the hidden depth of his heart he had beenuntrue to her, and his passionate attempt at reparation hadcome too late. There had even been fevered moments when hetold himself that he, Theo Desmond, not the crazy fanatic inquest of sainthood—should by rights have been hanged andburned on the day of her death.

The whole tragical tangle, blurred and distorted byincessant repetition, had come at last to seem almost aseparate entity; a horror, outside his own control, that nowshrank to a pin-point and now loomed gigantic, oppressive,till all true sense of proportion was lost. The silence thathe could not force himself to break, infallibly made mattersworse. And now came Honor, re-awakening the great love hehad wrestled with and trampled on to very small purpose; alove beside which his chivalrous tenderness for Evelynshowed like the flame of a candle in the blaze of noon.

Her sudden return, the perturbing sense of her nearness, hadfor the first time wrenched him away from the obsession ofthe past. But even now he dared not frankly face the future;dared not let his mind dwell on the colourless emptiness oflife without her. Neither could he, as yet, face the onlyalternative—to tell her, of all women, that he had lovedher before his wife's death. Besides, there was Paul, whoobviously cared, in his own repressed fashion, and who mustnot be baulked of his chance.

Yet to-night, as he tramped the whole round of that rockyheadland—in the glow of a sky rippled by now with feathersof flame—his blood was in a fever for sheer desire of her,and he cursed the folly that had impelled him to refuse themorning's golden opportunity.

Returning later, in a more chastened mood, he found Wyndhamsitting still as a statue, seemingly forgetful of hisexistence; and of a sudden his heart contracted at thoughtof his friend's inexhaustible patience, his unquestioningacceptance of moods to which he did not hold the key.Stepping lightly, Desmond came up behind him and laid bothhands on his shoulders.

"I thought as much! Don't apologise!" he said, looking upwith his slow smile. "It was a pure pleasure to hear youswear again!"

Desmond laughed abruptly. "You'll get more than enough ofthat kind of pleasure if they refuse me my six months!—Butlook here, I'm thinking I can't keepyou away from themany longer——"

"My dear Theo," Paul interposed with gentle decision. "Solong as you stay—I stay. That goes without saying. Meredithwill fix it up for us—no fear. Come on now. It's time wewent indoors."

They sauntered back up the gravel path together withoutfurther speech, yet with thoughts more closely linked thaneither guessed; thoughts that flew instinctively as homingdoves to the one beloved woman—Honor Meredith.

II.

A late April evening on Lake Como:—for the initiated thereis magic in the very words; magic of light and warmth andcolour; glory of roses and wistaria, that everywhere renewthe youth of ancient ruins and walls and weave a springgarment even for the sombre cypress who has none of his own.Love-song of birds, laughter of men and women, thepassionate blue above, the sun-warmed cobblestonesunderfoot—in these also there is magic, unseizable,irresistible as the happiness of a child. There is nothinggreat about Como, nothing in the measured beauty of herencircling hills to uplift or strike awe into the soul of aman. She is exquisite, finished; a garden enclosed, a gardenof enchantment that speaks straight to the heart; and thebanner over her is peace.

Here Paul Wyndham—with the instinctive understanding thatbelongs to a great love—had chosen to round off thewander-year devoted to his friend. Throughout that year hehad done all that one man may do for another in his darkhour; and each week his conviction grew stronger thatHonor—and none but Honor—could do the rest. Let them onlymeet again, in fresh surroundings, and Theo—already so verymuch her friend—could not fail to come under her spell. Hispresent seeming disposition to avoid her Paul set down toher intimate association with his wife. Six months'extension of leave had been granted to both, and Paul lookedto a summer in England to establish what Italy had alreadybegun.

Since that night at Le Trayas, when Theo had damned theRegiment and confessed his dread of returning to Kohat, Paulhad begun to be aware of a change in his friend. Apathy hadgiven place to restlessness, to a craving for distractionthat neither Nature nor Art could satisfy. From place toplace he had shifted like a man pursued. He fled as ananimal flies from a gadfly securely fastened into his flesh.Go where he would, the passionate voice of his own heartspoke louder than books and pictures, mountains and the sea,urging him always in the one direction that his will was setto avoid.

Wyndham—aware of some inner struggle, while far fromsuspecting its nature—reckoned it all to the good, since itimplied that the real man was astir at last. His suggestionof the Hotel Serbelloni at Bellagio—diplomaticallybroached—had been hailed almost with enthusiasm; and amonth of Italy's April at its radiant best had proven, pastquestion, the wisdom of the move.

In those four weeks they had explored the length and breadthof the lake with the restless energy of their race; hadtramped the stony roads of North Italy and climbed everyheight within reach.

Better than all, it was now Theo who planned theirexpeditions, studied guide books and discussed local legendswith his very good friend the Head Waiter. Flashes of temperhad become more frequent. He could even be lured intoargument again and grow hot over a game of chess. Trivialdetails—but for Wyndham each was a jewel beyond price. AndDesmond was writing again now; fitfully but spontaneously,as of old. He had written to Sir John, and to the Colonel;and there had been two thick envelopes addressed to Frank;but never a one to Honor Meredith.

It had needed only this to fill Paul's cup of content; butDesmond—though he talked more openly of othermatters—seldom mentioned the girl.

As on his return from the Samana, so now, he had fought hishidden fight and come off conqueror. All things conspired toconvince him that Paul was the man—the infinitely worthierman—of her choice; and their steady correspondence seemedproof conclusive. At that rate there was nothing for it butto stand aside, leaving Paul to go in and win; only—hecould not bring himself to be present at the process.

So these two friends, united by one of the closest ties onearth, lived and thought at cross purposes, for the simplereason that even of so fine a quality as reserve it ispossible to have too much of a good thing.

And now an end of peaceful isolation. To-morrow they wouldcross to Menaggio homeward bound; and on this their lastevening they climbed the cobblestoned, corkscrew of a paththat winds to the ruins of Torre di Vezio above Varenna. Thefine outlook from the summit was Desmond's favourite view ofthe lake. He himself had planned the outing, and now strodebriskly ahead of his friend, with more of the old vigour andelasticity in his bearing than Paul had yet seen. To-day,too, for the first time, he had discarded the crepe bandfrom the sleeve of his grey flannel suit; a silent admissionthat the spirit of resurrection had not called to him invain.

Paul, noting these significant trifles, decided that hecould have chosen no time more propitious for the thing hehad to say. That morning's post had brought a letter fromSir John Meredith begging them both to come straight to hiscountry house in Surrey for a week. Paul saw that invitationas Theo's God-given chance to discover the treasure that washis for the asking; and all day he had patiently awaited thegiven moment for speech. Now he recognised it, and did notintend to let it slip through his fingers.

The grey stone walls and towers of the Torre di Vezio stoodfour-square and rugged in the last of the sun; theirbattlements jewelled with fine mosaic work of lichens, theirfeet in the young grass of April starred with cowslips andlate primroses. Near the old wooden door two cypresses stoodsentinel, and the gnarled olives in the foreground loomedancient and unresponsive as the walls themselves. The lightwind of the morning had dropped with the sun; and the lake,far below them, showed delicately blurred mirages oftownlets, hills, and sky. Southward, toward Como and Lecco,all was saturated in the magical blue atmosphere, the auraof Italy. Northward, toward Gravedona, the lesser Alpsgloomed grey-violet under a mass of indigo cloud thatblotted out the snows.

Theo Desmond, standing very erect, with the sun in his eyes,felt the peace and beauty of it all flow through his veinslike wine.

Paul obeyed. They settled themselves on a green ledge near abold outcrop of rock. Desmond, leaning forward, sunk hischin on his hand and fell into one of his brooding silencesthat had grown rarer of late.

So long it lasted that Paul began to fear he might lose thegiven moment after all. Yet every line of his friend's faceand figure spelled peace; and he was loth to break thesilence. Taking the letter from his pocket he opened it withostentatious cracklings. He read it through twice, veryleisurely; and still Desmond sat motionless, absorbed in thechanging lights on the water and the hills. Then Paul gaveit up and spoke.

"Theo—I've had a letter from Sir John. They're delighted tohear we're coming home."

Desmond started and frowned without changing his position.Only his stillness took on a more rigid quality. It had beennatural; now it was forced.

"The old man going on well?" he asked, feeling that someremark was expected of him.

"Yes. He's almost himself again. He and Lady Meredith wantus to go straight to Mavins for a week. What do you think?"

"Very good of them. All the same—I think not," he saidslowly; then made a clumsy attempt to modify the blankrefusal. "You see, though I've taken this extra leave, Idon't mean to spend it in loafing. We've had our fill ofthat. As soon as I get to town, I shall start reading inearnest for my promotion."

Paul, puzzled and dismayed as he was, could not lightlyrelinquish his castle in the air.

"I'm glad you feel up to work again, Theo," he said. "But aweek in the country wouldn't seriously delay matters; and,in the circumstances, it seems ungracious to refuse. Itwould cheer the old man up. And it goes without saying thatHonor would be glad to see us again."

The last appeal roused Desmond effectually. He jerkedhimself upright and faced his friend; faced also the ordealof open speech after months of evasion.

"Yes—yes. You're always right, old man," he said, eyes andvoice superbly under control. "I'm a selfish brute tomonopolise you and—er—stand in your light. A sight of youwill do them all good; andyou'll be glad to see—Honoragain. I used to wonder—long ago—what hindered you fromfixing things up—you two."

"You wondered?" he echoed blankly; then his voice dropped atone. "Well, Theo, since you've touched on the subject, I'das soon you knew the truth. I—spoke to Honor last March,while you were away; and—she refused."

In that flash of amazement and sympathy with his friend'spain, Desmond escaped, if only for a moment, from thetyranny of his own tormented soul. His gaze travelled backto the hills.

"I'd have given her credit for more perception," he saidquietly; and Paul, regarding him with a whimsicaltenderness: "Has love anything to do with that sort ofthing?"

"No—no. I'm a blatant fool. But still—a man like you——!"He broke off short, and there was a moment of strainedsilence. But the real Desmond was awake at last, and heforced himself to add: "Women change sometimes—once theyknow. Have you never been tempted to try again?"

"No; and never shall be, for a very good reason. There'ssome one in the way—some other man——"

"Good Lord!" he muttered in a low dazed voice, as ifthinking aloud. "But where the deuceis he? Why hasn't hecome forward? He must be a rotten sort of chap——"

Paul caressed his moustache to hide a smile. "Notnecessarily Theo. I gather, from what she said that—therewere difficulties——"

"Difficulties—?" Again he broke off, stunned by thecoincidence, yet incapable of suspecting the truth. Then,pulling himself together, his spoke in his natural voice:"Well, anyway, Paul,you'd better accept Sir John'sinvitation, since you can still manage to be friends withher in spite of that infernal chap in the background."

This time Paul smiled outright; but Desmond saw nothing. Hischin sunk in his hand, he sat still as a rock, raginginwardly—as he had not raged for a full year—at thought ofthat same "infernal chap" whose difficulties might not bepermanent; who might even now——

"Yes, Theo, I can just manage it," he was saying in a voiceof grave tenderness. "It has not been easy; but the truth isthat—when it came to the wrench—I hadn't the courage tolet her go quite out of my life."

"You had not thecourage!" Desmond flashed round on him, agleam of the old fire in his eyes. "It's like you to put itthat way, Paul. The real truth is that you had the courageto put mere passion under your feet.I should feel rather,in such a case, that shemust go quite out of my life.There's the root difference between us. I should not havethe courage to accept friendship when I wanted—the otherthing. But we're not discussing my affairs—" He dismissedhimself with a gesture. "The point is, you'll go to Mavinsand make my excuses to Sir John."

"Yes, if you really wish it, I'll go alone, a little lateron. Only—you must furnish me with something valid in theway of excuse. You know, as well as I do, thatyou arefirst favourite with the old man. But I take it for grantedyou have some good reason at the back of your mind——"

"You're right there. I have—the strongest reason onearth." He paused and set his teeth, bracing himself to thefinal effort of confession. "What's more—I unintentionallystated it a minute ago, in plain terms." He faced Wyndhamsquarely now and a dull flush mounted to his temples. "Sincethe ice is broken at last, there can be nothing less thanabsolute truth between us," he said simply; and there was nomore need for the clumsy machinery of speech.

Paul's eyes, that neither judged nor questioned, rested onhis friend like a benediction. In that moment he had hisreward for months of silent service, of patience strainedalmost to breaking point, of anxiety that bordered ondespair.

Minute after minute they sat silent, while the splendour inthe west blazed and spread till it challenged the oncomingshadow in the north; and the near hills grown magicallyethereal, stood in a shimmer of gold, like hills of dream.

"Yes, Theo, I do understand," Paul answered in the sametone, and Desmond let out a great breath.

III.

In a third-floor sitting-room, facing east, breakfast waslaid for two. Every item of the meal bespoke furnishedapartments; and even the May sunshine, flooding the place,failed to beautify the shabby carpet and furniture, theinevitable oleographs and the family groups that shared themantelpiece with pipes, pouches, and a tin of tobacco. Ahanging bookcase held some military books, a couple ofnovels, and a volume of Browning—the property of Paul.After Bellagio—Piccadilly; and their year abroadconstrained them to economy at home.

Theo Desmond sauntering in, scanned every detail withfastidious distaste. To-day, for the first time, a greatlonging possessed him for the airy ramshackle bungalows ofthe Frontier he loved, for the trumpet-call to "stables,"for a sight of his squadron and the feel of a saddle betweenhis knees.

His wandering gaze lighted on a letter near Paul's place.The address was in Honor's handwriting. He stood a momentregarding it, then turned sharply away and went over to thewindow. There he remained, seemingly absorbed in the variedtraffic of Piccadilly, actually consumed by such jealousy ashe had never suffered while he imagined that her heart wasgiven to his friend.

For Paul's sake he could and would endure all things; butthis detestable unknown who had won her and could not claimher was quite another affair. There could be no thought ofstanding aside on his account. It was simply a question ofHonor herself. She was not the woman lightly to withdraw herlove, once given. And yet—in a year—who could tell? Love,like the spirit, bloweth where it listeth; and Paul'sfailure did not of necessity predicate his own. For all hersudden bewildering reserves, she had drawn very near to himin those last terrible weeks at Kohat; and now—now—if hecould believe there was the veriest ghost of a chance—!

The mere possibility set heart and blood in a tumult; atumult checked ruthlessly by the thought that if HonorMeredith was not the woman to change lightly, still less wasshe the woman to approach with that confession which, at allhazards, he was bound to make. Speaking of it to Paul hadcost him such an effort as he ached to remember. Speaking ofit to her seemed a thing inconceivable. And yet—in thatcase—what hope of escape from this unholy tangle, from thisfury of jealousy that had stabbed his manhood broad awake atlast?

In Italy he fondly believed that he had fought his fight andconquered. Yet now, behold, it was all to do over again!

"Theo, my dear chap, thereis such a thing as breakfast!"Paul's voice brought him back to earth with a thud. "Willyou have a congealed rasher or a tepid egg—or both?"

"Neither, confound you!" Desmond answered, swinging roundwith an abrupt laugh and strolling back to the table.

Inevitably he glanced at the perturbing envelope, open nowand propped against the milk-jug, and as inevitably Paulanswered his look.

"Honor is in town for a few days," he said, putting theletter near Theo's plate, "staying with Lady Meredith'ssister. She hopes I can go in and see her this morning. Sheseems under the impression that you are too busy, just now,to be included in any invitation."

Desmond buttered a leathery triangle of toast with elaborateprecision. "You may as well encourage that notion, old chap.It simplifies things. You're going yourself, I suppose?"

He scowled at the envelope by his plate and tacitlydismissed the subject by an excursion into theMorningPost.

They talked politics and theatres till the unappetising mealwas ended and Paul pocketed his treasure with a sigh. It wasthe first time Theo had ignored one of her letters; and thesimple-hearted fellow—quite unaware that his mention of theother man had been a master-stroke of policy—felt almost athis wits' end. Standing by the mantelpiece mechanicallyfilling his pipe, he watched Desmond set out his books andpapers on the table near the window, intent on a morning ofabnormal industry; and the pathos of it all caught at hisheart. For the first time in his controlled and ordered lifehe felt impelled to carry a situation by storm—the resultpossibly of playing Providence to Theo for the space of ayear.

But Theo plus a woman, loving and beloved, whom heobstinately refused to meet, was a problem demanding farmore of diplomacy, of intimate human experience than PaulWyndham had been blest withal. The one obvious servicerequired of him was easier to recognise than to achieve. Bysome means these two must be brought together in spite ofthemselves; but for all his forty years he was patheticallyat a loss to know how the deuce one contrived that sort ofthing. It was a woman's job. Mrs Olliver, now, could havefixed it all up in a twinkling; while he—poor clumsyfool!—could only sit there smoking and racking his brain,while his eyes perfunctorily scanned the columns of theMorning Post.

The doings of the world and the misdoings of those inpower, earthquakes, shipwrecks, and rumours of wars—allthese were as nothing to him compared with the insignificanttangle of one man and one woman among the whole seething,suffering throng. But concern brought him no nearer to theunravelling of their tangle; and when the time came to go hecould think of nothing better than a direct appeal to hisfriend.

Desmond still sat at the table, head in hand, absorbed inthe intricacies of military tactics.

Paul rose and went over to him. "I'm going now, old chap."The matter of fact statement was made with indescribablegentleness. "I'll be back in an hour or so. Wish to goodnessyou were coming too."

Desmond nodded decisively. "Can't you see it for yourself,man? Even if shewas quit of that other confounded fellow,how could I face telling her—the truth?"

For a moment Paul was silenced; not because he found thequestion unanswerable, but because of that hidden knowledgewhich he might not disclose, even to save his friend.

"My dear Theo," he said at last, "I know—and youknow—that, sooner than lose her, you could go through anykind of fire. Besides, I have an idea she wouldunderstand——"

"So have I," Desmond answered gruffly, "that's the deuce ofit all. But it doesn't make a man less unworthy——"

"Possibly not! But there happen to be degrees ofunfitness—yours and mine for instance, you blind old bat!Go along now, and enjoy the good you deserve. As for me—Ihave sinned and must take the consequences without whining."

"There is a radical difference, Theo," Paul remarkedquietly, "between temptation and sin."

"Casuist!" was all the answer vouchsafed to him; andbaffled—but not yet defeated—he went out into the Maysunlight, quite determined, for once in his life, to take bystorm the citadel that seemed proof against capitulation.

Before reaching his destination he had devised a plan sosimple and obvious that it might have occurred to a child;and like a child he gloried in his unaided achievement. Thefact that it involved leading them both blindfold to theverge of mutual discovery troubled him not a whit. Heart andconscience alike asserted that in this case the endjustified the means; and it needed but the veiled light inHonor's eyes at mention of Theo's name to set the seal onhis decision.

For near an hour they talked, with that effortless ease andintimacy which is the hail-mark of a genuine friendship; andat the end of it Honor realised that, without any consciousintention on her part, Theo—and little else but Theo—hadbeen their topic as a matter of course. Never dreaming ofdesign on the part of Paul, she merely blessed him for adevotion that almost equalled her own, and accepted, withunfeigned alacrity, his suggestion that they should meetnext morning at the Diploma Gallery.

"I've not been there for a hundred years!" she declared withmore of her old lightness than he had yet seen in her: "Itwill take me back to bread-and-butter days! And I believethey have added some really good pictures since then."

Paul exulted as an angler exults when he feels his firstsalmon tug at the line; but his tone was casual andcomposed. "Come early," he said. "Then we shall pretty wellhave the place to ourselves. Eleven? Half-past?"

And Paul Wyndham—the devout lover, who had trampled passionunderfoot to some purpose—walked back to Piccadilly like aman reprieved. Honor was secure. Remained the capture ofTheo—a more difficult feat; but, in his present mood, herefused to contemplate the possibility of failure.

A morning of unclouded brilliance found Desmond franklybored with tactics and topography; the more so, perhaps,because Paul with simple craft took his industry forgranted.

Soon after eleven, he put aside the inevitable pipe andnewspaper and took up his hat. "Well, Theo," said he, "youwon't be needing me till after lunch I suppose?—I'm off."

"Where to, old man?" Desmond yawned extensively as he spoke,and pushed aside his little pile of red books with apromising gesture of distaste. "What's your dissipatedprogramme?"

"An hour in the Diploma Gallery, and a stroll in the Park,"Paul replied with admirable unconcern. "D'you feel likecoming?"

"I feel like chucking all these into the waste-paper basket!When England takes it into her capricious head to do thissort of thing in May, how the devil can a human man keep hisnose to the grindstone? Come on!"

Paul's heart beat fast as they stepped into the street;faster still as he glanced at Theo striding briskly besidehim, head in air all unconscious that he was faring toward atryst far more in tune with the season and the new lifeastir in his blood than his late abnormal zeal in pursuit ofpromotion.

To Paul it seemed that the heavens themselves were in leaguewith him. Overhead, scattered ranks of chimneypots werebitten out of a sky scarcely less blue and ardent thanItaly's own. In every open space young leaves flashed,golden-green, on soot-blackened branches of chestnut, plane,and lime. And there were flowers everywhere—in squares andwindow-boxes and parks; in florists' and milliners' windows;in the baskets of flower-sellers and in women's hats. Thepaper-boy—blackbird of the London streets—whistled alivelier stave. Girls hurried past smiling at nothing inparticular. They were glad to be alive—that was all.

He too was glad to be alive, to be free, at last, from theconquering shadow of memory and self-reproach. If penancewere required of him, surely that black year must suffice.Now the living claimed him; and that claim could no longerbe ignored. With a heart too full for speech he walkedbeside his friend; and halting at last, on the steps ofBurlington House, he bared his head to the sunlight and drewa deep breath of content.

"I vote we don't waste much of this divine morning onpictures, Paul," he said suddenly. "Why bother about them atall?"

Wyndham started visibly; but in less than a minute he wasmaster of himself and the situation.

"Well, as we're here, we may as well look in," he answeredcasually; and without waiting further objection, turned toenter the building.

No sign of Honor in the cloistered coolness of the firstroom; only a small group of people in earnest talk beforeone of the pictures, and an artist, with stool and easel,making a conscientious copy of another.

Desmond made a cursory tour of the walls and passed on intothe second room. Paul, increasingly anxious every moment,lagged behind and consulted his watch. It was twenty-fiveminutes past eleven. Would she never come?

The second room was empty, and there Desmond's aimlesswandering had been checked by a battle picture; a vigorousand tragic presentment of Sir John Moore's retreat fromCorunna.

"Here you are, Paul. Here's something worth looking at,"said he as Wyndham joined him; and, soldier-like, they soonfell to discussing the event rather than the picture.Desmond—his head full of tactics and military history—heldforth fluently quite in his old vein; while Paul—who heardscarce one word in six—nodded sagely at appropriateintervals.

Hope died hard in him. A clock outside, chiming thehalf-hour, rang its knell with derisive strokes that seemedto beat upon his heart. It was just his luck. She wouldnever turn up. A hundred contingencies might arise toprevent her—a street accident, a headache, bad news of herfather——

Sudden silence from Theo cut short the dismal list; and oneglance at him told Paul that his hour was come indeed. ForDesmond stood rigid, a dull flush burning through his tan;and his eyes looked over Paul's shoulder towards theentrance into Room Number One.

Without a word Paul turned on his heel and saw how she, too,stood spellbound, there by the doorway, her cheeks aflame,her eyes more eloquent than she knew. Taken completelyunawares, each had surprised the other's secret, even asPaul had foreseen. In that lightning flash of mutualrecognition, the end he had wrought for, and agonised for,was achieved. Obviously they had no further need of hisservices—and, unnoticed by either, he passed quietly out ofthe room.

For one measureless minute they remained confronting eachother; scarcely daring to breathe lest they break the spellof that passionate unspoken avowal. Then Honor came forwardslowly, like one walking in her sleep—and the spell wasgone. In two strides Desmond had reached her and grasped heroutstretched hand.

No attempt at conventional futilities marred their suprememoment. Words seemed an impertinence in view of theoverwhelming fact that he stood before her thus—his facetransfigured and illumined by love unutterable, by adiscovery scarcely realised even now.

There was so much to tell, and again, so little after all,that there seemed no need to tell it. Yet Honor could notchoose but long for the sound of his voice; and to that endshe tried very gently to withdraw her hand.

Desmond—suddenly aware that they were alone—tightened hisgrasp. "No—no," he protested under his breath, "unless—youwish it.Do you—Honor?"

"I don't wish it," she answered very low, and her eyes,resting on his, had a subdued radiance as of sunlight seenthrough mist.

Haloed in that radiance Desmond beheld the "infernal chap"he had been cursing for weeks; realised instantaneously allthat the recognition implied; and, capturing both her hands,crushed them between his own.

He still spoke under his breath; and still his eyes heldhers in a gaze so compelling that it seemed as though hewere drawing her very soul into his own with a force thatshe had neither will nor power to resist.

In that long look she knew that, for all her passionateintensity of heart and spirit, this man, whom she had won,surpassed her in both; that in all things he rose aboveher—and would always rise. And because she was very womanat the core, such knowledge gladdened her beyond telling;crowned her devotion as wedded love is rarely crowned in aworld honeycombed with half-heartedness in purpose and faithand love.

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BOOK I.
CHAP.	PAGE
I.	JUDGE FOR YOURSELF	3
II.	I WANT TO BE FIRST	13
III.	THE BIG CHAPS	21
IV.	ESPECIALLY WOMEN	30
V.	AN EXPURGATED EDITION	39
VI.	GENIUS OF CHARACTER	46
VII.	BRIGHT EYES OF DANGER	55
VIII.	STICK TO THE FRONTIER	66
IX.	WE'LL JUST FORGET	80
X.	A SQUARE BARGAIN	94
XI.	YOU DON'T KNOW DESMOND	108
XII.	NOW IT'S DIFFERENT	119
XIII.	IT ISN'T FAIR	129
XIV.	I SIMPLY INSIST	140
XV.	GOOD ENOUGH, ISN'T IT?	151
XVI.	SIGNED AND SEALED	156
BOOK II.
CHAP.	PAGE
XXVII.	YOU WANT TO GO!	167
XXVIII.	LOVE THAT IS LIFE!	177
XIX.	IT'S NOT MAJOR WYNDHAM	182
XX.	THE DEVIL'S PECULIARITY?	196
XXI.	I AM YOURS	207
XXII.	THE CHEAPER MAN	213
XXIII.	YOU GO ALONE	228
XXIV.	I WANT LADYBIRD	234
XXV.	THE MOONLIGHT SONATA	242
XXVI.	STAND TO YOUR GUNS	249
XXVII.	THE EXECRABLE UNKNOWN	259
XXVIII.	YOU SHALL NOT—!	265
XXIX.	THE UTTERMOST FARTHING	274
XXX.	SHE SHALL UNDERSTAND	285
XXXI.	THE LOSS OF ALL	298
XXXII.	EVEN TO THE UTMOST	303
XXXIII.	THE ONE BIG THING	313
XXXIV.	C'ÉTAIT MA VIE	319
A-MATH.	AFTERMATH	323

Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofCaptain Desmond, V.C.

Captain Desmond, V.C.

BY

MAUD DIVER

AUTHOR OF 'THE GREAT AMULET,' 'CANDLES IN THE WIND,' ETC.

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

MY SON CYRIL,

AND TO

Mrs ALAN BATTEN

IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF ALL THAT IT OWES

TO HER GENEROUS HELP AND INTEREST.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

Captain Desmond, V.C.

CHAPTER I.

JUDGE FOR YOURSELF.

CHAPTER II.

I WANT TO BE FIRST.

CHAPTER III.

THE BIG CHAPS.

CHAPTER IV.

ESPECIALLY WOMEN.

CHAPTER V.

AN EXPURGATED EDITION.

CHAPTER VI.

GENIUS OF CHARACTER.

CHAPTER VII.

BRIGHT EYES OF DANGER.

CHAPTER VIII.

STICK TO THE FRONTIER.

CHAPTER IX.

WE'LL JUST FORGET.

CHAPTER X.

A SQUARE BARGAIN.

CHAPTER XI.

YOU DON'T KNOW DESMOND.

CHAPTER XII.

NOW IT'S DIFFERENT.

CHAPTER XIII.

IT ISN'T FAIR.

CHAPTER XIV.

I SIMPLY INSIST.

CHAPTER XV.

GOOD ENOUGH, ISN'T IT?

CHAPTER XVI.

SIGNED AND SEALED.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER XVII.

YOU WANT TO GO!

CHAPTER XVIII.

LOVE THAT IS LIFE!

CHAPTER XIX.

IT'S NOT MAJOR WYNDHAM.

CHAPTER XX.

THE DEVIL'S PECULIARITY?

CHAPTER XXI.

I AM YOURS.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE CHEAPER MAN.

CHAPTER XXIII.

YOU GO ALONE.

CHAPTER XXIV.

I WANT LADYBIRD.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MOONLIGHT SONATA.

CHAPTER XXVI.

STAND TO YOUR GUNS.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE EXECRABLE UNKNOWN.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

YOU SHALL NOT—!

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

CHAPTER XXX.

SHE SHALL UNDERSTAND.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE LOSS OF ALL.

CHAPTER XXXII.

AUTHOR OF
'THE GREAT AMULET,' 'CANDLES IN THE WIND,' ETC.