“Thank you,” he said.  “Button it in your coat pocket.”

He waited while Thresk obeyed.

“Thus,” said Thresk with a laugh, “did the Rajah of Bakutu,” and Ballantyne replied with a grin.

“Thank you for mentioning that name.”  He turned to Baram Singh.  “The camel, quick!”

Baram Singh went out to the enclosure within the little village of tents and Thresk asked curiously: 

“Do you distrust him?”

Ballantyne looked steadily at his visitor and said: 

“I don’t answer such questions.  But I’ll tell you something.  If that man were dying he would ask for leave.  And if he would ask for leave because he would not die with my scarlet livery on his back.  Are you answered?”

“Yes,” said Thresk.

“Very well.”  And with a brisk change of tone Ballantyne added:  “I’ll see that your camel is ready.”  He called aloud to his wife:  “Stella!  Stella!  Mr. Thresk is going,” and he went out through the doorway into the moonlight.

CHAPTER VIII

AND THE RIFLE

Thresk, alone in the tent, looked impatiently towards the grass-screen.  He wanted half-a-dozen words with Stella alone.  Here was the opportunity, the unhoped-for opportunity, and it was slipping away.  Through the open doorway of the tent he saw Ballantyne standing by a big fire and men moving quickly in obedience to his voice.  Then he heard the rustle of a dress in the corridor, and she was in the room.  He moved quickly towards her, but she held up her hand and stopped him.

“Oh, why did you come?” she said, and the pallor of her face reproached him no less than the regret in her voice.

“I heard of you in Bombay,” he replied.  “I am glad that I did come.”

“And I am sorry.”

“Why?”

She looked about the tent as though he might find his answer there.  Thresk did not move.  He stood near to her, watching her face intently with his jaw rather set.

“Oh, I didn’t say that to wound you,” said Stella, and she sat down on one of the cushioned basket-chairs.  “You mustn’t think I wasn’t glad to see you.  I was—­at the first moment I was very glad;” and she saw his face lighten as she spoke.  “I couldn’t help it.  All the years rolled away.  I remembered the Sussex Downs and—­and—­days when we rode there high up above the weald.  Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“How long was that ago?”

“Eight years.”

Stella laughed wistfully.

“To me it seems a century.”  She was silent for a moment, and though he spoke to her urgently she did not answer.  She was carried back to the high broad hills of grass with the curious clumps of big beech-trees upon their crests.

“Do you remember Halnaker Gallop?” she asked with a laugh.  “We found it when the chains weren’t up and had the whole two miles free.  Was there ever such grass?”