“Let me come too!” she said.

He shook his head.  “No.  Go and rest!”

He was gone with the words, striding swiftly down the path.  As he passed out on to the road, he broke into a run.  She stood and listened to his receding footsteps with foreboding in her heart.

“Tea is ready, my mem-sahib” said Peter softly behind her.

She thanked him with a smile and went in.

He followed her and waited upon her with all a woman’s solicitude.

For a while she suffered him in silence, then suddenly, “Peter,” she said, “what was the messenger like?”

Peter hesitated momentarily.  Then, “He was old, mem-sahib,” he said, “old and ragged, not worthy of your august consideration.”

She turned in her chair.  “Was he—­was he anything like—­that—­that holy man—­Peter, you know who I mean?” Her face was deathly as she uttered the question.

“Let my mem-sahib be comforted!” said Peter soothingly.  “It was not the holy man—­the bearer of evil tidings.”

“Ah!” The words sank down through her heart like a stone dropped into a well.  “But I think the tidings were evil all the same.  Did he say what it was?  But—­” as a sudden memory shot across her, “I ought not to ask.  I wish—­I wish the captain—­sahib would come back.”

“Let my mem-sahib have patience!” said Peter gently.  “He will soon come now.”

The blue jay laughed at the gate gleefully, uproariously, derisively.  Stella shivered.

“He is coming!” said Peter.

She started up.  Monck was returning.  He came up the compound like a man who has been beaten in a race.  His face was grey, his eyes terrible.

Stella went swiftly to the verandah-steps to meet him.  “Everard!  What is it?  Oh, what is it?” she said.

He took her arm, turning her back.  “Have you had tea?” he said.

His voice was low, but absolutely steady.  Its deadly quietness made her tremble.

“I haven’t finished,” she said.  “I have been waiting for you.”

“You needn’t have done that,” he said.  “I won’t have any, Peter,” he turned on the waiting servant, “get me some brandy!”

He sat down, setting her free.  But she remained beside him, and after a moment laid her hand lightly upon his shoulder, without words.

He reached up instantly, caught and held it in a grip that almost made her wince.  “Stella,” he said, “it’s been a very short honeymoon, but I’m afraid it’s over.  I’ve got to get back at once.”

“I am coming with you,” she said quickly.

He looked up at her with eyes that burned with a strange intensity but he did not speak in answer.

An awful dread clutched her.  She knelt swiftly down beside him.  “Everard, listen!  I don’t care what has happened or what is likely to happen.  My place is by your side—­and nowhere else.  I am coming with you.  Nothing on earth shall prevent me.”