She accepted his help instinctively, scarcely knowing what she did, and very gently, with a woman’s tenderness, he led her back into the tent.

“My mem-sahib must rest,” he said.  “And I will find a woman to serve her.”

She opened her eyes with a dizzy sense of wonder.  Peter had never failed before to procure anything that she wanted, but even in her extremity she had a curiously irrelevant moment of conjecture as to where he would turn in the wilderness for the commodity he so confidently mentioned.

Then, the anguish returning, she checked his motion to depart.  “No, no, Peter,” she said, commanding her voice with difficulty.  “There is no need for that.  I am quite all right.  But—­but—­tell me more!  How did this happen?  Why did he sleep on the mountain?”

“How should the mem-sahib’s servant know?” questioned Peter, gently and deferentially, as one who reasoned with a child.  “It may be that the opium of his cigar was stronger than usual.  But how can I tell?”

“Opium!  He never smoked opium!” Stella gazed upon him in fresh bewilderment.  “Surely—­surely not!” she said, as though seeking to convince herself.

“Mem-sahib, how should I know?” the Indian murmured soothingly.

She became suddenly aware that further inaction was unendurable.  She must see for herself.  She must know the whole, dreadful truth.  Though trembling from head to foot, she spoke with decision.  “Peter, go outside and wait for me!  Keep that old beggar too!  Don’t let him go!  As soon as I am dressed, we will go to—­the place—­and—­look for him.”

She stumbled over the last words, but she spoke them bravely.  Peter straightened himself, recognizing the voice of authority.  With a deep salaam, he turned and passed out, drawing the tent-flap decorously into place behind him.

And then with fevered energy, Stella dressed.  Her hands moved with lightning speed though her body felt curiously weighted and unnatural.  The fantastic thought crossed her brain that it was as though she prepared herself for her own funeral.

No sound reached her from without, save only the monotonous and endless dashing of the torrent among its boulders.  She was beginning to feel that the sound in some fashion expressed a curse.

When she was ready at length, she stood for a second or two to gather her strength.  She still felt ill and dizzy, as though the world she knew had suddenly fallen away from her and left her struggling in unimaginable space, like a swimmer in deep waters.  But she conquered her weakness, and, drawing aside the tent-flap once more, she stepped forth.

The morning sun struck full upon her.  It was as if the whole earth rushed to meet her in a riot of rejoicing; but she was in some fashion outside and beyond it all.  The glow could not reach her.