“You have?” said Monck.  “That means I have been very unruly.  Do you mind telling me what happened on the night I was taken ill?”

She felt a burning blush rush up to her face and neck before she could check it.  It was impossible to attempt to hide her distress from him.  She forced herself to speak before it overwhelmed her.  “I would rather not discuss it or think of it.  You were not yourself, and I—­and I—­”

“And you?” said Monck, his voice suddenly sunk very low.

She commanded herself with a supreme effort.  “I wish to forget it,” she said with firmness.

He was silent for a moment or two.  She began to wonder if it would be possible to make her escape before he could pursue the subject further.  And then he spoke, and she knew that she must remain.

“You are very generous,” he said, “more generous than I deserve.  Will it help matters at all if I tell you that I would give all I have to be able to forget it too, or to believe that the thing I remember was just one of the wild delusions of my brain?”

His voice was deep and sincere.  In spite of herself she was moved by it.  She came forward to his side.  “The past is past,” she said, and gave him her hand.

He took it and held it, looking at her in his straight, inscrutable way.  “True, most gracious!” he said.  “But I haven’t quite done with it yet.  Will you hear me a moment longer?  You have of your goodness pardoned my outrageous behaviour, so I make no further allusion to that, except to tell you that I had been tempted to try a native drug which in its effects was worse than the fever pure and simple.  But there is one point which only you can make clear.  How was it you came to seek me out that night?”

His grasp upon her hand was reassuring though she felt the quiver of physical weakness in its hold.  It was the grasp of a friend, and her embarrassment began to fall away from her.

“I came,” she said, “because I had been startled.  I had no idea you were anywhere near.  I was really investigating the verandah because of—­of something I had seen, when the light from this window attracted me.  I thought possibly someone had broken in.”

“Will you tell me what startled you?” Monck said.

She looked at him.  “It was a man—­an old native beggar.  I only saw him for a moment.  I was in Tommy’s room, and he came and looked in at me.  You—­you must have seen him too.  You were talking very excitedly about him.  You threatened to shoot him.”

“Was that how you came to deprive me of my revolver?” questioned Monck.

She coloured again vividly.  “No, I thought you were going to shoot yourself.  I will give it back to you presently.”

“When you consider that I can be safely trusted with it?” he suggested, with his brief smile.  “But tell me some more about this mysterious old beggar of yours!  What was he like?”

She hesitated momentarily.  “I only had a very fleeting glimpse of him.  I can’t tell you what he was really like.  But—­he reminded me of someone I never want to think of or suffer myself to think of again if I can help it.”