So she told herself, even while the shiver of apprehension which she could not control went through her, causing her to draw her wrap more closely about her though there was nought but a pleasant coolness in the soft air that blew across the plain.

She and Tommy were to drive with the Ralstons to the ruined palace in the jungle of Khanmulla where the picnic was to take place.  She had never seen it, but had heard it described as the most romantic spot in Markestan.  It had been the site of a fierce battle in some bye-gone age, and its glories had departed.  For centuries it had lain deserted and crumbling.  Yet some of its ancient beauty remained.  Its marble floors and walls of carved stone were not utterly obliterated though only owls and flying-foxes made it their dwelling-place.  Natives regarded it with superstitious awe and seldom approached it.  But Europeans all looked upon it as the most beautiful corner within reach, and had it been nearer to Kurrumpore, it would have been a far more frequented playground than it was.

The hoot of a motor-horn broke suddenly upon the silence, and Stella started.  It was the horn of Major Ralston’s little two-seater; she knew it well.  But they had not proposed using it that night.  She and Tommy were to accompany them in a waggonette.  The crunching of wheels and throb of the engine at the gate told her it was stopping.  Then the Ralstons had altered their plans, unless—­Something suddenly leapt up within her.  She was conscious of a curious constriction at the throat, a sense of suffocation.  The fuss and worry of the engine died down into silence, and in a moment there came the sound of a man’s feet entering the compound.  Standing motionless, with hands clenched against her sides, she gazed forth.  A tall, straight figure was coming towards her between the whispering tamarisks.  It was not Major Ralston.  He walked with a slouch, and this man’s gait was firm and purposeful.  He came up to the verandah-steps with unfaltering determination.  He was looking full at her, and she knew that she stood revealed in the marvellous Indian moonlight.  He mounted the steps with the same absolute self-assurance that yet held nought of arrogance.  His face remained in shadow, but she did not need to see it.  The reason of his coming was proclaimed in every line, in every calm, unwavering movement.

He came to her, and she waited there in the merciless moonlight; for she had no choice.

“I have come for you,” he said.

The words were brief, but they thrilled her strangely.  Her eyes fluttered and refused to meet his look.

“The Ralstons are taking us,” she said.

Her tone was cold, her bearing aloof.  She was striving for self-control.  He could not have known of the tumult within her.  Yet he smiled.  “They are taking Tommy,” he said.

She heard the stubborn note in his voice and suddenly and completely the power to resist went from her.