The evening was drawing near.  They had arrived but a few minutes before in Major Ralston’s car, and the journey had taken the whole day.  Her mind went back to that early hour almost in the dawning when she and Everard Monck had knelt together before the altar of the little English Church at Kurrumpore and been pronounced man and wife.  Mrs. Ralston and Tommy alone had attended the wedding.  The hour had been kept a strict secret from all besides.  And they had gone straight forth into the early sunlight of the new day and sped away into the morning, rejoicing.  A blue jay had laughed after them at starting, and a blue jay was laughing now in the budding acacia by the gate.  There seemed a mocking note in its laughter, but it held gaiety as well.  Listening to it, she forgot all the weary miles of desert through which they had travelled.  The world was fair, very fair, here at Bhulwana.  And they were alone.

There fell a step on the grass behind her; she thrilled and turned.  He came and put his arm around her.

“Do you think you can stand seven days of it?” he said.

She leaned her head against him.  “I want to catch every moment of them and hold it fast.  How shall we make the time pass slowly?”

He smiled at the question.  “Do you know, I was afraid this place wouldn’t appeal to you?”

Her hand sought and closed upon his.  “Ah, why not?” she said.

He did not answer her.  Only, with his face bent down to hers, he said, “The past is past then?”

“For ever,” she made swift reply.  “But I have always loved Bhulwana—­even in my sad times.  Ah, listen!  That is a koil!”

They listened to the bird’s flutelike piping, standing closely linked in the shadow of a little group of pines.  In the bungalow behind them Peter the Great was decking the table for their wedding-feast.  The scent of white roses was in the air, languorous, exquisite.

The blue jay laughed again in the acacia by the gate, laughed and flew away.  “Good riddance!” said Monck.

“Don’t you like him?” said Stella.

“I’m not particularly keen on being jeered at,” he answered.

She laughed at him in her turn.  “I never thought you cared a single anna what any one thought of you.”

He smiled.  “Perhaps I have got more sensitive since I knew you.”

She lifted her lips to his with a sudden movement.  “I am like that too,
Everard.  I care—­terribly now.”

He kissed her, and his kiss was passionate.  “No one shall ever think anything but good of you, my Stella,” he said.

She clung to him.  “Ah, but the outside world doesn’t matter,” she said.  “It is only we ourselves, and our secret, innermost hearts that count.  Everard, let us be more than true to each other!  Let us be quite, quite open—­always!”

He held her fast, but he made no answer to her appeal.

Her eyes sought his.  “That is possible, isn’t it?” she pleaded.  “My heart is open to you.  There is not a single corner of it that you may not enter.”