But the subaltern did not receive it until more than a week afterwards, when he returned to Ranga Duar with Tashi after chasing back across the Border a mongrel pack of dacoits—­brigands—­who had been harrying Bhuttia villages in British territory.  The letter lay on the table in the room which he still occupied in the Mess, although he was no longer an officer of the detachment, together with a pile of correspondence that had accumulated during his absence.  Recognising Violet’s writing on the envelope he tore it open anxiously.  He rapidly scanned the first page, stared at it incredulously, read it again carefully and then finished the letter.  It ran: 

    “My dear Frank,

“I am going to relieve your mind of a great weight and send you into the seventh heaven of delight by giving you the glad news that you are never likely to see me again.  Before the week is ended I shall have left India for ever with someone who can give me all I want and not condemn me to a poverty-stricken existence in a wretched little jungle station, which is all that you had to offer me.  I know it was not your fault and you are really a dear boy.  I was very fond of you; but you did not love me and we would have been very miserable together.  For you would be always pining for your jungle girl and I would have hated you for it.  Now we part good friends and she is welcome to you.  I ought to tell you that I did not really write to my husband as I said I did.

    “I wish you luck—­won’t you wish me the same?

    “Yours affectionately,

    “VIOLET.”

When he had thoroughly grasped the meaning of this extraordinary letter he forgave her everything in the joy of knowing that she had set him free.  He did not speculate as to the man with whom she was going; his thoughts flew at once to Muriel.  But his delight was tempered by the fear that his liberty had come too late to be of service to him with her.  Would she ever forgive him?  His heart sank when he remembered her indignation, her bitter words when they parted.  Surely no woman who had been so humiliated could pardon the man who had brought such shame upon her.  Yet how could he have acted otherwise?  It was natural that the girl should blame him; but how could he have been false to his plighted word and desert the one who held his promise?  If only he could see Muriel and plead with her.  Perhaps in time she might bring herself to forgive him.  But how was he to meet her?  Now that Mrs. Dermot had gone to England, the girl would not come again to Ranga Duar.  She was, he knew, accompanying her father in his tour of the forests of the districts in his charge.  How could he go to their camp or lonely bungalow in the jungle and force his presence on her?  What was he to do?