While he was gazing with admiration at the fine collection of trophies Mrs. Dermot returned.

“What a magnificent lot of heads and skins you’ve got here!” he exclaimed.  “All your husband’s, I suppose?”

She laughed as she glanced round the room, while pouring out the tea that her butler had brought.

“I’m afraid they make the house rather like a museum of natural history,” she answered.  “Yes, they are all Kevin’s, or nearly all.  There are a few of mine among them.”

He looked at her in open admiration.

“Oh, you shoot?  How splendid!” he said.  “Have you ever got a tiger?”

“A couple,” she replied, smiling.

“I envy you awfully,” he said.  “I’ve never even seen one—­out of a cage.”

“Well, if you are keen on shooting, Mr. Wargrave, you ought to have little difficulty in bagging a tiger or two before long,” she said.

“I’d love to have the chance of going after big game.  I’m hoping for it here.  Shall I?  I’ve never had any, although I’ve shot a panther or two and a few black buck and chinkara.”

“You will have every opportunity of good sport here.  Neither of the other two Europeans, your Commanding Officer and the doctor of your detachment, go in for it, the latter because his sight is very bad, Major Hunt because he doesn’t care for it.  I’m sure my husband will be glad to take you out with him; and nobody in the whole Terai knows more about big game than he.”

“By Jove; how ripping,” exclaimed Frank eagerly.  “Would he?”

“I’m sure he would.  He’ll be only too delighted to have someone for company.  I used to go with him always, until my babies came.  Now Kevin has no one but Badshah.”

“Badshah?  Oh, yes, that ripping elephant.  I don’t know much about those animals, but isn’t it unusual for him to have only a single tusk?”

“Yes; Badshah is what the natives call a ‘Gunesh.’  You know that Gunesh is the Hindu God of Wisdom and is represented as having an elephant’s head with only the right tusk?  Consequently any of these animals born with a single tusk, and that the right, is considered sacred and looked upon as a god.”

“One of the mahouts said that the Hindus here regard your husband as one, too,” said Frank, “and he seemed inclined to believe it himself.  I like the name they’ve given Colonel Dermot—­Durro Mut Sahib, Fear Not Sahib.”

A look of pride came in the young wife’s eyes as she repeated the name softly to herself.

“Fear Not Sahib.  Yes, it suits him.”  Then aloud she continued: 

“I think you’ll like my husband, Mr. Wargrave.  All men do.  He’s a man’s man.  The hill and jungle people worship him.  He understands them.  Ah! here he is, I think.”

Her face brightened, and Frank saw the light of love shine in her eyes as she turned expectantly to the door.  He sprang up as a tall man with handsome, clear-cut features, dark complexion and eyes, and close-cropped black hair touched at the temples with grey, entered the room.  With a pleasant smile the newcomer walked towards the subaltern with outstretched hand, saying in a friendly voice: