Puck made no complaint.  She was always waiting for him, however late the hour of his return.  She was always in his arms the moment the dripping overcoat was removed.  Sometimes he brought work back with him, and wrestled with regimental accounts and other details far into the night.  It was not his work, but someone had to do it, and it had devolved upon him.

Puck never would go to bed without him.  It was too lonely, she said; she was afraid of snakes, or rats, or bogies.  She used to curl up on the charpoy in his room, clad in the airiest of wrappers, and doze the time away till he was ready.

One night she actually fell into a sound sleep thus, and he, finishing his work, sat on and on, watching her, loath to disturb her.  There was deep pathos in her sleeping face.  Lines that in her waking moments were never apparent were painfully noticeable in repose.  She had the puzzled, wistful look of a child who has gone through trouble without understanding it—­a hurt and piteous look.

He watched her thus till a sense of trespass came upon him, and then he rose, bent over her, and very tenderly lifted her.

She was alert on the instant, with a sharp movement of resistance.  Then at once her arms went round his neck.  “Oh, darling, is it you?  Don’t bother to carry me!  You’re so tired!”

He smiled at the idea, and she nestled against his heart, lifting soft lips to his.

He carried her to bed, and laid her down, but she would not let him go immediately.  She yet clung about his neck, hiding her face against it.

He held her closely.  “Good-night, little pal—­little sweetheart,” he said.

Her arms tightened.  “Billikins!” she said.

He waited.  “What is it, dear?”

She became a little agitated.  He could feel her lips moving, but they said no audible word.

He waited in silence.  And suddenly she raised her face and looked at him fully.  There was a glory in her eyes such as he had never seen before.

“I dreamt last night that the wonderfullest thing happened,” she said, her red lips quivering close to his own.  “Billikins, what if—­the dream came true?”

A hot wave of feeling went through him at her words.  He crushed her to him, feeling the quick beat of her heart against his own, the throbbing surrender of her whole being to his.  He kissed her burningly, with such a passion of devotion as had never before moved him.

She laughed rapturously.  “Isn’t it great, Billikins?” she said.  “And I’d have missed it all if it hadn’t been for you.  Just think—­if I hadn’t jumped—­before the safety-curtain—­came—­down!”

She was speaking between his kisses, and eventually they stopped her.

“Don’t think,” he said; “don’t think!”