road.  She may have seen a sepoy who knew him in Burma, but of this no one can be certain.  At last, she found a regiment on the line of march, and met there one of the many subalterns whom Georgie Porgie had invited to dinner in the far-off, old days of the dacoit-hunting.  There was a certain amount of amusement among the tents when Georgina threw herself at the man’s feet and began to cry.  There was no amusement when her story was told; but a collection was made, and that was more to the point.  One of the subalterns knew of Georgie Porgie’s whereabouts, but not of his marriage.  So he told Georgina and she went her way joyfully to the north, in a railway carriage where there was rest for tired feet and shade for a dusty little head.  The marches from the train through the hills into Sutrain were trying, but Georgina had money, and families journeying in bullock-carts gave her help.  It was an almost miraculous journey, and Georgina felt sure that the good spirits of Burma were looking after her.  The hill-road to Sutrain is a chilly stretch, and Georgina caught a bad cold.  Still there was Georgie Porgie at the end of all the trouble to take her up in his arms and pet her, as he used to do in the old days when the stockade was shut for the night and he had approved of the evening meal.  Georgina went forward as fast as she could; and her good spirits did her one last favour.

An Englishman stopped her, in the twilight, just at the turn of the road into Sutrain, saying, ‘Good Heavens!  What are you doing here?’

He was Gillis, the man who had been Georgie Porgie’s assistant in Upper Burma, and who occupied the next post to Georgie Porgie’s in the jungle.  Georgie Porgie had applied to have him to work with at Sutrain because he liked him.

‘I have come,’ said Georgina simply.  ’It was such a long way, and I have been months in coming.  Where is his house?’

Gillis gasped.  He had seen enough of Georgina in the old times to know that explanations would be useless.  You cannot explain things to the Oriental.  You must show.

‘I’ll take you there,’ said Gillis, and he led Georgina off the road, up the cliff, by a little pathway, to the back of a house set on a platform cut into the hillside.

The lamps were just lit, but the curtains were not drawn.  ‘Now look,’ said Gillis, stopping in front of the drawing-room window.  Georgina looked and saw Georgie Porgie and the Bride.

She put her hand up to her hair, which had come out of its top-knot and was straggling about her face.  She tried to set her ragged dress in order, but the dress was past pulling straight, and she coughed a queer little cough, for she really had taken a very bad cold.  Gillis looked, too, but while Georgina only looked at the Bride once, turning her eyes always on Georgie Porgie, Gillis looked at the Bride all the time.

‘What are you going to do?’ said Gillis, who held Georgina by the wrist, in case of any unexpected rush into the lamplight.  ’Will you go in and tell that English woman that you lived with her husband?’