word-pictures of the cities they would see together--Udaipur, Chitor,
Ajmir; and, not least, Komulmir, the hill fortress crowned with the
'cloud-palace' of Prithvi Raj and that distant Tara, her namesake.
Together, they would seek out the little shrine--Roy knew all about
it--near the Temple of the Mother of the Gods, that held the mingled
ashes of those great lovers who were pleasant in their lives and in
death were not divided....

* * * * *

It was much later on, in the evening, when they sat alone near the twin
beeches, under a new-lighted moon, that Roy at last managed to speak of
Rose. In the dimness it was easier, though difficult at best. But all
day he had been aware of Tara longing to hear; unable to ask; too
sensitive on his account; too proud on her own.

Sir James and Lady Despard were dining, to honour the event: and if Sir
James had needed 'squaring' no one heard of it. Jeffers had arrived,
large and genial--his thatch of hair thinned a little and white as
driven snow. Healths had been drunk. It was long since the Beeches had
known so hilarious a meal. Yet the graceless pair had made haste to
escape, and blessed Lady Despard for remaining with the men.

Tara was leaning back in a low chair; Roy on a floor cushion, very
close; a hand slipped behind her, his cheek against her arm; yet, in a
deeper sense, she wanted him closer still. Surely he knew....

He did know.

"Tara--my loveliest--shall I tell you?" he asked suddenly. "Are you
badly wanting to hear?"

"Craving to," she confessed. "It's like a bit of blank space inside me.
And I don't want blank spaces--about you. It's the house swept and
garnished that attracts the seven devils. And one of my devils is
jealousy! I've hated her _so_, poor thing. I can't hate her more,
whatever you tell----"

"Try hating her less," suggested Roy.

"Try and make me!" she challenged him. "Are you--half afraid? Were you
... fearfully smitten?"

"Wonderful Tara! 'Smitten' is the very word." He looked up at her
moonlit face, its appealing charm, its mingling of delicacy and
strength. "I would never dream of saying I was 'smitten'--with _you_."

For reward, her lips caressed his hair. "What a Roy you are--with your
words! Tell me--tell from the beginning."

And from the beginning he told her: first in broken, spasmodic
sentences, with breaks and jars; then more fluently, more unreservedly,
as he felt her leaning closer--more and m