e of it and the gardens of the station bungalows stretching
back into clusters of crisp shadows. It was an exquisite February night,
very still. Nothing seemed abroad but two or three pariah dogs, upon
vague and errant business, and the Executive Engineer going swiftly home
from the club on his bicycle. Even the little shops of the bazaar were
dark and empty; only here and there a light showed barred behind
the carved balconies of the upper rooms, and there was hardly any
tom-tomming. The last long slope of the road showed us the river curving
to the left, through a silent white waste that stretched indefinitely
into the moonlight on one side, and was crowned by Akbar's fort on the
other. His long high line of turrets and battlements still guarded a
hint of their evening rose, and dim and exquisite above them hovered
the three dome-bubbles of the Pearl Mosque. It was a night of perfect
illusion, and the illusion was mysterious, delicate, and faint. I sat
silent as we rolled along, twenty years nearer to the original joy of
things when John and I drove through the same old dream.

Dacres, too, seemed preoccupied; only Cecily was, as they say, herself.
Cecily was really more than herself, she exhibited an unusual flow of
spirits. She talked continually, she pointed out this and that, she
asked who lived here and who lived there. At regular intervals of
about four minutes she demanded if it wasn't simply too lovely. She
sat straight up with her vigorous profile and her smart hat; and the
silhouette of her personality sharply refused to mingle with the dust
of any dynasty. She was a contrast, a protest; positively she was
an indignity. 'Do lean back, dear child,' I exclaimed at last. 'You
interfere with the landscape.'

She leaned back, but she went on interfering with it in terms of
sincerest enthusiasm.

When we stopped at the great archway of entrance I begged to be left in
the carriage. What else could one do, when the golden moment had come,
but sit in the carriage and measure it? They climbed the broad stone
steps together and passed under the lofty gravures into the garden, and
I waited. I waited and remembered. I am not, as perhaps by this time is
evident, a person of overwhelming sentiment, but I think the smile upon
my lips was gentle. So plainly I could see, beyond the massive
archway and across a score of years, all that they saw at that
moment--Arjamand's garden, and the long straight tank of marble cleaving