in of a woman who had almost forgotten that Love
is a holy thing.

He heard her to the end with scarcely a word, and when she had
finished he made one comment only.

"And so you gave him up."

She shivered with the pain of that memory. "Yes, I gave him up--I
gave him up. Nick had made me see the hopelessness of it all--the
wickedness. And he--he let me go. He saw it too--at least he
understood. And on that very night--oh, Will, that awful night--he
went to his death."

His arms grew closer about her. "My poor girl!" he said.

"Ah, but you shouldn't!" she sobbed. "You shouldn't! You ought to hate
me--to despise me."

"Hush!" he said again. And she knew that with that one word he
resolutely turned his back upon the gulf that had opened between them
during those twenty months--that gulf that his love had been great
enough to bridge--and that he took her with him, bruised and broken
and storm-tossed as she was, into a very sheltered place.

When presently he turned her face up to his own and gravely kissed her
she clung to his neck like a tired child, no longer fearing to meet
his look, only thankful for the comfort of his arms.

For a while longer he held her silently, then very quietly he began
to question her about her journey. Had she told him that she had been
putting up at the dak-bungalow?

"Oh, only for a few hours," she answered. "We arrived this evening,
Nick and I."

"Nick!" he said. "And you left him behind?"

"He is waiting to take me back," she murmured, her face hidden against
his shoulder.

Again, very tenderly, his hand pressed her forehead. "He must come to
us, eh, dear? I will sent the _khit_ down with a note presently. But
you are tired out, and must rest. Lie here while I go and tell Sammy
to make ready."

It was when he came back to her that she began to see wherein lay the
change in him that had so struck her.

From her cushions she looked up at him, piteously smiling. "How thin
you are, Will! And you are getting quite a scholarly stoop."

"Ah, that's India," he said.

But she knew that it was not India at all, and her face told him so,
though he affected not to see it.

He bent over her. "Now, Daisy, I am going to carry you to bed as I
used--do you remember?--at Simla, after the baby came. Dear little
chap! Do you remember how he used to smile in his sleep?"

His voice was hushed, as though he stood once more beside the tiny
cot.

She sat up, yielding herself to his arms. "