ith tears in her eyes, and fierce disappointment at
her heart, she submitted to the inevitable.

Michael greeted her with lifted eyebrows, and an exasperating chuckle.

"Thought ten minutes of it would be enough for you," he remarked
coolly; and her wrath against things in general vented itself on him.

"Really, Michel, you are _detestable_! It was not enough. The 'mate'
lost his footing, and the lantern broke. Oh, it's cruel . . . after
nearly three weeks . . ."

Her voice broke, and Michael, thankful to see her again, took one of
her hands and drew her towards him.

"_Pauvre cherie_," he said more gently. "Don't break your heart over
it. Send a note to say you'll come to-morrow, and cheer me up a bit
now, like the sweet sister you are."

There was nothing else to be done. Arming an adventurous _sais_ with
Maurice's lantern, an alpenstock, and two notes tied up in a scrap of
oiled silk, Quita choked down her misery, and did her utmost to comply
with his request. But the meal was only a partial success, for the
rebellious heart of her was out there in the rain, following the notes
to their destination.

They did not reach it till well after eight o'clock, when those who
awaited her had given up all hope, and were just sitting down to dinner.

Lenox still wore his arm in a sling, and the lines in his face looked
deeper than usual. Otherwise he was quite himself again. The anxiety
in his eyes gave place to dejection as Honor handed him Quita's note.

"Shall I open it for you?" she added gently.

He frowned, and thanked her. There are few things more galling to a
man than helplessness over trifles. He laid the open note beside his
plate, and its half-dozen lines of love took him an amazingly long
while to read: for Quita, like many spontaneous natures, had the gift
of making herself almost seen and heard by means of a few written
words. He tried to win comfort from the thought that it was only a
matter of getting through eighteen hours, after all, and roused himself
resolutely to a fair semblance of cheerfulness. But both husband and
wife were too keenly sympathetic to be quite successful in their
attempts to change the current of his thoughts; and their own hearts
were heavy with a great anxiety for Desmond's life-long friend, Paul
Wyndham. A phenomenal downpour at Dera Ishmael had produced a prolific
crop of fever cases, and Wyndham's had taken a serious turn. The last
two days had brought such