er thank God enough that I came out to India and won
you back."

Weak as he still was from the pain and prostration of his terrible
illness, the exquisite completeness of her surrender almost unmanned
him; and she felt him tremble through all his big frame. That roused
the mother in her.

"Darling, how thoughtless of me! You are not strong enough yet for
this sort of thing. Let me get you some wine--please."

"Wine? Nonsense, I'm all right. Desmond gave me a peg."

"Come to a chair, then."

She drew him towards one; but he gently forced her into it, sinking on
one knee beside her, with a sigh of satisfaction.

"That's good. I begin to realise that I am actually home!"

"And I begin to realise what a wreck of yourself you are, _mon pauvre_.
Wait till I've tyrannised over you for a month or so! Then we must get
long leave."

And taking his head between her hands, she cherished it, smiling into
his eyes; the passion of the wife deepened and hallowed by the
protective tenderness of the mother. When and how should she tell him?
That was the question in her mind. A paralysing shyness, for which she
spurned herself, suffused her at the thought; and behind the shyness
lurked a great longing to know how he would receive her culminating
revelation. But in his present state she dreaded a shock for
him,--even a shock of joy. She would wait a little longer for the
given moment; and then . . . .

"The hair on your temples has gone quite silver," she lamented,
caressing it with light finger-tips. "It is all those terrible
mountains; and I hope you've had enough of them now to keep you quiet
for a time. But I begin to dread Sir Henry Forsyth. He hasn't got
another 'mission' up his sleeve, has he?"

She spoke laughingly, but his eyes were grave; and taking her two hands
he prisoned them in his own.

"Quita, my brave lass," he said gently. "After all that has just
passed between us, I can tell you no less than the truth, and leave you
to give the casting vote. I am afraid the mountains are bound to play
a big part in our immediate future, unless you seriously prefer that I
should give up all idea of political work in those parts, and stick to
the Battery."

"And if I _do_ seriously prefer it?"

"Your decision will be mine."

He spoke so steadily that she would fain have believed in his
indifference as to the result. But the art of self-deception was not
one of her accomplishments. She suppressed a sig