ngland; half
reluctantly she told me how she had brought herself up after her
mother's death and her father's second marriage. Little was said of
that, but I gathered that it had been a grief to her, a factor in her
flight to the East.

We were walking in the Circular Road then with Winifred in front leading
her Pekingese by its blue ribbon, and we had it almost to ourselves
except for a few natives passing slow and dignified on their own
occasions, for fashionable Peshawar was finishing its last rubber of
bridge, before separating to dress for dinner, and had no time to spare
for trivialities and sunsets.

"So when I came to three-and-twenty," she said slowly, "I felt I must
break away from our narrow life. I had a call to India stronger than
anything on earth. You would not understand but that was so, and I had
spent every spare moment in teaching myself India--its history, legends,
religions, everything! And I was not wanted at home, and I had grown
afraid."

I could divine years of patience and repression under this plain tale,
but also a power that would be dynamic when the authentic voice called.
That was her charm--gentleness in strength--a sweet serenity.

"What were you afraid of?"

"Of growing old and missing what was waiting for me out here. But I
could not get away like other people. No money, you see. So I thought I
would come out here and teach. Dare I? Would they let me? I knew I was
fighting life and chances and risks if I did it; but it was death if I
stayed there. And then--Do you really care to hear?"

"Of course. Tell me how you broke your chain."

"I spare you the family quarrels. I can never go back. But I was
spurred--spurred to take some wild leap; and I took it. Six years ago I
came out. First I went to a doctor and his wife at Cawnpore. They had
a wonderful knowledge of the Indian peoples, and there I learned
Hindustani and much else. Then he died. But an aunt had left me two
hundred pounds, and I could wait a little and choose; and so I came
here."

It interested me. The courage that pale elastic type of woman has!

"Have you ever regretted it? Would they take you back if you failed?"

"Never, to both questions," she said, smiling. "Life is glorious. I've
drunk of a cup I never thought to taste; and if I died tomorrow I should
know I had done right. I rejoice in every moment I live--even when
Winifred and I are wrestling with arithmetic."

"I shouldn't have thought life was very