cked by the awful look his tidings had brought into
Audrey's eyes.

The next instant she had sprung past him to the open door and was gone,
bareheaded and distraught, into the blazing sunshine.

How she covered the distance of the long, white road to the colonel's
bungalow, Audrey never remembered afterwards. Her agony of mind was too
great for her brain to register any impression of physical stress. She
only knew that she ran and ran as one runs in a nightmare, till
suddenly she was on the veranda of the colonel's bungalow, stumbling,
breathless, crying hoarsely for "Phil! Phil!"

He came to her instantly.

"Where is he?" she cried, in high, strained tones. "Where is my husband?
You promised to bring him back to me! You promised--you promised--"

Her voice failed. She felt choked, as if an iron hand were slowly,
remorselessly, crushing the life out of her panting heart. Thick
darkness hovered above her, but she fought it from her wildly,
frantically.

"You promised--" She gasped again.

He took her gently by the arm, supporting her.

"Mrs. Tudor," he said very earnestly, "I have done my best."

He led her unresisting into a room close by. The colonel was there, and
with him a man in flowing, native garments.

"Mrs. Tudor," said Phil, his hand closing tightly upon her arm, "before
you blame me, I want you to speak to this man. He can tell you more
about your husband than I can."

He spoke very quietly, very steadily, almost as if he were afraid she
might not understand him.

Audrey made an effort to collect her reeling senses. The colonel bent
towards her.

"Don't be afraid of him, Mrs. Tudor," he said kindly. "He is a friend,
and he speaks English."

But Audrey did not so much as glance at the native, who stood, silent
and impassive, waiting to be questioned. The agony of the past thirty
hours had reached its limit. She sank into a chair by the colonel's
table and hid her face in her shaking hands.

"I've nothing to ask him," she said hopelessly. "Eustace is
dead--dead--dead, without ever knowing how I loved him. Nothing matters
now. There is nothing left that ever can matter."

Dead silence succeeded her words, then a quiet movement, then silence
again.

She did not look up or stir. Her passion of grief had burnt itself out.
She was exhausted mentally and physically.

Minutes passed, but she did not move. What was there to rouse her? There
was nothing left. She had no tears to shed. Tears were