gave him, glorying in the
gift, and in return he gave her love.

All through the days that followed he watched over her with unfailing
devotion--a devotion that drew her nearer to him than she had ever been
before. She was ever responsive to his mood, keenly susceptible to his
every phase of feeling. But, curiously, she took no open notice of the
change in him. She was sublimely happy, and like a child she lived upon
happiness, asking no questions. He never saw her other than content.

Slowly that month of deadly rain wore on. The Plains had become a vast
and fetid swamp, the atmosphere a weltering, steamy heat, charged with
fever, leaden with despair.

But Puck was like a singing bird in the heart of the wilderness. She
lived apart in a paradise of her own, and even the colonel had to
relent again and bestow his grim smile upon her.

"Merryon's a lucky devil," he said, and everyone in the mess agreed with
him.

But, "You wait!" said Macfarlane, the doctor, with gloomy emphasis.
"There's more to come."

It was on a night of awful darkness that he uttered this prophecy, and
his hearers were in too overwhelming a state of depression to debate the
matter.

Merryon's bungalow was actually the only one in the station in which
happiness reigned. They were sitting together in his den smoking a great
many cigarettes, listening to the perpetual patter of the rain on the
roof and the drip, drip, drip of it from gutter to veranda, superbly
content and "completely weather-proof," as Puck expressed it.

"I hope none of the boys will turn up to-night," she said. "We haven't
room for more than two, have we?"

"Oh, someone is sure to come," responded Merryon. "They'll be getting
bored directly, and come along here for coffee."

"There's someone there now," said Puck, cocking her head. "I think I
shall run along to bed and leave you to do the entertaining. Shall I?"

She looked at him with a mischievous smile, very bright-eyed and alert.

"It would be a quick method of getting rid of them," remarked Merryon.

She jumped up. "Very well, then. I'll go, shall I? Shall I, darling?"

He reached out a hand and grasped her wrist. "No," he said,
deliberately, smiling up at her. "You'll stay and do your duty--unless
you're tired," he added. "Are you?"

She stooped to bestow a swift caress upon his forehead. "My own
Billikins!" she murmured. "You're the kindest husband that ever was. Of
course, I'm going to stay."

She could