Her vision was still slightly blurred, but she saw that the set of his
jaw was stubborn. He stooped after a moment and kissed her forehead.
"You lie still!" he said. "And mind--you are not to dress for dinner."

He turned with that and left her.

She was not sorry to be alone, for her head was throbbing almost
unbearably, but she would have given much to know what was in his mind.

She lay there passively till presently she heard Tommy dash in to dress
for mess, and shortly after there came the sound of men's voices in the
compound, and she knew that Monck and Barnes were walking to and fro
together.

She got up then, summoning her energies, and stole to her own room.
Monck had commanded her not to change her dress, but the haggardness of
her face shocked her into taking refuge in the remedy which she secretly
despised. She did it furtively, hoping that in the darkened drawing-room
he had not noted the ghastly pallor which she thus sought to conceal.

Before she left her room she heard Tommy and Barnes departing, and when
she entered the dining-room Monck came in alone at the window and joined
her.

She met him somewhat nervously, for she thought his face was stern. But
when he spoke, his voice held nought but kindness, and she was
reassured. He did not look at her with any very close criticism, nor did
he revert to what had passed an hour before.

They were served by Peter, swiftly and silently, Stella making a valiant
effort to simulate an appetite which she was far from possessing. The
windows were wide to the night, and from the river bank below there came
the thrumming of some stringed instrument, which had a weird and
strangely poignant throbbing, as if it voiced some hidden distress.
There were a thousand sounds besides, some near, some distant, but it
penetrated them all with the persistence of some small imprisoned
creature working perpetually for freedom.

It began to wear upon Stella's nerves at last. It was so futile, yet so
pathetic--the same soft minor tinkle, only a few stray notes played over
and over, over and over, till her brain rang with the maddening little
refrain. She was glad when the meal was over, and she could make the
excuse to move to the drawing-room. There was a piano here, a rickety
instrument long since hammered into tunelessness. But she sat down
before it. Anything was better than to sit and listen to that single,
plaintive little voice of India crying in the night.

She tho