"Do as I say!" he commanded.

And against her will Stella turned and obeyed. She fetched the strap,
but she held it back when he stretched a hand for it.

"Everard, she is only a child. You won't--you won't----"

"Flay her with it?" he suggested, and she saw his brief, ironic smile.
"Not at present. Hand it over!"

She gave it reluctantly. Tessa squealed a wild remonstrance. The
merciless grip that held her had sent terror to her heart.

Monck, still deadly quiet, set her on her feet against one of the wooden
posts that supported the roof of the verandah, passed the strap round
her waist and buckled it firmly behind the post.

Then he stood up and looked again at the watch on his wrist. "Two
hours!" he said briefly, and went back to his work at the other end of
the verandah.

Stella went back to the drawing-room, half-relieved and half-dismayed.
It was useless to interfere, she saw; but the punishment, though richly
deserved, was a heavy one, and she wondered how Tessa, the
ever-restless, wrought up to a high pitch of nervous excitement as she
was, would stand it.

The thickness of the post to which she was fastened made it impossible
for her to free herself. The strap was a very stout one, and the buckle
such as only a man's fingers could loosen. It was an undignified
position, and Tessa valued her dignity as a rule.

She cast it to the winds on this occasion, however, for she fought like
a wild cat for freedom, and when at length her absolute helplessness was
made quite clear even to her, she went into a paroxysm of fury, hurling
every kind of invective that occurred to her at Monck who with the
grimness of an executioner sat at his table in unbroken silence.

Having exhausted her vocabulary, both English and Hindustani, Tessa
broke at last into tears and wept stormily for many minutes. Monck sat
through the storm without raising his eyes.

From the drawing-room Stella watched him. She was no longer afraid of
any unconsidered violence. He was completely master of himself, but she
thought there was a hint of cruelty about him notwithstanding. There was
ruthlessness in his utter immobility.

The hour for _tiffin_ drew near. Peter came out on to the verandah to
lay the cloth. Monck gathered up books and papers and rose.

The great Sikh looked at the child shaken with passionate sobbing in the
corner of the verandah and from her to Monck with a touch of ferocity in
his dark eyes. Monck met the look with a f