to tell me that!"

The tears were actually in her eyes as she kissed the surgeon's wife.
That spontaneous act of sympathy had pierced straight through her armour
of reserve and found its way to her heart. Her face, as she passed on
down the aisle by her husband's side, was wonderfully softened, and even
Mrs. Ermsted found no gibe to fling after her. The smile that quivered
on Stella's lips was full of an unconscious pathos that disarmed all
criticism.

The sunshine outside the church was blinding. It smote through the
awning with pitiless intensity. Around the carriage a curious crowd had
gathered to see the bridal procession. To Stella's dazzled eyes it
seemed a surging sea of unfamiliar faces. But one face stood out from
the rest--the calm countenance of Ralph Dacre's magnificent Sikh
servant clad in snowy linen, who stood at the carriage door and gravely
bowed himself before her, stretching an arm to protect her dress from
the wheel.

"This is Peter the Great," said Dacre's careless voice, "a highly
honourable person, Stella, and a most efficient bodyguard."

"How do you do?" said Stella, and held out her hand.

She acted with the utmost simplicity. During her four weeks' sojourn in
India she had not learned to treat the native servant with contempt, and
the majestic presence of this man made her feel almost as if she were
dealing with a prince.

He straightened himself swiftly at her action, and she saw a sudden,
gleaming smile flash across his grave face. Then he took the proffered
hand, bending low over it till his turbaned forehead for a moment
touched her fingers.

"May the sun always shine on you, my _mem-sahib!_" he said.

Stella realized afterwards that in action and in words there lay a tacit
acceptance of her as mistress which was to become the allegiance of a
lifelong service.

She stepped into the carriage with a feeling of warmth at her heart
which was very different from the icy constriction that had bound it
when she had arrived at the church a brief half-hour before with Tommy.

Her husband's arm was about her as they drove away. He pressed her to
his side. "Oh, Star of my heart, how superb you are!" he said. "I feel
as if I had married a queen. And you weren't even nervous."

She bent her head, not looking at him. "Poor Tommy was," she said.

He smiled tolerantly. "Tommy's such a youngster."

She smiled also. "Exactly one year younger than I am."

He drew her nearer, his eyes devour