ble is over, when you shall both go straight to the
Hills."

"Very well, Theo; I will stay."

But her voice had an odd vibration in it. There was no refusing a
request so worded; but she knew her decision was only deferred to a
more seasonable moment.

"Thank you with all my heart," he said. "You'll not regret it, I feel
certain."

During the pause that followed, the wounded man made a futile attempt
to change his position. In an instant her hands were at his pillows,
shifting them quickly and dexterously, supporting his shoulders with
her arm the while.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" she asked; and the mother-note
sounded in her voice.

"It's just beautiful, thank you. Now--I want Ladybird."

Honor's colour ebbed at the words, and she may be forgiven if a pang
of rebellion stabbed her. All the hard tasks, it seemed, were to be
hers; while for Evelyn was reserved the full measure of a love and
tenderness which she seemed little able to rate to their true value.
But there was no trace of emotion in her voice as she replied, "You
shall have her at once; only she mustn't stay long. You have already
talked more than is good for you."

"Talked?" he echoed, with a sudden outburst of impatience. "What else
is there for me to do? I can neither read, nor write, nor move. Am I
to lie here like a log, with my own black thoughts for company? I'm
not ill, in spite of all."

"No, Theo, you are not ill now," the girl reasoned with him in all
gentleness, "but with a wound like that so near your temple you soon
will be ill, if you refuse to be moderately careful. Evelyn shall stay
for a quarter of an hour. After that you _must please_ obey me and lie
quiet, so as to get a little sleep, if possible, after your cruel
journey. Amar Singh shall sit here, and I will leave the drawing-room
door open and play to you;--something invigorating--the Pastoral, to
start with. Will that do?"

His prompt penitence caught at her heart.

"Forgive me, Honor," he said. "I was an ungrateful brute, and you're a
long way too good to me. I'll obey orders in future, without kicking
against the pricks. The music will be no end of a comfort. Just like
you to think of it!"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MOONLIGHT SONATA.

"The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray,
Thou knowest, who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest, who hast made the Clay."
--KIPLING.

Wh