_ought_ I to do?" she murmured on a note of passionate
appeal. But no answer came out of the stillness; and sheer human need
was too strong upon her for prayer.

Rising impulsively, she went over to the wide-flung door that led into
the back verandah, and rolled up the "chick," flooding the room with
light; for a full moon rode high in the heavens, eclipsing the fire of
the stars. She stepped out into the verandah, and passed to the far
end, that looked across a strip of rocky desolation to the hills.

The whole world slept in silver, its radiance intensified by patches
of blue-black shadow; and with sudden distinctness her night journey
of a year ago came back to her mind. What an immeasurable way she had
travelled since then! And how far removed was the buoyant-hearted girl
of that March morning from the woman who rebelled with all her soul
against the cup of bitterness, even while she drank it to the dregs!

Deliberately she tried to gather into herself something of the night's
colossal calm, to wrest from the starved scrub of the desert a portion
of its patience, its astounding perseverance; to stifle her craving
for clear unprejudiced human counsel.

By a natural impulse her thought turned to Mrs Conolly, who alone
possessed both will and power to satisfy her need. To speak of her own
trouble was a thing outside the pale of possibility. Death itself were
preferable. But to consult her friend as to what would really be best
for Evelyn was quite another matter. She would go and see Mrs Conolly
before breakfast and be ruled by her unfailing wisdom.

Having arrived at one practical decision, her mind grew calmer. She
went back to her room, lowered the "chick" and knelt for a long while
beside her bed--a white, gracious figure, half-veiled by a dusky
curtain of hair.

Habit woke her before seven; and she dressed briskly, heartened by a
sense of something definite to be done. A sound of many feet and
hushed voices told her that Wyndham and the Pioneer officers had
arrived. Chaplains were rare on the Border in those days; and Wyndham
was to read the service, as he did on most occasions, Sundays
included.

When Honor came out into the hall she found the chick rolled up and
the verandah a blaze of full-dress uniforms. No man plays out his last
act with more of pomp and circumstance than a soldier; and there is a
singular fitness in this emphasis on the dignity rather than the
tragedy of death.

The girl remained