," muttered Major Short as they turned out of sight, "I
believe that fellow Quinton lied to his wife. Do you think for a
moment he went our way? There is only one road that is fit to ride on,
that he could have gone by; besides, it was written on his face when he
saw us."

"You are too sharp, Short, my boy," laughed the good-natured Captain
Stevenson. "But there is something wrong with Quinton undeniably. I
wonder who the little woman is, and where she came from?"

Major Short rides on in silence, he is thinking of the little woman's
smile.

That night, as Quinton smokes in his low cane chair, Eleanor brings the
guitar, running her lithe fingers over the strings.

"I say, Eleanor," he begins, "you need not have let out you could not
read music. It was awfully _gauche_ of you. You don't want to
advertise your farm origin."

"I am so sorry, darling," she answers penitently.

Again she strikes the cords, this time hesitatingly, for her hand
trembles.

The spicy garlic smells are wafted on the night air.

Eleanor breaks suddenly into song, as if inspired by the oriental
atmosphere:

"When the mist was on the rice fields, an' the sun was droppin' low,
She gets her little banjo, an' she'd sing "Kullalo-lo.
With her arms upon my shoulder, an' 'er cheek agin my cheek,
We use ter watch the steamers, and the 'hathis "pilin'" teak.

Her voice travels far in the darkness; she feels as if singing to some
unseen audience--perchance spirits peopling that road to Mandalay.

The dog at her feet starts up suddenly, bristling all over, growling,
barking!

"Did you hear anything?" asks Carol nervously.

"I fancied a rustle came from the bushes."

"Perhaps danger is stalking abroad to-night," mutters Carol, throwing
his cigar aside.

The dog refuses to be silenced, while Eleanor, holding him by the
collar, tries to soothe his petulance.

But Carol goes indoors.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LET US BE OPEN AS THE DAY.

Eleanor notices after that night Carol becomes nervous and irritable.

His absences are more frequent, but whereever he goes he takes the dog
with him for protection.

Though only a rough-haired terrier, it seems to guard him; yet the
constant recurrence of apparently reasonless growls and barks startles
and annoys him.

Eleanor often sits with Elizabeth Katchin when Quinton is out, and
wonders what she would do without the companionship of this one white
woman.

That day she is walkin