sweet mouth has a wan droop, as if sighing for ungranted
kisses.

"Sometimes, Carol," she says at last, "I fancy you are tiring of me."
She only speaks for him to contradict.

"My darling, what an absurd notion to get into that pretty little head
of yours! Occasionally it is a little slow here for us both."

"That is only since you grew nervous. Of course, the days are long if
you will stay indoors doing nothing."

"Yes, you are quite right," he answers, somewhat to Eleanor's surprise.
"It _is_ foolish, and unnecessary. Now you won't grumble, my pet, if I
go for a long day's sport to-morrow. It will do me all the good in the
world, some excitement and exercise. I have been getting dreadfully
grumpy and cross."

"How early shall you start?"

"Oh, first thing. I assure you, Eleanor, I am quite looking forward to
it. I can't have been very well lately, and that accounts for my
apparent prostration and uncalled-for nervousness. There is nothing
really to fear, and you can make your mind quite easy about me."

These reassuring words delight Eleanor, for as long as Carol is happy
and satisfied, her joy is intense.

As they talk Quamina is crouching under the broad steps that lead down
from the verandah; her eyes gaze in the direction of that mysterious
rock hidden from sight.

She wonders if the devil has yet come for the Sahib's message. Her
soul is torn by curiosity and fear. She longs to know, and if the
strange letter still lies in the crevice untouched, herself to break
the seal and try to decipher the words.

It is a tremendous temptation; yet, as she rises with a bold resolve
and creeps along the moonlit path, she suffers mortal dread,
momentarily expecting to encounter some supernatural apparition. She
turns out of sight of the bungalow, with its cheerful light, and
reaches the rock, on which the moonbeams play. A ray of light lies
across the crevice in which the Sahib deposited his epistle.

With set teeth, and frantically beating heart, Quamina forces her
skinny arms into the hole, murmuring prayers as she gropes and fumbles,
then staggers back with a low moan, and flees from the unholy spot.
The devil has been! The letter is _gone_!

CHAPTER XXII.

NO FOOTSTEP STIRRED--THE HATED WORLD ALL SLEPT,
SAVE ONLY THEE AND ME. (OH, HEAVEN! OH, GOD!)

The following morning Eleanor, her face bright with smiles, kisses
Carol as she bids him adieu.

"Shoot something nice for dinner,