ou are married?" he asked.

Violet nodded her head. She did not, however, introduce her husband. She
took no notice of him whatever. She did not mention her new name.

"And you?" she asked.

Linforth laughed rather harshly.

"No."

Perhaps the harshness of the laugh troubled her. Her forehead puckered.
She dropped her eyes from his face.

"But you will," she said in a low voice.

Linforth did not answer, and in a moment or two she raised her head
again. The trouble had gone from her face. She smiled brightly.

"And the Road?" she asked. She had just remembered it. She had almost an
air of triumph in remembering it. All these old memories were so dim. But
at the awkward difficult moment, by an inspiration she had remembered the
great long-cherished aim of Dick Linforth's life. The Road! Dick wondered
whether she remembered too that there had been a time when for a few days
she had thought to have a share herself in the making of that road which
was to leave India safe.

"It goes on," he said quietly. "It has passed Kohara. It has passed the
fort where Luffe died. But I beg your pardon. Luffe belongs to the past,
too, very much to the past--more even than I do."

Violet paid no heed to the sarcasm. She had not heard it. She was
thinking of something else. It seemed that she had something to say, but
found the utterance difficult. Once or twice she looked up at Dick
Linforth and looked down again and played with the fringe of her cloak.
In the background the docile husband moved restlessly.

"There's a question I should like to ask," she said quickly, and
then stopped.

Linforth helped her out.

"Perhaps I can guess the question."

"It's about--" she began, and Linforth nodded his head.

"Shere Ali?" he said.

"Yes," replied Violet.

Linforth hesitated, looking at his companion. How much should he tell
her, he asked himself? The whole truth? If he did, would it trouble her?
He wondered. He had no wish to hurt her. He began warily:

"After the campaign was over in Chiltistan I was sent after him."

"Yes. I heard that before I left India," she replied.

"I hunted him," and it seemed to Linforth that she flinched. "There's no
other word, I am afraid. I hunted him--for months, from the borders of
Tibet to the borders of Russia. In the end I caught him."

"I heard that, too," she said.

"I came up with him one morning, in a desert of stones. He was with three
of his followers. The only three who had