re?"

Meredith's own occupied the dressing-tent, since he was obliged to give
up sharing his wife's on account of the baby's claim to the services of
an ayah.

"But, Doctor, I am not ill!" Joyce protested feebly, realising however
now, that it was mentioned, that a collapse was imminent.

"You'll do as we think best," he said shortly, "or I had better get
out."

"Who is to look after Baby?" she asked faintly.

"I am here for that," he said more gently.

After some futile objections, Joyce departed feeling unable to hold out
a minute longer.

"How are you feeling?" her husband's anxious voice was asking. "You are
as white as a lily, darling."

"I'll be all right when Baby is," she answered wearily.

In a little while Joyce was put to bed with a sleeping draught and
tucked in comfortably, her husband as skilful in his ministrations as
any nurse. "Won't you kiss me before I go? Love me a little bit," he
pleaded wistfully.

"Go away Ray," she cried irritably. "Don't worry."

"You've made me so miserable!"

"It's nothing to what you made me!"

"I made you!"

"You--you were absent all day when Baby was so ill. It has nearly killed
me."

"Dearest, don't blame me unjustly."

"Then let it drop. I am not wishing to discuss it; I am too tired."

So was he, but he had no thought of himself while yearning over her, his
lovely girl, more beloved in her stubborn antagonism than ever.

Remembering the doctor's injunctions that she must sleep, he reluctantly
retired to pace the grass in the dawn, a dishevelled figure in his
shirt-sleeves with hands plunged into the pockets of his trousers. The
cool air soothed his nerves and brought him a sense of drowsiness which
he indulged in a long cane chair under the eaves of the dressing-tent.
The camp was very still after the disturbances of the night, and the sun
rose above the flat horizon like a ball of living gold, its searching
rays awakening the sleeping servants in their _shuldaris_ by their glare
and warmth.

But Ray Meredith was worn out and slept heavily, oblivious, for the
moment, of his anxieties and his surroundings, for, after all, he
cultivated a broad perspective and a wide tolerance for his little
girl's humours, since she was only "a kid in years and ideas."

With the sun mounting rapidly into the heavens came sounds of life from
the distant village. Far away, cow-bells tinkled musically as the cattle
moved lazily to pasture lands; dogs barked and chi