lady in India--was unthinkable.

And Mrs. Dalton was under no delusion respecting his object. The formal
note had no special meaning for her.

There was a light in the drawing-room, Dalton noticed, as he drove up to
the steps; and as he descended from his car, a servant, salaaming,
informed him that the Memsahib was entertaining a lady visitor.
Receiving no encouragement to become communicative, he said no more, but
hurriedly assisted other domestics to minister to his master's comforts.
The Sahib had no interest in the Memsahib's doings, it was plain to all;
and it was greatly to be deplored that he should have saddled himself
with her presence in his bungalow where he had so long enjoyed freedom
and solitude.

In his private apartments, all was ready for Dalton's reception;
refreshments were produced like magic; the lowered lights raised; and he
was able to rest and recover at his leisure from the fatigues of the
day. Seated at his desk in his comfortable study, he smoked and read the
letters that had accumulated in his absence while his mind
subconsciously dwelt on thoughts of Honor.

Where was she? What was she doing? How was she enduring their miserable
separation? Was it preying upon her as on him?

Would he ever have the chance to hold her in his arms again and read the
truth in her dear eyes? Or must he go to his grave with this ache of
unfulfilled longing forever denied to him?

The thought was insupportable. Every fibre of his being craved for her
with a desire so intense and compelling, that he was incapable of
concentrating his mind on any subject.

While brooding in the deepest melancholy, a sound at his verandah door
arrested his attention. It was distinctly the _frou-frou_ of a woman's
skirts. Could it be possible that his wife was seeking to force an
interview with him?

There came a light knock on the shutters of the open door which was
screened with a cretonne curtain.

"Come in," he said impatiently, resenting the disturbance, and the
curtain was raised to admit the diffident intruder.

It was Honor, looking very white, yet as always, brave and sweet.

"Honey!" he started to his feet deeply moved. The harshness vanished
from his face which was now alight with wonderment and love. Dressed in
a muslin frock and straw hat, she looked simple and fresh, and yet
carried the air and distinction which had always marked her in any
company. But though she smiled into his eyes there was something in