t him
free. He did not speculate as to the man with whom she was going; his
thoughts flew at once to Muriel. But his delight was tempered by the
fear that his liberty had come too late to be of service to him with
her. Would she ever forgive him? His heart sank when he remembered her
indignation, her bitter words when they parted. Surely no woman who had
been so humiliated could pardon the man who had brought such shame upon
her. Yet how could he have acted otherwise? It was natural that the girl
should blame him; but how could he have been false to his plighted word
and desert the one who held his promise? If only he could see Muriel and
plead with her. Perhaps in time she might bring herself to forgive him.
But how was he to meet her? Now that Mrs. Dermot had gone to England,
the girl would not come again to Ranga Duar. She was, he knew,
accompanying her father in his tour of the forests of the districts in
his charge. How could he go to their camp or lonely bungalow in the
jungle and force his presence on her? What was he to do?

Longing for someone to confide in, someone to advise him, he went to
Major Hunt and told him the whole story. The older man rejoiced in
learning of the subaltern's release from his entanglement, but, knowing
Miss Benson well, shook his head doubtfully over the chances of her
forgiving Wargrave. Nevertheless, unwilling to kill the young man's
hope, he affected a confidence that he was far from feeling and bade him
take courage. He advised him to arrange a few days' shooting in the
neighbourhood of the Bensons when he could spare the time from his
duties. The father would be sure to offer him hospitality and the
daughter could not well avoid him. In the meantime he might write and
plead his cause on paper.

Wargrave sat up half the night composing a letter to Muriel. Sheet after
sheet was torn up in disgust before he was even tolerably satisfied. But
the laboured result was never sent. Next morning after breakfast as he
sat smoking in the Mess with Major Hunt and the doctor his servant
entered to tell him that a forest guard wanted to see him. A wild hope
flashed through his mind that perhaps Muriel had sent him a message. But
on going out to the back verandah where the man awaited him he was
handed an envelope "On His Majesty's Service," addressed in a strange
handwriting. He opened it and glanced carelessly at the letter, but the
first lines riveted his attention.

"Forest Officer's B