know and until I
am cured. Do you think I would risk our love, and our happiness? I
shall never, never marry you as long as I have this--this longing
to--this desire to--to--oh! what is it. Find out what has happened to
me, find out what I do when I walk in my sleep--just how mad I am, and
if the madness can be cured, and if it can, _then_ I will--will----"

"Yes, dear?"

"I will--will----!"

It was no pretty sight to watch her striving to speak, her mouth
opening and shutting without sound, her hands against her throat.

Then she looked at him suddenly, smiling sweetly, and put both hands in
his, while he, sick with pain and unconfessed fear, changed the
conversation abruptly by the grace of understanding.

"I think you ought to go away, Leonie--to the hills--for a change.
It's getting frightfully hot, why don't you?"

"Yes!--I might--I think I will--I'm so tired of everything--so
very--very tired!"

"Where to, dear?"

Leonie bent her head a little sideways as though listening, made a
strange little movement with both her hands, then placed the open palms
against her forehead and replied:

"To Benares!"

She had barely whispered the words, so quietly did she speak, as the
poinsettia flowers bent slightly--to a passing breeze--may be!

CHAPTER XXXIII

"Dona praesentis cape laetus horae, ac
Lingue severa."--_Horace_.

Leonie's first long-distance journey was just like other people's first
long-distance journey in India.

And being of the type which revels in the new and unknown, she loved it.

Who wouldn't!

The seething masses of dusky humanity enchanted her; she delighted in
the glaring colouring, the clank of the holy man's chains, the
incessant call of the water carrier and sweetmeat vendor, and the clang
of iron on iron which announces the train's departure.

She absolutely thrilled on disrobing the first night in the little
bathroom while her ayah spread her sheets and pillows and blankets upon
the lower berth; and when her bodywoman disappeared through the door
leading to the servants' compartment, she lay for a time watching the
stars, and the glimmer of passing mosque, or temple, or tomb.

Then she laughed aloud in sheer content, wedged Jan Cuxson's box of
chocolate biscuits safely into the side of the bunk, and turned to the
side table to look for light literature in the shape of a magazine.

Having acquired the pernicious habit of eating biscuits and reading
before goi