In the early dawn next morning Hester took farewell of her wedded home, bestowing a kindly smile on the sad-faced company of servants who were grouped round the verandah to make their last salaams to the sweet English lady whose husband had come by such an evil fate. Many kindly notes of condolence had reached her those last days from her numerous acquaintances of varying degrees of intimacy, for Mrs. Rayner had been an esteemed member of the little Anglo-Indian society of the past season--even by some who were inclined to look askance on her husband. Now the place that had known her those short months of her wedded life would know her no more. Her memory would pass in the changing society of the Indian town like the passage of a swift flying bird through a lighted chamber. Even as she gazed at the familiar scene, the stately buildings, the towering Fort of St. George that skirted the shore while she was being carried over the waves by the stalwart brown rowers of the Massulah boat, she felt as if her life on that strand was already beginning to recede dream-like from her vision. The surf was crossed now, and Hester and her little party, consisting of Colonel and Mrs. Fellowes, were safely landed on the deck of the _El Dorado_. Mr. Morpeth had been inventive in all kindly arrangements for the young widow, and their parting was memorable to both. His grey eyes had gazed with unutterable sorrow and tenderness into her face as he held her hands. "This land of ours will call you again, I feel sure, my daughter; whether I am here to see it or not. One day you will return to work for our people once more." Hester had pleaded for a promise that he should come on a visit to Pinkthorpe, knowing well that her father and mother would honour the noble Eurasian gentleman; but Mr. Morpeth shook his head, smiling sadly. "No, my child, my visit to England would be thirty years too late now." But still Hester would not hear of being robbed of all hope that it might still be one of the happy events which the future had in store for her. Colonel and Mrs. Fellowes were to be home for good the following year, so that the strong link forged with these friends was not long to be severed. There was one true friend whose hand Hester would fain have grasped, one pair of frank eyes into which she would have wished to look once more before she finally left this place of mingled memories; but Mark Cheveril had made no sign. He evidently did not desire to meet Alfred Rayner's wife again after all that had come and gone. She did not wonder that he felt so, but the knowledge of his kind offices to her dead husband would always be graven on her heart, and she had wished just once to put her hand in his and whisper her thanks.