It is a matter of local history in Calcutta that General Abercromby’s remark: “Hawke! we have been a pair of damned fools! We are outwitted!” found its way at last into the clubs, and the attack of jaundice, followed up by a severe gout, which “laid out” the sighing lover for long months, proves, as of old, that stern Mars cannot cope with the bright and all-compelling Venus! But Major Alan Hawke, of the Provisional Staff, hearkened wisely to the banker’s words: “Don’t be fool enough to think that you can trifle with Madame Louison’s interests. The noble Viceroy has placed you on duty, at her own personal request, to give you a last chance to regain all the promise of your youth. One word from her, and--and you will be suspended or, dropped! You will get your military orders from the Viceroy and her wishes from me.” Alan Hawke was paralyzed with astonishment the next day, when the Viceroy ordered him to proceed at once to Delhi, to report to General Willoughby, and to hasten to London, via Bombay, on completion of his secret service at Delhi.” “I am a devil for luck!” muttered Hawke. “But even the tide of Fortune can drive along too fast!” He had lost his head, and forgotten all his pigmy plans. A stronger hand than his own was secretly guiding his onward path, upward to the old status of the “British officer!” “What the devil do they want of me in London?” he mused. And, chuckling over how easily he had made the lovesick Abercromby help him into his “military seat” once more, Alan Hawke betook himself forthwith to Delhi, to report to General Willoughby for instant service. When he descended at Allahabad, his undress uniform of a major of the Staff Corps brought down on him a storm of congratulations from old friends gathered there. “Sly old boy you were!” the service men laughed, over their glasses, while wetting his new uniform. “A man must not tell all he knows!” patiently replied Major Hawke, with the sad, sweet smile of a man who had dropped into a good thing. As he rolled along toward Delhi, he seriously cogitated “playing fair” in his new capacity. “Perhaps it will pay!” he mused. “But I will even up with that old hog, Johnstone!” He dared not contemplate now any substantial treason to Madame Alixe Delavigne. “She is a witch woman! She seems to have an untold backing! The Bankers, even, the Viceroy, and the French Consul-General, too. She could crush me! I must serve My Lady Disdain, and I will fight and die in her army!” Arriving at Delhi, Major Alan Hawke’s first visit was to Ram Lal Singh, as he prepared to “report forthwith,” in “full rig,” to the local Commander. There was a strange preoccupation in the old jeweler which baffled Hawke. Ram Lal only humbly begged to have all his lengthened accounts with Madame Berthe Louison arranged, and Alan Hawke, with a few words, calmed the Mussulman’s fears.