"So much the better," she answered recklessly. "I want to break new ground, and explore a land beyond curling-pins and fashions; I am longing for a change." "_That_ you may certainly reckon on." "I don't want a pretty hill station, with bands, and garden parties, and three posts a day. I wish to get away from every one, among the wild, bare mountains, catch the spirit of your work, and perhaps overtake an adventure." "Or be overtaken by one, in the shape of a bear or a landslip. Well, I suppose you must have your way. I have arranged to rent Rockstone, the Warings' house at the Chotah Bilat—you know it. It is very pretty and secluded, sufficiently aloof from the madding crowd, and close to the Colliers, who will look after you. By the end of May I shall either come and fetch you or send a strong escort to bring you into Garhwal. How will that suit you, Mrs. G.?" "I suppose it will have to do," she answered, discontentedly; "but I shall loathe being up at Bilhat by myself." "Perhaps you can find some companion—Mrs. Gordon?" "No, I've just been talking to her. Odin is taking six months' leave to England, and she is going to Almora to do children's maid, and sick nurse." "Penance," muttered Gascoigne under his breath. "Hullo, I say—what are _we_ overtaking?" and he pointed to a large bullock cart which had just turned into their gate. It was heavily laden with boxes and trunks of all shapes and descriptions. On the summit of the pile a steamer chair was poised precariously, on which we can distinguish (though they cannot) the name "Waldershare" in full-sized letters. A sharp-looking, elderly maid, carrying a white umbrella, and a square green crocodile case, followed the luggage on foot. "Oh, some mistake," said Angel carelessly—"the wrong bungalow." "By the way, I have a note for you," said Colonel Gascoigne, suddenly searching among the papers in his hand. "I forgot all about it—a peon came with it to the office; he said it was important," and as he spoke he handed it up. "Why, it's from Mrs. Waldershare," exclaimed Angel when she had torn it open and glanced at the contents. She pushed her hat to the back of her head—a trick of hers—pulled Carrots to a standstill, and read it aloud. "DEAR ANGEL—You will be a good Angel to me, and take me under your wing, when I tell you that there is a case of small-pox in the hotel compound, a disease of which I have an unspeakable horror. I know you have an empty spare room and I am sure that Philip would not like to feel that his old playmate was enduring misery and risking danger. I have packed and sent off my luggage. Do please say I may come at once.—Your terrified, LOLA." "Well?" said Angel, as she concluded, and looked down into Philip's eyes. "Of course your terrified Lola must come at once; we will send the carriage over for her. I had no idea there was small-pox in the station. The sooner you are off the better."