Gascoigne most devoutly wished that Angel had accepted this offer, and thus given him even a few days' breathing-space. He looked at his ward, as she walked lightly beside him. She was so natural, so simple, yet so worldly wise; and she was distractingly pretty—not many men would have been so painfully anxious to rid themselves of such a companion. She would certainly turn the heads of all the young fellows in Marwar. What a prospect for him! Already he beheld himself at a wedding, giving away the hand of the most lovely bride. Yes, of course, it would not be long before Angel was carried off; she was a girl of unusual attractions, and with this hope in his heart he became quite hilarious. She would make a far happier marriage under his and Mrs. Gordon's auspices than under that of her heartless and worldly old grandmother. On second thoughts, Major Gascoigne accompanied the party the whole way to the railway, and saw them off, although it entailed an immense ride afterwards. He wished to despatch a long explanatory wire to Mrs. Gordon, so that Angel might not burst upon her as she had done on him; nor need the child have all the awkwardness of announcing herself, and producing her credentials. He secured tickets, saw to refreshments, baggage, servants, and then came the taking leave of the three ladies. Angel had half expected him to kiss her, but he merely gave her a warm handshake. He was very funny now, so odd, and stiff, and changed, yet just the same dear old Philip. And thus Angel set off in the little tin-pot railway to Marwar, where she was to live under Mrs. Gordon's chaperonage, turn the heads of all the young men, and to meet her fate. As Philip turned his hired pony once more towards the hill, and a thirty-five mile ride, leaving his own steed to follow, his thoughts accompanied a party in the little black train now panting through the Terai. And as he regained, late at night, his now deserted bungalow, his thoughts dwelt, as he smoked, over the extraordinary incidents of the last twenty-four to thirty hours. What experiences had been compassed into them, like a meat-lozenge of emotions. As in his mind's eye, her guardian again beheld that charming child flitting about his room; remembered her speaking and sunny eyes, he told himself that his ward had far surpassed his expectations. Surpassed?—his expectations had never ventured upon such an ideal, and he made up his mind that he would be extremely difficult to please, as her guardian, and that it was only some real good fellow who would have his consent to marry Angel. Then he set his memory to work. He deliberately passed all his friends, and his acquaintances, in critical review—no, there was not one of them worthy to dust her shoes! CHAPTER XX A DESTROYING ANGEL