It was his invariable attitude towards a distasteful duty; and he decided not to let slip a second opportunity. Weak and unaided, he made what shift he could to deal with the intricacies of breakfast, choking back his irritability when he found himself grasping empty air in place of the teapot handle, sending the sugar-tongs clattering to the floor, and deluging his saucer by pouring the milk outside the cup. For the moment, to this man of independent spirit, these trivial indignities seemed more unendurable than the loss of his subaltern, the intrusive shadow threatening his self-respect, or the fear of blindness, that lay upon his heart cold and heavy as a corpse. And on the other side of the door, Honor stood alone in the drawing-room, trying to regain some measure of calmness before returning to the breakfast-table. Red-hot resentment fired her from head to foot. Resentment against what, against whom? she asked herself blankly, and in the same breath turned her back upon the answer. Chiefly against herself, no doubt, for her inglorious descent from the pinnacle of stoicism, to which she had climbed barely an hour ago. It seemed that Love, coming late to these two, had come as a refiner's fire, to "torment their hearts, till it should have unfolded the capacities of their spirits." For Love, like Wisdom, is justified of all her children. Breakfast, followed by details of housekeeping, reinstated common-sense. After all, since she had resolved to remain in the background, Theo had simplified affairs by consigning her to her destined position. She could quite well keep her promise to Dr Mackay, and superintend all matters of moment, without spending much time in the sick-room. Evelyn had agreed to accept her share of the nursing; and, as she had said, there were others, whose right was beyond her own. Shortly after tiffin, Wyndham arrived with Rajinder Singh; and finding them together in the drawing-room--after the short interview permitted by Paul--Honor took the opportunity of fulfilling a request made by Theo on the previous evening. "I have to write to Mrs Denvil," she said to Paul. "Would the Sirdar mind giving me a few details about the fighting on the 17th?" Paul glanced approvingly at the old Sikh, who stood beside him, a princely figure of a man, in the magnificent mufti affected by the native cavalry officer--a long coat of peach-coloured brocade, and a turban of the same tint. "Mind? He needs very little encouragement to enlarge on Theo's share in the proceedings." "I would like to hear all he can tell me about that," she answered on a low note of fervour. "You could follow him, I suppose?" "Yes, perfectly." "You hear, Ressaldar Sahib." Paul turned to his companion. "The Miss Sahib desires full news of the attack and engagement on Tuesday morning, that she may write of it to England."