"Yes, in a way--for I am shielding you. Were I to transfer this frightful business to others"--here he struck the ledger before him--"and it is the work of several men--would they be silent?" She was dumb. Like all bullies, Saloo was an arrant coward. Moreover, she had no wish to die--as a girl, she had seen one case of poisoning, and it sufficed. Therefore, she succumbed, though her voice still rose loud and shrill; and over each payment there was a protracted struggle. Occasionally as Verona sat with her late grandmother, she could hear the low growl of a man, and then a high prolonged reply. One day, as she was arranging Nani's knitting--she now aspired to socks--the ventilator between the two rooms, which was always shut fast, suddenly fell open, and a torrent of shrill and distinct abuse instantly flooded the room. "What, all this trouble and toil for Chandos, and to save him, and his good name--'tis a lie, you do it for that girl! Bah, you love her! Now she is a great lady, do you think she would look at such as you--a pig of a police wallah--I know her sort." Verona rose, and hurried over to close the ventilator, and as she reached vainly for the cord, she heard: "Come, now, Mrs. Chandos, don't excite yourself. Let us stick to business." "But you know Verona will go to England, and never think of you again. Eh, _speak_? Say you know!" "Yes, I know," came the reply, "now be good enough to sign here." And at this instant Verona, with a brilliant colour in her face, succeeded in reaching the cord, and violently slamming the little shutter. So now she understood why Mr. Salwey had seemed so determined to avoid her. Why he scarcely spoke when they met to the grand-daughter of the Earl of Sombourne, though formerly he had been on the best of terms with the granddaughter of Nani Lopez! He accepted the change in her fortune like a stoic, and had tacitly and resolutely relinquished her! She almost wished she were once more a humble Eurasian--the _protégée_ of his Aunt Liz. During these last weeks, those tedious trying weeks at the end of the rains, Mr. Chandos had been ailing, and the thought of losing Verona filled him with despair. He could not endure the mention of her departure, although he knew that she must soon be restored to her relations, and the Melvilles, who had written out to claim her; Verona divided her time between Mrs. Lopez in the mornings, and Mr. Chandos in the evenings; she read to him, talked to him, cheered him, and had almost persuaded him to return to England with her and see his beloved Charne. "Yes, I really think I would die happy, if I could behold it once more," he exclaimed; "people change--but places do not." "Then you will come home with me," she urged, "yes, in the same ship. What a good time we shall have together; the sea voyage will set you up! There is nothing like the sea."