They spoke for a few minutes of the Viceroy’s loyalty and consideration and appreciation. She dwelt upon that with instinctive tact, and then Church got up quickly. “I must write to Scansleigh at once,” he said. “I am afraid he is determined about this, but I must write. There is a great deal to do. When Sparks comes out send him to me.” Then he went over to her and awkwardly kissed her. “You have taken it very well, Judith,” he said—“better than any woman I know would have done.” She put a quick detaining hand upon his arm. “Oh, John, it is only for your sake that I care at all. I—I am so tired of it. I should be only too glad to go home with you, dear, and find some little place in the country where we could live quietly——” “Yes, yes,” he said, hurrying away. “We can discuss that afterwards. Don’t keep Sparks talking.” Sparks appeared presently, swinging an embossed silver cylinder half a yard long. New washed and freshly clad in garments of clean country silk, with his damp hair brushed crisply off his forehead, there was a pinkness and a healthiness about Sparks that would have been refreshing at any other moment. “Have you seen this bauble, Mrs. Church?” he inquired: “Bhugsi’s tribute, enshrining the address. It makes the fifth.” Judith looked at it, and back at Captain Sparks, who saw, with a falling countenance, that there were tears in her eyes. “It is the last he will ever receive,” she said, and one of the tears found its way down her cheek. “They have asked him from England to resign—they say he must.” Captain Sparks, private secretary, stood for a moment with his legs apart in blank astonishment, while Mrs. Church sought among the folds of her skirt for her pocket-handkerchief. “By the Lord—impossible!” he burst out; and then, as Judith pointed mutely to her husband’s room, he turned and shot in that direction, leaving her, as her sex is usually left, with the teacups and the situation. * * * * * A few hours later Captain Sparks’ dreams of the changed condition of things were interrupted by a knock. It was Mrs. Church, sleepy-eyed, in her dressing-gown, with a candle; and she wanted the chlorodyne from the little travelling medicine chest, which was among the private secretary’s things. “My husband seems to have got a chill,” she said. “It must have been while he sat in the verandah. I am afraid he is in for a wretched night.” “Three fingers of brandy,” suggested Sparks concernedly, getting out the bottle. “Nothing like brandy.” “He has tried brandy. About twenty drops of this, I suppose?” “I should think so. Can I be of any use?” Judith said No, thanks—she hoped her husband would get some sleep presently. She went away, shielding her flickering candle, and darkness and silence came again where she had been.