As Mrs. Brande was borne upwards, her spirits seemed to rise simultaneously with her body. She was about to make the acquaintance of a millionaire, and could cultivate his friendship comfortably, undisturbed by the machinations of her crafty rival. She would invite him to be her guest for the two days they would be journeying together, and by this means steal a nice long march (in every sense of the word) on Mrs. Langrishe! CHAPTER XIV. STEALING A MARCH. As the sun died down, the moon arose above the hills and lighted the travellers along a path winding by the shores of an irregular mountain lake, and overhung by a multitude of cherry trees in full blossom. “Look!” cried Mrs. Brande, joyfully, “there in front you see the lights of the Dâk Bungalow at last. You will be glad of your dinner, and I’m sure _I_ shall.” Two men, who sat in the verandah of the same rest-house, would also have been most thankful for theirs. The straggling building appeared full of soldiers and their wives, and there seemed no immediate prospect of a meal. The kitchen had been taken possession of by the majestic cook of a burra mem sahib, who was shortly expected, and the appetites of a couple of insignificant strangers must therefore be restrained. These travellers were, of course, Captain Waring and Mark Jervis, whom the former invariably alluded to as “his cousin.” It was a convenient title, and accounted for their close companionship. At first Mark had been disposed to correct this statement, and murmur, “Not cousins, but connections,” but had been silenced by Clarence petulantly exclaiming-- “Cousins and connections are the same thing. Who cares a straw what we are? And what’s the good of bothering?” “I’m nearly mad with hunger,” groaned Captain Waring. “I’ve eaten nothing for ten hours but one hard-boiled egg.” “Smoke, as the Indians do,” suggested his comrade unfeelingly, “or draw in your belt a couple of holes. Anyway, a little starvation will do you no harm--you are getting fat.” “I wonder, if I went and sat upon the steps with a placard round my neck, on which was written, ‘I am starving,’ if this good lady would give us a dinner? Hunger is bad enough, but the exquisite smell of her roast mutton aggravates my pangs.” “You have only to show yourself, and she will invite you.” “How do you know, and why do you cruelly raise my hopes?” “Because I hear that she is the soul of hospitality, and that she has the best cook on the hills.” “May I ask how you discovered this really valuable piece of information?” “From the harum-scarum youth who passed this afternoon. He forgot to mention her name.” “Here she comes along by the weir,” interrupted Waring. “Mark the excitement among the servants--_her_ meal will be ready to the minute. She must be truly a great woman, and has already earned my respect. If she asks me to dinner, I shall love her. What do you say, Mark?”