"A coward! Oh, no!" cried Grey, flushing. "I cannot believe--" "While he is as brave as a lion," said Hilton. "That he is, I am sure," cried Grey, warmly; and her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled as she spoke. "Chum, old fellow," said Hilton, sadly to himself; "I used to laugh at you because you were bested by me, as I thought, but now I envy you your luck. Well, never mind, I can bear it, I daresay, and you deserve it all. I think I shall go back and marry the Inche Maida after all." "Why, how serious you have turned, Captain Hilton," said Mrs Bolter. "Captain Hilton is going away directly on what may prove a dangerous expedition." "Of course; I had forgotten," said Mrs Bolter. "Dear me, that woman is there still, talking to Mr Harley. Will she never go?" "She will give Chumbley a warmer welcome than she gave me," said Hilton to himself, and he looked reproachfully at the fair, sweet face before him. "You will be glad to see Chumbley, will you not?" he said aloud. "Oh, yes, very glad!" she exclaimed, warmly; and then, as she met his eyes fixed inquiringly, she blushed vividly. "She colours when his name is mentioned," said Hilton to himself. "I wonder whether he cares as much for her. He must--he couldn't help it. There, Heaven bless her! Other people are more fortunate than I." "That dreadful woman seems as if she would not go," whispered Mrs Bolter. "Pray forgive me for leaving you, Captain Hilton, but I must not let her tease Mr Harley to death as she teases me." As she spoke little Mrs Bolter left the room, the strident sound of Mrs Barlow's voice coming loudly as the door was opened, while when it was closed all was perfectly silent. Grey Stuart's hand involuntarily went out as if to stay Mrs Bolter; then it fell to her side, and she sat there painfully conscious and suffering acute mental pain. "Poor little maiden!" thought Hilton, as he saw her trouble. "She is afraid of me;" and he let his eyes rest upon the open window before he spoke. The intense heat seemed to float into the room, bearing with it the scent of the creepers outside, and of a tall tropic tree covered with white blossoms, whose spreading branches sheltered the doctor's cottage from the blazing sun. From that hour the warm air, scented with the rich perfume of flowers and those white blossoms clustering without, seemed somehow to be associated in Hilton's mind with Grey Stuart, who sat back there pale now as her white dress, wanting to speak, to break the painful silence, but not daring for some few minutes, lest he should detect the tremble in her voice. "You start very soon, do you not, Captain Hilton?" she said. "Yes; I hoped to have been on the river ere this," he said, with a bitter intonation that he could not check. "And you will discover poor Helen, and bring her back?" she said, forcing herself to speak of a subject that she felt would be welcome to him. "If men can do it, we will succeed!" he replied, earnestly.