The room was large, lofty, and very simply furnished. With the leisurely swaying of the punkah, light and shadow flitted across the wide, low bed, on one side of which Honor lay, warmly covered with blankets, her breath coming in laboured gasps. Desmond knelt by her; and, on Meredith's entrance, set down the feeding-cup, but because her hand was on his coat-sleeve, he did not change his position, or rise from his knees. She held out the other to Meredith, But it fell limply before he could reach her. "John . . dear," she greeted him in a husky whisper. "I'm so glad. Sit near me . . here." He obeyed, seating himself on the unoccupied part of the bed; and taking up her hand, cherished it between both his own. It was cold and clammy, the finger-tips wrinkled like a washerwoman's, and at sight of her face his self-control deserted him, so that he dared not risk speech. For cholera does its work swiftly and efficaciously, and in eight hours Honor Desmond's beauty had been ruthlessly wiped out. In the grey, pinched features and sunken eyes--already dimmed by a creeping film that blurred the two faces she so loved--it was hard to trace any likeness to the radiant woman of twenty-four hours ago. Only the burnished bronze of her hair, encircling her head in a large loose plait, remained untouched by the finger of death. When Meredith could command his voice, he spoke quietly and cheerfully of the day's work, and of the certainty that she would pull through. Then the hand in his stirred uneasily. "What is it, dear?" he asked. "John, I want you to remember,"--the voice was still husky, and she spoke with difficulty--"whatever happens, . . and tell father, please . . it wasn't Theo's fault. It was mine." The hand on her husband's coat-sleeve felt its way up uncertainly, till it rested in a lingering caress on the dark bowed head. For Desmond, leaning on his elbow, had covered his eyes with one hand. Meredith frowned. "Dearest girl, it was no one's fault. Besides, you are going to get well. But talking is a strain on you now, I'll look in later." He stooped and kissed her forehead. "Good-bye," she whispered. "No, not good-bye," he contradicted her steadily. "I shall see you again after mess." She sighed, and her lids fell. The terrible apathy of cholera was crushing the soldier spirit out of her by inches. "God! I don't believe she heard me," he murmured in sudden despair. At that Desmond uncovered his eyes. "She heard you, right enough," he said quietly, "Trust me not to let her go." And Meredith went reluctantly out, leaving man and wife alone with the Shadowy Third; the only third that could ever come between them. Honor's hand slipped down from his head to his shoulder, and she opened her eyes; the soul in them struggling to pierce the mists that deepened every minute. "Darling," she breathed. "Come closer . . much closer. I wish . . I wish you didn't seem all blurred."