"It would never be anything less than an act of cruelty and cowardice. Remember that. I am ready to put up with everything . . . everything rather than lose you, now." "If that's the truth, lass," he said with sudden gentleness, "you may set your mind at rest. I promise." "Thank you, _mon cher_." Then they fell silent till the parade-ground came in sight. This, their first appearance together in public, was something of an ordeal to both; and at the last minute Quita's courage evaporated. "Eldred . . . stop, please," she said suddenly. "I'm shy of them all; and I don't want to talk to them just now." "Thank the Lord for that!" he answered so fervently, that they both laughed aloud; and there is nothing like laughter for clearing the air. "Take me for a drive," she suggested. "Show me your bungalow . . . our bungalow, will you?" He hesitated. It seemed he was only to exchange one ordeal for another. "It's a ramshackle, comfortless place, Quita," he objected. "Wouldn't it be better to wait till . . till I can have it decently fitted up for you? Or you might like to pick another one." "But no. I want that one; and I want to see it first just as you lived in it, please." "Very well. If you wish it." An officious chowkidar opened doors for them with a great clatter of bolts, and an elaborate air of being very much on the spot; and they stepped straight from the verandah into the one room Lenox had furnished besides the bedroom. It looked desolate, and smelt uninhabited; but Quita inspected the horns, the rugs, the sketches, even the handful of books left on the writing-table, with eager interest; and Eldred, stationed on the hearth-rug, answered her running fire of questions a little vaguely, because he was listening more intently to her voice than to what it said! Suddenly his thoughts were checked by a vivid sense of having lived through this identical scene before; of standing near a fireplace watching her light-hearted explorations. But where? When? Then, like a dash of cold water, came enlightenment. It was at the Kiffel Alp Hotel, on the day of their wedding; and the bitterness of the lost years between, with their final heritage of evil, flowed over him like the sluggish waters of a dead sea. Quita was hesitating on the threshold of the bedroom now; and an insane conviction came upon him that if she went in there he would lose her again, as on that earlier day. It was all sheer brain-sickness, and lack of sleep, but at the moment it was horribly real. "May one look at the other rooms too?" she asked. "I want to see which would do best for my studio!" "Look into every hole and corner, if it amuses you, dearest," he answered; but made no attempt to accompany her. When at last she reappeared, the nightmare feeling took him afresh. He felt certain she would come straight up to him, and lay hold of the lapels of his coat. And this she actually did; lifting a glowing face to his.