"Yes. Thank God you came," he echoed fervently. "Though I was afraid you didn't quite realise . . ." "Dear, I did. More than you imagine. But I wanted . . to help you in spite of yourself; and I hoped we could fight it out together." He shook his head. "Don't think me brutal, Quita, but a man's got to fight out this sort of thing alone with his own soul . . and God. You can only help just by . . loving me, and believing that I shall pull through. Dear old Desmond has done about as much for me as one human being seems permitted to do for another in big contingencies; and, by the way, he said rather a charming thing to-night." "He has a gift for that. What was it?" "He said I won the great talisman that put failure out the question." She laughed again, softly. "Oh, how I love that man, and his incurable idealism!" "You do? You lawless young woman! How many more?" "Only one more . . I think!" And freeing her left hand she slipped it round his head, that was on a level with her shoulder, drew it close against her, and ran her fingers lightly through his thick hair. "I'm going to weave a magic over your head to make you sleep, and reward you for giving up the opium, you poor, poor darling." And with a sigh Lenox yielded himself to the ecstasy of her touch. Their talk grew fitful, and fragmentary; intimate lover's talk, interspersed with luminous pauses, that were but hidden channels of speech; till Quita felt the walls within walls giving way under her 'magic,' and knew that she had reached the shy, inmost heart of the man at last. That enchanted hour lifted them beyond the ardours of passion, to the mastery of spirit; to a passing revelation of the eternal beauty underlying earth's tragedies and complexities: and both were conscious of an exalted strength. The harsh clanging of the police gong, twelve times repeated, brought them back to the iron facts of life. With a murmur of reluctance they rose; and Lenox escorted his wife to the door of her room. "Shall I let down your 'chick' for you?" he asked. "Please." He untied the strings that held it up. Then, as the curtain fell between them and the lamplit room, Quita turned, and with a gesture all tenderness, laid both arms round his neck. "I shall never forget to-night, Eldred," she whispered, "even if we live to be cross prosaic old people together. You may go to the other end of the world, now, and stay there as long as you like! I am sure of you; and I feel in every fibre of me that we are going to win through in the end." CHAPTER XXV. "In a hundred ages of the gods I could not tell thee of the glory of Himachal. As the dew is dried up by the sun, so are the sins of mankind, by the glory of Himachal."--_From the Hindu_.