Later they lingered for awhile on the verandah, watching the blazing stars, till it came to Monck that his bride was nearly dropping with weariness and then he would not suffer her to remain any longer. When she had gone within, he lit a pipe and wandered out alone into the starlight, following the deserted road that led to the Rajah's summer palace. He paced along slowly with bent head, deep in thought. At the great marble gateway that led into the palace-garden he paused and stood for a space in frowning contemplation. A small wind had sprung up and moaned among the cypress-trees that overlooked the high wall. He seemed to be listening to it. Or was it to the hoot of an owl that came up from the valley? Finally he drew near and deliberately tapped the ashes from his half-smoked pipe upon the shining marble. The embers smouldered and went out. A black stain remained upon the dazzling white surface of the stone column. He looked at it for a moment or two, then turned and retraced his steps with grim precision. When he reached the bungalow, he turned into the room in which they had dined; and sat down to write. Time passed, but he took no note of it. It was past midnight ere he thrust his papers together at length and rose to go. The main passage of the bungalow was bright with moonlight as he traversed it. A crouching figure rose up from a shadowed doorway at his approach. Peter the Great looked at him with reproach in his eyes. Monck stopped short. He accosted the man in his own language, but Peter made answer in the careful English that was his pride. "Even so, _sahib_, I watch over my _mem-sahib_ until you come to her. I keep her safe by night as well as by day. I am her servant." He stood back with dignity that Monck might pass, but Monck stood still. He looked at Peter with a level scrutiny for a few moments. Then: "It is enough," he said, with brief decision. "When I am not with your _mem-sahib_, I look to you to guard her." Peter made his stately _salaam_. Without further words, he conveyed the fact that without his permission no man might enter the room behind him and live. Very softly Monck turned the handle of the door and passed within, leaving him alone in the moonlight. CHAPTER II EVIL TIDINGS They walked on the following morning over the pine-clad hill and down into the valley beyond, a place of running streams and fresh spring verdure. Stella revelled in its sweetness. It made her think of Home. "You haven't told me anything about your brother," she said, as they sat together on a grey boulder and basked in the sunshine. "Haven't I?" Monck spoke meditatively. "I've got a photograph of him somewhere. You must see it. You'll like my brother," he added, with a smile. "He isn't a bit like me." She laughed. "That's a recommendation certainly. But tell me what he is like! I want to know."