Stella squeezed his hand hard. "Everard, I love you for that!" she said simply. "Do you think we could make friends with the monkeys too?" "And the jackals and the scorpions and the dear little _karaits_," said Monck. "No doubt we could if we lived long enough." "Don't laugh at me!" she protested. "I am quite in earnest. There are plenty of things to love in India." "There's India herself," said Monck. She looked at him with resolution shining in her eyes. "You must teach me," she said. He shook his head. "No, my dear. If you don't feel the lure of her, then you are not one of her chosen and I can never make you so. She is either a goddess in her own right or the most treacherous old she-devil who ever sat in a heathen temple. She can be both. To love her, you must be prepared to take her either way." They went up into the bungalow. Peter the Great glided forward like a magnificent genie and presented a scrap of paper on a salver to Monck. He took it, opened it, frowned over it. "The messenger arrived three hours ago, _sahib_. He could not wait," murmured Peter. Monck's frown deepened. He turned to Stella. "Go and have tea, dear, and then rest! Don't wait for me! I must go round to the Club and get on the telephone at once." The grimness of his face startled her. "To Kurrumpore?" she asked quickly. "Is there something wrong?" "Not yet," he said curtly. "Don't you worry! I shall be back as soon as possible." "Let me come too!" she said. He shook his head. "No. Go and rest!" He was gone with the words, striding swiftly down the path. As he passed out on to the road, he broke into a run. She stood and listened to his receding footsteps with foreboding in her heart. "Tea is ready, my _mem-sahib_" said Peter softly behind her. She thanked him with a smile and went in. He followed her and waited upon her with all a woman's solicitude. For a while she suffered him in silence, then suddenly, "Peter," she said, "what was the messenger like?" Peter hesitated momentarily. Then, "He was old, _mem-sahib_," he said, "old and ragged, not worthy of your august consideration." She turned in her chair. "Was he--was he anything like--that--that holy man--Peter, you know who I mean?" Her face was deathly as she uttered the question. "Let my _mem-sahib_ be comforted!" said Peter soothingly. "It was not the holy man--the bearer of evil tidings." "Ah!" The words sank down through her heart like a stone dropped into a well. "But I think the tidings were evil all the same. Did he say what it was? But--" as a sudden memory shot across her, "I ought not to ask. I wish--I wish the captain--_sahib_ would come back." "Let my _mem-sahib_ have patience!" said Peter gently. "He will soon come now." The blue jay laughed at the gate gleefully, uproariously, derisively. Stella shivered. "He is coming!" said Peter. She started up. Monck was returning. He came up the compound like a man who has been beaten in a race. His face was grey, his eyes terrible.