"Damn the Mess!" said Tommy fiercely. "They'll tell me I ratted to-morrow. I don't care. Let 'em say what they like! It's you that matters. Man, how infernally ill you look!" Monck checked the personal allusion. "I'm not ill. But what have you been up to? Are you in a row?" Tommy essayed a laugh. "No, nothing serious. The blithering idiots ducked me yesterday for being disrespectful, that's all. I don't care. It's you I care about, Everard, old chap!" His voice held sudden pleading, but his face was turned away. He had meant to say more, but could not. He stood biting his lips desperately in a mute struggle for self-control. Everard waited a few seconds, giving him time; then abruptly he moved, slapped a hand on Tommy's shoulder and gave him a shake. "Tommy, don't be so beastly cheap! I'm ashamed of you. What's the matter?" Tommy yielded impulsively to the bracing grip, but he kept his face averted. "That's just it," he blurted out. "I feel cheap. Fact is, I came--I came to ask you to--forgive me. But now I'm here,--I'm damned if I have the cheek." "What do you want my forgiveness for? I thought I was the transgressor." Everard's voice was a curious blend of humour and sadness. Tommy turned to him with a sudden boyish gesture so spontaneous as to override all barriers. "Oh, I know all that. But it doesn't count. See? I don't know how I ever had the infernal presumption to think it did, or to ask you--you, of all men--to explain your actions. I don't want any explanation. I believe in you without, simply because I can't help it. I know--without any proof,--that you're sound. And--and--I beg your pardon for being such a cur as to doubt you. There! That's what I came to say. Now it's your turn." The tears were in his eyes, but he made no further attempt to hide them. All that was great in his nature had come to the surface, and there was no room left for self-consciousness. Monck realized it, and it affected him deeply, depriving him of the power to respond. He had not expected this from Tommy, had not believed him capable of it. But there was no doubting the boy's sincerity. Through those tears which Tommy had forgotten to hide, he saw the old loving trust shine out at him, the old whole-hearted admiration and honour offered again without reservation and without stint. He opened his lips to speak, but something rose in his throat, preventing him. He held out his hand in silence, and in that wordless grip the love which is greater than death made itself felt between them--a bond imperishable which no earthly circumstance could ever again violate--the Power Omnipotent which conquers all things. CHAPTER II THE LAMP The orange light of the morning was breaking over the jungle when two horsemen rode out upon the Kurrumpore road and halted between the rice fields. "I say, come on a bit further!" Tommy urged. "There's plenty of time."