"Oh, I know," Stella said. "It is a question I have been asking myself ever since. But, you know--" she smiled faintly--"I had no fever that night. Besides, I fancy you saw him too." His smile met hers. "I saw many things that night as they were not. And you also were overwrought and very tired. Perhaps you had had an exciting supper!" She saw that he meant to turn the subject away from her husband's death, and a little thrill of gratitude went through her. He had seen how reluctant she was to speak of it. She followed his lead with relief. "Perhaps--perhaps," she said. "We will say so anyhow. And now, do you know, I think you had better have your tea and rest. You have done a lot of talking, and you will be getting feverish again if I let you go on. I will send Peter in with it." He raised one eyebrow with a wry expression. "Must it be Peter?" he said. She relented. "I will bring it myself if you will promise not to talk." "Ah!" he said. "And if I promise that--will you promise me one thing too?" She paused. "What is that?" His eyes met hers, direct but baffling. "Not. to run away from me," he said. The quick blood mounted again in her face. She stood silent. He lifted an urgent hand. "Stella, in heaven's name, don't be afraid of me!" She laid her hand again in his. She could not do otherwise. She wanted to beg him to say nothing further, to let her go in peace. But no words would come. She stood before him mute. And--perhaps he knew what was in her mind--Monck was silent also after that single earnest appeal of his. He held her hand for a few seconds, and then very quietly let it go. She knew by his action that he would respect her wish for the time at least and say no more. CHAPTER VIII THE TRUCE Tommy was in a bad temper with everyone--a most unusual state of affairs. The weather was improving every day; the rains were nearly over. He was practically well again, too well to be sent to Bhulwana on sick leave, as Ralston brutally told him; but it was not this fact that had upset his internal equilibrium. He did not want sick leave, and bluntly said so. "Then what the devil do you want?" said Ralston, equally blunt and ready to resent irritation from one who in his opinion was too highly favoured of the gods to have any reasonable grounds for complaint. Tommy growled an inarticulate reply. It was not his intention to confide in Ralston whatever his grievance. But Ralston, not to be frustrated, carried the matter to Monck, then on the high road to recovery. "What in thunder is the matter with the young ass?" he demanded. "He gets more lantern-jawed and obstreperous every day." "Leave him to me!" said Monck. "Discharge him as cured! I'll manage him." "But that's just what he isn't," grumbled Ralston. "He ought to be well. So far as I can make out, he is well. But he goes about looking like a sick fly and stinging before you touch him." "Leave him to me!" Monck said again.