"What do you mean, Lois? He knows I haven't a brass cent." "But I have. And of course my money must go to refund those whom you have unintentionally ruined." That roused him. He flung her on one side, with a desperate, goaded curse. "Your money! How dare you! It's not your money. Half of it is mine. I settled it on you." "If it is yours, I will give it back to you. You will use it as I say. If not, I shall use it for you." Colonel Carmichael had reached the garden. He turned now, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "That's spoken like an honorable woman, Lois!" he said. "God bless you for it. But it's too late. Nicholson has already gone to Nehal Singh. If he fails, there won't be any time to explain. Come on, or we shall have to fight our way through." He hurried on through the garden, Beatrice at his side. Husband and wife stood an instant alone, the body of poor Stafford between them. Lois' face was grave and contemptuous. "I do not know what you have done," she said--"I do not understand what part you played in John's life or in mine, nor how far you are innocent or guilty of bringing about all this misfortune--but I know this much--we shall take our share of trouble." "Lois, you are my wife! You have no right to go against me." "I have the right where my honor--where your honor--is concerned. I have the right to refuse to commit an act of gross injustice." She glanced down once more at the quiet face of the man who had held so persistently upon her life and heart, and her firmly compressed lips trembled. "Oh, Archie, was it worth while--just for a little bit of gain? Was it worth while? We might all have been so happy!" He said nothing. His rage had sunk into a sullen, dogged defiance. The roar of voices beyond the compound suddenly subsided. They heard the Colonel's voice issuing a sharp command and the thud of grounded rifles. "We must go," she said. He followed her down the steps, his face painfully averted from the figure that lay motionless upon the ground. The world is but a reflection of ourselves. The sunshine is sad or joyful according to our moods. We read threats and promises in the smiles of others as our own heart is hopeful or distrusting. And for Travers, with the bloodstained hand, the poor lifeless body of his enemy had become the towering shadow of an approaching Nemesis. CHAPTER VII IN THE TEMPLE OF VISHNU