“Indeed you would be wise to decide against it. Release me from my promise. It was a mad scheme.” The superiority--or so I felt it--of her gentleness maddened me. It might have been I who needed protection, who was running the risk of misjudgment--not she, a lonely woman. She looked at me, waiting--trying to be wise for me, never for one instant thinking of herself. I felt utterly exiled from the real purpose of her life. “I will never release you. I claim your promise. I hold to it.” “Very well then--I will write, and tell you where I shall be. Good-bye, and if you change your mind, as I hope you will, tell me.” She extended her hand cool as a snowflake, and was gone, walking swiftly up the road. Ah, let a man beware when his wishes fulfilled, rain down upon him! To what had I committed myself? She knew her strength and had no fears. I could scarcely realize that she had liking enough for me to make the offer. That it meant no shade more than she had said I knew well. She was safe, but what was to be the result for me? I knew nothing--she was a beloved mystery. “Strange she is and secret, Strange her eyes; her cheeks are cold as cold sea-shells.” Yet I would risk it, for I knew there was no hope if I let her go now, and if I saw her again, some glimmer might fall upon my dark. Next day this reached me:--Dear Mr. Clifden,-- I am going to some Indian friends for a time. On the 15th of June I shall be at Srinagar in Kashmir. A friend has allowed me to take her little houseboat, the “Kedarnath.” If you like this plan we will share the cost for two months. I warn you it is not luxurious, but I think you will like it. I shall do this whether you come or no, for I want a quiet time before I take up my nursing in Lahore. In thinking of all this will you remember that I am not a girl but a woman. I shall be twenty-nine my next birthday. Sincerely yours, VANNA LORING. P.S. But I still think you would be wiser not to come. I hope to hear you will not. I replied only this:--Dear Miss Loring,--I think I understand the position fully. I will be there. I thank you with all my heart. Gratefully yours, STEPHEN CLIFDEN. IV Three days later I met Lady Meryon, and was swept in to tea. Her manner was distinctly more cordial as she mentioned casually that Vanna had left--she understood to take up missionary work--“which is odd,” she added with a woman’s acrimony, “for she had no more in common with missionaries than I have, and that is saying a good deal. Of course she speaks Hindustani perfectly, and could be useful, but I haven’t grasped the point of it yet.” I saw she counted on my knowing nothing of the real reason of Vanna’s going and left it, of course, at that. The talk drifted away under my guidance. Vanna evidently puzzled her. She half feared, and wholly misunderstood her. No message came to me, as time went by, and for the time she had vanished completely, but I held fast to her promise and lived on that only.