He had renounced all such things and set them aside for ever. Again, with a determined effort, he thrust sentiment aside and shut his ears to the mourning. All night long the mourners would be up and busy over the preparations for the disposal of the body the next day. There was no reason why he should not sleep however. He had a long walk before him. The sweeper was to meet him at the station in the morning at eight o'clock, and he was to take the train that was due soon after that hour. He intended starting between three and four. The road was familiar. India is not troubled with too many by-paths. Even if the route had been unknown to him, he could not easily have missed it. He retired to his room and threw himself upon his charpoy bed. He could still hear the monotonous wailing, but it was not disturbing. Having reassured himself that it could not possibly be his father, he troubled no more about the unknown dead. On the whole it was fortunate that the household was occupied with its own affairs. There was less likelihood of attention being directed towards himself. His escape ought to be easy, and, thus thinking, he fell asleep. CHAPTER XVIII Ananda lay in a deep, dreamless sleep, the restful slumber of a healthy man whose mind was as wholesome as his body. One hand was tucked under his cheek, the other was thrown forward and hung slightly over the edge of the cot. All his troubles, his doubts and fears, his deprivations and hardships, lately inflicted, were forgotten. It was the best preparation he could have for entrance on the new life, when he would have to live "by the sweat of his brow," like a multitude of good men who had gone before him, and others who would come after him. He had had four hours of solid sleep without stirring, when he became aware of a touch upon the hand that rested on the border of the bed. It was a soft, coaxing touch that sent an electric message to his brain. In the old days before he went to England that same touch had often roused him at dawn. He lifted his head and breathed one word: "Wife!" "I am here!" came the ready response. She was in his arms the next moment, clinging to him whilst convulsive sobs--stifled, but none the less strong--shook her from head to foot. At first words failed them both, he in his astonishment and she in the violence of her grief; but as tears relieved the overburdened brain of the woman she regained sufficient command of herself to speak. "Our little son!--my baby! He is dead!" Then, as an exclamation escaped Ananda's lips, she placed her hand over his mouth. "Ah! hush!" she whispered. "They do not know that I have come to you. If they find me here they will beat me again!" "Beat you! My pearl! Who has dared to lay a finger upon my wife?" he whispered fiercely, drawing her still closer.