joyfully at the chance of avenging a few of the wrongs he and his Khemistan administration had suffered at the hands of Granthistan, and--with the readiness to submit official matters to public arbitrament which so curiously distinguished the men of his day--addressed to the press a series of communications reflecting with equal severity on Charteris's moral character and his military capacity. A copy of the Bombay paper in which these letters appeared was sent to Sir Arthur Cinnamond by a friend who thought he ought to know what was being said, and it fell into Honour's hands. Sir Arthur, dozing over a cheroot in the hottest part of the day, was rudely awakened by the apparition of the tragic figure of his daughter, holding out the offending journal. "Papa, have you read this? Do you see what they say?" "Eh, what, my dear?" Sir Arthur groped for his glasses, and settled them on his nose. "Oh, that nonsense of Lennox's, I see--most improper interference; like his--er--er--usual impudence to meddle in our affairs." "But the things he says about Mr Charteris, papa--that he ought to be court-martialled!" "Well, my dear, you need not be frightened. Old Harry Lennox ain't commanding in Granthistan." "But it's just as bad if he only deserved to be court-martialled, and we know he doesn't. As if Mr Gerrard would ever have joined him if he had been merely trying to bring himself into notoriety at the expense of disobeying orders!" "There's no doubt that he moved without orders, my dear girl. And if you ask me, I have a shrewd idea that he was in no hurry to open his orders when they reached him, lest they should direct him to retire. Ought to be broke, the young scamp! But hang me if I wouldn't have done the same in his place!" "Oh, papa, I am so glad you feel like that! You are writing to him? Do you know, I was going to ask you to let me put in a note, that he might see there was one person on his side." "Oho, you sly little puss!" cried Sir Arthur, highly amused. Honour looked offended, and her father shifted his ground rapidly. "No, no, Honour, I couldn't think of it--without consulting your mother, at any rate. But I tell you what I will do--add a postscript that my family send their kind regards to him and Gerrard. Mustn't leave poor Gerrard quite out in the cold, but I think they'll understand that--eh?" "There is nothing to understand," said Honour, departing with dignity. "So it's Charteris!" said Sir Arthur to himself. "Somehow I had an idea it was the other. I'm almost sorry. He will take it hard, poor chap!" CHAPTER XX. A DAY OF VICTORY.