the uncertainty which had tried her so deeply. "What! no message for poor Mr Charteris?" she inquired archly, as Honour's hand touched Gerrard's to the accompaniment of a single murmured word of farewell. "Miss Cinnamond knows that I should feel honoured in carrying any message of hers," he said stiffly. Honour blushed red, though she looked annoyed. "Oh, give him my best wishes, please!" she said lightly. "Very distant and suitable, I'm sure!" muttered Mrs Jardine, much disappointed, but Honour did not hear her. "_You_ have not asked for any message--for yourself," she murmured, looking at Gerrard's sword-belt as if she had never seen one quite like it before. "I did not venture--it is only your kindness that makes you think of it," he stammered. "Perhaps you would rather not have it?" She raised her eyes for an instant and looked at him bravely. "My very best wishes--to you." "_Bus, bus!_" shouted James Antony from the foot of the steps. "Don't be all day binding ladies' favours on your helm, Gerrard, my boy. Get it over; it ain't as bad as it looks." He ran up the steps again, and his great hand descended heavily on Gerrard's shoulder, and Gerrard, thrilled through by the glance Honour had turned upon him, and with all his preconceived ideas shattered and clashing under the impact of a wholly new thought, must perforce allow himself to be hurried away, vaguely aware that Mrs Jardine, baulked of her expected sensation, was apostrophizing the acting-Resident as a "naughty man!" At the foot of the steps he turned suddenly. One word with Honour, even in Mrs Jardine's hearing, and his doubts would be resolved for ever. But James Antony fairly dragged him on. "No looking back now, my dear fellow. You must make me your messenger if you have anything to say. Do you forget that they are waiting for you at the _ghat_?" Gerrard mounted his pony reluctantly, then looked eagerly round. Honour's face might end his doubts as easily as her voice. But she was not to be seen; Mrs Jardine was nodding and smiling alone in the verandah, rather to the disgust of Mrs Antony, who was dimly visible in the doorway of the drawing-room. Gerrard could not detect the form crouched behind her spreading skirts, the face peering under her falling sleeve, and once again doubt attained mastery over his mind. If Honour had meant really to rebuke him for his backwardness, then was he indeed the most blessed of men, but perhaps she was only mildly chaffing Charteris's friend. It was not like her, but could one moment at parting give the lie to the experience, the settled certainty, of weeks of close intercourse? And she had not cared to wait to see him ride away!