"There's no magic in knowing that. It is almost like setting yourself out to prove a negative. I can see--by the absence of all signs of it. Shall I tell you why that strange place has a fascination for me? Something warns me there will come a day when our knowledge of it will make all the difference between life and death. There--the thought has gone, nor can I pick up the thread of it. It has left me." That same movement of the hand as though clearing away an invisible mist from before her eyes. Upon her face, earnest and serious in the moonlight, there rested that same look which he had seen there when they were discussing clairvoyance and things occult, during the evening, and he felt just a little awed. Did she really possess the gift of seeing into the future? "Good-night now, and get a good rest," he said in a low tone and somewhat concernedly, as they regained the tents. And with a bright nod she disappeared within hers. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. OF THE DAK--AND MEHRAB KHAN. "Halloa, Raynier. I see the _dak_ coming," cried Haslam, putting his head into the tent where the other was sitting, going over some official papers with his Babu; for, even though this was a sort of holiday trip, there were things to be attended to, and every day a Levy Sowar rode into and out from Mazaran, a distance of about forty miles. To the rest of the party this daily post was a daily event. They got English mail letters--or news from the outside world. Haslam, for instance, whose family was away in England, was wont to wax excited over the event. But to Raynier it was more of a nuisance than otherwise. It brought him official correspondence, but as for English letters he never got any, and did not want any. So Haslam's announcement failed to awaken any interest within him. A little later there entered a chuprassi bearing a leather bag. This Raynier unlocked, and proceeded to extract the contents by the simple process of turning it upside down. The usual official matter--but--what was this? An English mail letter? There it lay amid the heap of long envelopes, and even before he took it up a frown came over Raynier's face, for it was directed in the handwriting of Cynthia Daintree. What on earth could she have to write to him about? The envelope had been re-directed on from Baghnagar, so she was evidently ignorant of his transfer and promotion. He sat staring at the envelope, and the frown deepened. He felt in no hurry to explore its contents, for his instincts warned him that they would certainly prove unpleasant, possibly mischievous. Well, it had to be done. The letter was long and closely written, and a feeling of weariness and repulsion came over him at the anticipation of having to wade through all this. And--it began affectionately. But before he had read far the mystified expression upon his face became one of blank astonishment and dismay.