He scrutinises her fair face critically; it seems insipid to him now. Its pale spirituality, which once set his brain on fire, appears characterless. The classical features, exquisitely moulded, lack power. The sweet mouth has a wan droop, as if sighing for ungranted kisses. "Sometimes, Carol," she says at last, "I fancy you are tiring of me." She only speaks for him to contradict. "My darling, what an absurd notion to get into that pretty little head of yours! Occasionally it is a little slow here for us both." "That is only since you grew nervous. Of course, the days are long if you will stay indoors doing nothing." "Yes, you are quite right," he answers, somewhat to Eleanor's surprise. "It _is_ foolish, and unnecessary. Now you won't grumble, my pet, if I go for a long day's sport to-morrow. It will do me all the good in the world, some excitement and exercise. I have been getting dreadfully grumpy and cross." "How early shall you start?" "Oh, first thing. I assure you, Eleanor, I am quite looking forward to it. I can't have been very well lately, and that accounts for my apparent prostration and uncalled-for nervousness. There is nothing really to fear, and you can make your mind quite easy about me." These reassuring words delight Eleanor, for as long as Carol is happy and satisfied, her joy is intense. As they talk Quamina is crouching under the broad steps that lead down from the verandah; her eyes gaze in the direction of that mysterious rock hidden from sight. She wonders if the devil has yet come for the Sahib's message. Her soul is torn by curiosity and fear. She longs to know, and if the strange letter still lies in the crevice untouched, herself to break the seal and try to decipher the words. It is a tremendous temptation; yet, as she rises with a bold resolve and creeps along the moonlit path, she suffers mortal dread, momentarily expecting to encounter some supernatural apparition. She turns out of sight of the bungalow, with its cheerful light, and reaches the rock, on which the moonbeams play. A ray of light lies across the crevice in which the Sahib deposited his epistle. With set teeth, and frantically beating heart, Quamina forces her skinny arms into the hole, murmuring prayers as she gropes and fumbles, then staggers back with a low moan, and flees from the unholy spot. The devil has been! The letter is _gone_! CHAPTER XXII. NO FOOTSTEP STIRRED--THE HATED WORLD ALL SLEPT, SAVE ONLY THEE AND ME. (OH, HEAVEN! OH, GOD!) The following morning Eleanor, her face bright with smiles, kisses Carol as she bids him adieu. "Shoot something nice for dinner, dear," she says, "and have a good day." She waves her hand as he trots down the hill, his slim form erect, his eyes bright and lips parted. "I hope you won't be dull, Eleanor," he cries with a gay laugh. "Keep house till I return, and take care of yourself." As he fades from sight she turns singing into the bungalow.