"That's right," he said. "You ought to be going;" and he turned again towards the camel. Thus for another moment they were alone together, but it was Stella who seized it. "There go!" she said. "You must go," and in the same breath she added: "Married yet?" "No," answered Thresk. "Still too busy getting on?" "That's not the reason"--and he lowered his voice to a whisper--"Stella." Again she laughed in frank and utter disbelief. "Nor is Stella. That's mere politeness and good manners. We must show the dear creatures the great part they play in our lives." And upon that all her fortitude suddenly deserted her. She had played her part so far, she could play it no longer. An extraordinary change came over her face. The smiles, the laughter slipped from it like a loosened mask. Thresk saw such an agony of weariness and hopeless longing in her eyes as he had never seen even with his experience in the Courts of Law. She drew back into the shadow of the tent. "In thirteen days you'll be steaming up the Channel," she whispered, and with a sob she covered her face with her hands. Thresk saw the tears trickle between her fingers. Ballantyne at the fire was looking back towards the tent. Thresk hurried out to him. The camel was crouching close to the fire saddled and ready. "You have time," said Ballantyne. "The train's not in yet," and Thresk walked to the side of the camel, where a couple of steps had been placed for him to mount. He had a foot on the step when he suddenly clapped his hand to his pocket. "I've left my pipe," he cried, "and I've a night's journey in front of me. I won't be a second." He ran back with all his speed to the tent. The hangings at the door were closed. He tore them aside and rushed in. "Stella!" he said in a whisper, and then he stopped in amazement. He had left her on the very extremity of distress. He found her, though to be sure the stains of her tears were still visible upon her face, busy with one of the evening preparations natural in a camp-life--quietly, energetically busy. She looked up once when he raised the hanging over the door, but she dropped her eyes the next instant to her work. She was standing by the table with a small rook-rifle in her hands. The breech was open. She looked down the barrel, holding up the weapon so that the light might shine into the breech. "Yes?" she said, and with so much indifference that she did not lift her eyes from her work. "I thought you had gone." "I left my pipe behind me," said Thresk. "There it is, on the table." "Thank you." He put it in his pocket. Of the two he was disconcerted and at a loss, she was entirely at her ease. CHAPTER IX AN EPISODE IN BALLANTYNE'S LIFE