ich the unspeakable is said.

Roy looked away. "Aruna?" He let fall the word barely above his breath.

"Just that."

"You're frightened--both of you? Oh yes--I've seen----" He fell silent,
staring into the fire. When he spoke again, it was in the same low,
detached tone. "You two needn't worry. The guarantee you're after was
given ... in July 1914 ... under the beeches ... at Home. _She_
foresaw--understood. But she couldn't foresee ... the harder tug--now
she's gone. The ... association ... and all that."

"Is it--only that?"

"It's mostly that."

To Lance Desmond, very much a man, it seemed the queerest state of
things; and he knew only a fragment of the truth.

"Look here, Roy," he urged again. "Wouldn't the Punjab really be best?
Aren't you plunging a bit too deep----? Does your father realise? Thea
feels----"

"Yes. Thea feels, bless her! But there's a thing or two she doesn't
_know_!" He lifted his head and spoke in an easier voice. "One queer
thing--it may interest you. Those few weeks of living as an Indian among
Indians--amazingly intensified all the other side of me. I never felt
keener on the Sinclair heritage and all it stands for. I never felt
keener on you two than all this time while I've been concentrating every
faculty on--the other two. Sounds odd. But it's a fact."

"Good. And does--your cousin know ... about the guarantee?"

"N--no. That's still to come."

"_When----?_"

Roy straightly returned his friend's challenging gaze. "Damn you!" he
said softly. Then, in a graver tone: "You're right. I've been shirking
it. Seemed a shame to spoil Christmas. Remains--the New Year. I fixed it
up--while you were playing that thing, to be exact."

"Did I--contribute?"

"You did--if that gives you any satisfaction!" He rose, stretched
himself and yawned ostentatiously. "My God, I wish it was over."

Desmond said nothing. If Roy loved him more for one quality than
another, it was for his admirable gift of silence.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 18: Dress of honour.]

CHAPTER XIV.

"Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of the burden of
pain--this gift of thine."--RABINDRANATH TAGORE.

It was the last day of the year; the last moon of the year, almost at
her zenith. Of all the Christmas guests Lance alone remained; and Thea
had promised him before leaving, a moonlight vision of Amber, the
Sleeping Beauty of Rajasthan. The event had been delayed till now,
partly because they wai