ing to regain that mastery of her emotions
which he had formerly achieved, at least in part.

Her feelings, however, were largely compounded of fear, and fear
strengthened her defense. The repulsive part of Ormuz Khan's character
became more apparent to her than did the fascination which she had once
experienced. She distrusted him, distrusted him keenly. She knew at the
bottom of her heart that this had always been so, but she had suffered
his attentions in much the same spirit as that which imbues the
naturalist who studies the habits of a poisonous reptile.

She knew that she was playing with fire, and in this knowledge lay a
dangerous pleasure. She had the utmost faith in her own common sense,
and was ambitious to fence with edged tools.

When at last the car was drawn up before the porch of Hillside, and
Ormuz Khan, stepping out, assisted the ladies to alight, for one moment
Phil Abingdon hesitated, although she knew that it was already too
late to do so. They were received by Mr. Rama Dass, his excellency's
courteous secretary, whom she had already met, and whom Ormuz Khan
presented to Mrs. McMurdoch. Almost immediately:

"You have missed Mr. Harley by only a few minutes," said Rama Dass.

"What!" exclaimed Phil, her eyes opening very widely.

"Oh, there is no occasion for alarm," explained the secretary in his
urbane manner. "He has ventured as far as Lower Claybury station. The
visit was unavoidable. He particularly requested that we should commence
luncheon, but hoped to be back before we should have finished."

Phil Abingdon glanced rapidly from the face of the speaker to that of
Ormuz Khan. But her scrutiny of those unreadable countenances availed
her nothing. She was conscious of a great and growing uneasiness; and
Mrs. McMurdoch, misunderstanding the expression upon her face, squeezed
her arm playfully.

"Cheer up, dear," she whispered; "he will be here soon!"

Phil knew that her face had flushed deeply. Partly she was glad of her
emotions, and partly ashamed. This sweet embarrassment in which there
was a sort of pain was a new experience, but one wholly delightful.
She laughed, and accepting the arm of Ormuz Khan, walked into a very
English-looking library, followed by Rama Dass and Mrs. McMurdoch. The
house, she thought, was very silent, and she found herself wondering why
no servants had appeared.

Rama Dass had taken charge of the ladies' cloaks in the hall, and in
spite of the typical Englis