ldness. It isn't Stella."

"We must be patient," Mrs. Ralston said.

There were tears in the boy's own eyes for which she liked him, but she
did not encourage him to further confidence. It was not her way to
discuss any friend with a third person, however intimate.

Tommy left the subject without realizing that she had turned him from
it.

"I don't know in the least how she is left," he said restlessly.
"Haven't an idea what sort of state Dacre's affairs were in. I ought to
have asked him, but I never had the chance; and everything was done in
such a mighty hurry. I don't suppose he had much to leave if anything.
It was a fool marriage," he ended bitterly. "I always hated it. Monck
knew that."

"Doesn't Captain Monck know anything?" asked Mrs. Ralston.

"Oh, goodness knows. Monck's away on urgent business, been away for ever
so long now. I haven't seen him since Dacre's death. I daresay he
doesn't even know of that yet. He had to go Home. I suppose he is on his
way back again now; I hope so anyway. It's pretty beastly without him."

"Poor Tommy!" Mrs. Ralston's sympathy was uppermost again. "It's been a
tragic business altogether. But let us be thankful we have dear Stella
safely back! I am going to say good night to her now. Help yourself to
anything you want!"

She went, and Tommy stretched himself out on a long chair with a sigh of
discontent over things in general. He had had no word from Monck
throughout his absence, and this was almost the greatest grievance of
all.

Treading softly the passage that led to Stella's door, Mrs. Ralston
nearly stumbled over a crouching, white-clad figure that rose up swiftly
and noiselessly on the instant and resolved itself into the salaaming
person of Peter the Sikh. He had slept across Stella's threshold ever
since her bereavement.

"My _mem-sahib_ is still awake," he told her with a touch of
wistfulness. "She sleeps only when the night is nearly spent."

"And you sleep at her door?" queried Mrs. Ralston, slightly
disconcerted.

The tall form bent again with dignified courtesy. "That is my privilege,
_mem-sahib,_" said Peter the Great.

He smiled mournfully, and made way for her to pass.

Mrs. Ralston knocked, and heard a low voice speak in answer. "What is
it, Peter?"

Softly she opened the door. "It is I, my dear. Are you in bed? May I
come and bid you good night?"

"Of course," Stella made instant reply. "How good you are! How kind!"

A shaded night-lamp