ed, but it was marred and
desecrated by the stark glare of that nightmare moon. She was worn out
with long and anxious watching, and she had almost ceased to look for
comfort, so heavy were the clouds that menaced her.

The thought of Everard was ever with her, strive as she might to drive
it out. At such moments as these she yearned for him with a sick and
desperate longing--his strength, his tenderness, his understanding. He,
and he alone, would have known how to comfort her now with her baby
dying before her eyes. He would have held her up through her darkest
hours. His arm would have borne her forward however terrible the path.

She had Bernard and she had Tommy, each keen and ready in her service.
She sometimes thought that but for Bernard she would have been
overwhelmed long since. But he could not fill the void within her. He
could not even touch the aching longing that gnawed so perpetually at
her heart. That was a pain she would have to endure in silence all the
rest of her life. She did not think she would ever see Everard again.
Though only a few miles lay between them at present he might have been
already a world away. She was sure he would not come back to her unless
she summoned him. The manner of his going, though he had taken no leave
of her, had been somehow final. And she could not call him back even if
she would. He had deceived her cruelly, of set intention, and she could
never trust him again. The memory of Ralph Dacre tainted all her
thoughts of him. He had sworn he had not killed him. Perhaps
not--perhaps not! Yet was the conviction ever with her that he had sent
him to his death, had intended him to die.

She had given up reasoning the matter. It was beyond her. She was too
hopelessly plunged in darkness. Tommy with all his staunchness could not
lift that overwhelming cloud. And Bernard? She did not know what Bernard
thought save that he had once reminded her that a man should be
regarded as innocent unless he could be proved guilty.

It was common talk now that Everard's Indian career was ended. It was
only the trial at Khanmulla that had delayed the sending in of his
papers. He was as much a broken man, however hotly Tommy contested the
point, as if he had been condemned by a court-martial. Surely, had he
been truly innocent he would have demanded a court-martial and
vindicated himself. But he had suffered his honour to go down in
silence. What more damning evidence could be supplied than th