redilection for "letting off steam" resulted in a
night of uproarious hilarity, incomprehensible to those ignorant of
the conditions which gave it birth, and unable to realise its tonic
effect on men who are setting out to face danger, hardship, and
possibly a violent death.

Wild games and contests were the order of the evening,--the wilder the
more acceptable. Cock-fighting, mock-polo matches, or gymkhanas,--on
such occasions nothing comes amiss in the way of riotous foolishness
pure and simple. The senior officer forgets his seniority; the most
dignified lets fall the cloak of dignity for a few exhilarating hours.

Colonel Buchanan himself entered with zest into the maddest
innovations which Desmond or Olliver could devise; and those who knew
Paul Wyndham, in his normal habit as he lived, would scarce have
recognised him masquerading as Desmond's polo pony, in a
inter-regimental match played with billiard balls, brother officers
doing duty for mounts and cues for polo-sticks. It was all excellent
fooling; and the bar of grey in the east came far too soon.

Close on five o'clock Desmond re-entered the bungalow; his scarlet
kummerbund disordered; his white mess-jacket in a hundred creases; yet
alert and ready in every fibre for the day's march that lay before
him.

The grey twilight of dawn was already creeping in through the
skylights and long glass doors, as he passed through the drawing-room
into his study.

Here he came to a standstill with a low exclamation of surprise.

On his cane deck-lounge Evelyn lay fast asleep, her face so turned
upon the cushion that its delicate profile showed clear as a cameo
against a background of dull blue. Her white dinner dress gleamed
ghostly in the dusk of morning. One bronze slipper had fallen off;
and one bare arm hung limply over the chair's edge, the fingers curled
softly upwards. A slender chain bangle, with a turquoise pendant, had
almost slipped over her hand.

Desmond drew nearer with softened tread, and stood looking down upon
her, a world of tenderness in his eyes;--tenderness touched with the
reverence a finely tempered man is apt to feel in the presence of a
child or woman asleep. For by some mysterious process sleep sanctifies
a face; perhaps because it is half brother to death.

Evelyn's face was white as her dress, save for the coral tint of her
lips. Their downward droop, the red line along her eyelids, and the
moist handkerchief clutched in her right han