e nothing definite could be done without Honor's
consent.

"Now I ought to be attending to my business!" she said, freeing
herself with a little nervous laugh. "It's getting too light. I must
put out the lamp and dress you up in your shade again, you poor,
patient Theo. Then we'll have _chota hazri_ together."

She moved away from him quickly, and not quite steadily. She had let
slip her one chance of escape, and she did not know why she had done
it. The impulse to refuse had been unreasoning, overpowering; and now
it was all over she only knew that she had done what Honor would
approve, and what she herself would regret to the end of her life. How
far the girl whose soul had been concentrated on Evelyn's uplifting
was responsible for her flash of self-sacrifice, is a problem that
must be left for psychologists to solve.

Desmond had only one thought in his brain that morning--"How in the
world am I going to tackle Honor?" He foresaw a pitched battle, ending
in possible defeat; and decided to defer it till he felt more
physically fit for the strain. For he possessed the rapid recuperative
power of his type; and, the fever once conquered, each day added a
cubit to his returning vigour.

One night, towards the close of the second week of his illness, he
awoke suddenly from dreamless sleep to alert wakefulness, a sense of
renewed health and power thrilling through his veins. He passed a hand
across his forehead and eyes, for the pure pleasure of realising their
freedom from the disfiguring bandage, and glanced toward the
writing-table, whence the too familiar screened lamp flung ghostly
lights and shadows up among the bare rafters twenty feet above.

It was Honor who sat beside it now, in a loose white wrapper, her head
resting on her hand, an open book before her. The light fell full upon
her profile, emphasising its nobility of outline--the short straight
nose, the exquisite moulding of mouth and chin; while all about her
shoulders fell the burnished mantle of her hair.

For many moments Desmond lay very still. This amazing girl, in the
fulness of her beauty, and in her superb unconsciousness of its effect
upon himself, had him at a disadvantage; and he knew it. The
disadvantage was only increased by waiting and watching; and at last
he spoke, scarcely above his breath.

"Honor--I am awake."

She started, and instinctively her hand went to her hair, gathering it
deftly together. But he made haste to interpose.