ies
poured in on the Brights. The subject of Mrs. Meredith's disappearance
with the doctor was discussed at every _chota hazri_ table with and
without sympathy, and even in the bazaar it was passed along from one to
another. The Collector's memsahib had gone off with the doctor, leaving
her little child to the tender mercies of an ayah! Alack! even to the
homes of the mighty came shame and dishonour through a woman! And all
through the European custom of giving women so much liberty! On the
whole, the "black man" knew best how to protect his honour and his home!

Meanwhile, a mounted messenger had gone at great speed to inform the
Collector, who arrived by midday looking dazed and ill from the shock.
It was pitiful to see how helpless he had become in the face of such an
appalling tragedy as the complete disappearance of his wife. Telegrams
to various stations on the line had brought no information; mounted
policemen had returned without having discovered a clue. The car had
vanished with its occupants, though all who knew Joyce intimately, knew
that she would cheerfully have given her life rather than have abandoned
her child.

"One can scarcely believe that she has eloped," Mrs. Bright said to
Honor. "She is so wrapped up in the child."

"Someone would have seen the car," said her husband. "It is an
unaccountable thing."

Joyce eloped!--it was unthinkable.

Honor, who from anxiety, had not slept all night, mounted her bicycle
and rode out into the fresh and brilliant sunlight on a forlorn hope. An
idea had come to her as an inspiration which, though unlikely, was not
an impossibility. In the search for the missing ones, every road in the
District was being scoured without success. Since the rain had
obliterated all tracks there had been nothing to guide any one in the
quest, and nothing had been gleaned from villagers. No one had seen the
familiar two-seater after it had passed the boundaries of the Mission,
which was a circumstance as mysterious as it was unaccountable, for it
must have gone somewhere.

Why not off the road? Not a soul had conceived it likely that Captain
Dalton would have risked his fine machine over the bumpy side-tracks
that formed short-cuts in various directions, notably one to the ruins
which Joyce had often expressed a wish to see. They were not difficult
of access by motor-car, although the road to them was almost covered by
weeds and undergrowth. Supposing that the doctor had yielded