he change. Honey looks
positively ill," said Tommy.

"Nothing is the matter but the heat, it seems. I wonder why Captain
Dalton never came to see her off. I told him, when I was at the Bara
Koti this morning, that she was leaving by the 7:20. And they are such
good friends. I feel quite hurt."

"He is out somewhere in the District this evening. I saw him take the
main road in his car a little while ago, and travelling at break-neck
speed," said Tommy.

"Someone else taken ill somewhere, I suppose."

"Very likely."

"Still, I think he might have made a point of saying 'good-bye.'"

Tommy wondered, but said nothing. He had long made up his mind, as had
others in the Station, that Captain Dalton and Honor Bright were
engaged. He had also heard of lovers' quarrels and was ready, by the
look on Honor's face, to believe that a very serious misunderstanding
had taken place. Her abstraction, her ghastly pallor and haunted eyes
had given him positive suffering and a feeling of blind sympathy, which
had only found vent in loading the compartment with newspapers and
magazines snatched from Wheeler's bookstall.

To Honor's surprise, Captain Dalton appeared at a wayside station, and
leant his arms on the open window. The sight of him, his set face and
brooding eyes, made her heart stand still, while a sudden faintness
seized her. Behind him the Station hawkers were shouting their wares,
native travellers were bustling to and fro, and the air was alive with
sound, so that in the midst of all that confusion they were absolutely
alone.

"I am glad you have no one in with you," he said quietly. "I so wanted a
few words with you."

"How is Mr. Meredith?" Honor asked, trying to speak naturally.

He took both her hands and held them close, deaf to the question.
Meredith was out of danger and the nurse had become interested in her
charge. What were they and all else to the lovers so parted!

"Have you nothing to say to me?"

"I have said all that there is to say," she replied tremulously.

"I am going to write to you, and you must write to me. Do you understand
that this is imperative?"

"Is it?" she asked with beating heart. Oh, that they might at least hug
to themselves that innocent joy!

"If I do not write to you or hear from you, I shall be doing something
desperate. I cannot be responsible for myself. It will be the only thing
to keep me sane. You cannot dream how I am being punished. Don't add to
my punishment if