oportion to the kindness and generosity with which Brian
Dalton treated his contrite wife, would be her gratitude and devotion;
and time would bring healing and forgetfulness of wrongs.

But some there were who gave always, expecting nothing in return, and
they, too, won happiness with the years--virtue being its own reward!

For the first time Honor was conscious of a great bitterness of spirit
as she sought oblivion in sleep.

She had just turned down the wick of her bedroom lamp--for it was
customary in those parts to sleep with a light burning low all night in
a bedchamber because of the lurking danger from snakes--when she heard a
sudden sound in the distance that rooted her to the spot. The next
instant her mother who had been awakened by it, called out from the
adjoining room:

"Honor, are you awake?"

"Yes. Did you hear that, Mother?"

"I was just wondering what it was. It sounded like a pistol shot."

"I thought so, too. Listen!--there are voices."

Mr. Bright, who was also disturbed, suggested in sleepy tones that his
wife and daughter should go to sleep and leave other people to mind
their own business. It was not part of his duty to look for trouble. It
came fast enough to him in the ordinary channels. If any one had been
killed, they would hear of it in due course.

"How cold-blooded!" said Mrs. Bright.

"We have quite enough of crime by day, my dear, without looking for it
with a lantern at night."

But the distant voices increased in agitation, and grew confused.

Drawing the window curtain aside, Honor looked out into the night and
saw unmistakable signs of alarm at Dalton's bungalow. Lights hurried to
and fro and conflicting orders were shouted by one servant to another.
In fact, it was very evident that something had gone seriously wrong.

"I wonder what could have happened?" said Mrs. Bright looking over her
daughter's shoulder. "See, there is someone coming to tell us about it."

A single light was moving swiftly towards the hedge that divided the two
gardens. Honor felt her heart paralysing as she watched the progress of
the lantern; a hand seemed tightening upon her throat and her limbs grew
palsied with fear. What was it they were coming so quickly to say?

An evil, dark face had risen before her imagination, and she heard again
the voice speaking to the basket-maker at the _mela_, vowing to take the
life of the surgeon who had been the cause of his only son's death. "Oh,
God!--oh