he remarked
again with admiration the graceful lines and rounded curves of her
figure as she walked to the dead boar and touched the tusks.

"What a splendid pair! You are lucky," she exclaimed. "The biggest
anyone has got yet this season."

"I hope you'll allow me to offer them to you," said Wargrave generously,
although it cost him a pang to surrender the precious trophy. "You
deserve them, for you rode so well after the boar and I believe you'd
have got him if you'd carried a spear."

"No, indeed, Mr. Wargrave; I wouldn't dream of taking them," she
replied, laughing; "but I appreciate the nobility of your self-denial.
This is your first pig; and I know what that means to a man. Now we must
find a _sowar_ to get the coolies to bring the boar in. But I wonder
where we are. Where is everyone?"

Wargrave looked about him and for the first time realised that they were
far out in the desert without a landmark to guide them. On every side
the sand stretched away to the horizon, its flat expanse broken only by
clumps of bristling cactus or very rarely the tall stem of a palm tree.
Of the others of the party there was no sign. His companion and he
seemed to be alone in the world; and he began to wonder apprehensively
if they were destined to undergo the unpleasant experience of being lost
in the desert. The sun high overhead afforded no help; and Wargrave
remembered neither the direction of the city nor where lay the ravine in
which the beat had taken place.

"You don't happen to know where we are, I suppose, Mrs. Norton?" he
asked his companion.

"I haven't the least idea. It looks as if we're lost," she replied
calmly. "We had better wait quietly where we are instead of wandering
about trying to find our way. When we are missed the Maharajah will
probably send somebody to look for us."

"I daresay you're right," said Wargrave. "You know more about the desert
than I do. By Jove, I'd give anything to come across the camel that
Raymond tells me brings out drinks and ice. My throat is parched. Aren't
you very thirsty?"

"Terribly so. Isn't the heat awful?" she exclaimed, trying to fan
herself with the few inches of cambric and lace that represented a
handkerchief.

"Awful. The blood seems to be boiling in my head," gasped the subaltern.
"I've never felt heat like this anywhere else in India. But, thank
goodness, it seems to be clouding over. That will make it cooler."

Mrs. Norton looked around. A dun veil was bei