altogether and the
line wound up bare slopes. And as they rose they left the damp heat behind
them, and the air grew fresher and cooler.

The train twisted among the mountains and crawled up their steep sides on a
line that wound about in bewildering fashion, in one place looping the loop
completely in such a way that the engine was crossing a bridge from under
which the last carriage was just emerging. Noreen delighted in the journey.
She chatted gaily with her companion, asking him questions about anything
that was new to her, and striving to ignore the looks of curiosity, pity,
or disgust cast at her by the other European passengers, among whom
speculation was rife as to the relationship between the pair.

The leisurely train took plenty of time to recover its breath when it
stopped at the little wayside stations, and many of its occupants got out
to stretch their legs. Two of them, Englishmen, strolled to the end of the
platform at a halt. One, a tall, fair man, named Charlesworth, a captain in
a Rifle battalion quartered in Lebong, the military suburb of Darjeeling,
remarked to his companion:

"I wonder who is the pretty, golden-haired girl travelling with that
native. How the deuce does she come to be with him? She can't be his wife."

"You never know," replied the other, an artillery subaltern named Turner.
"Many of these Bengali students in London marry their landladies' daughters
or girls they've picked up in the street, persuading the wretched women by
their lies that they are Indian princes. Then they bring them out here to
herd with a black family in a little house in the native quarter."

"Yes; but that girl is a lady," answered Charlesworth impatiently. "I heard
her speak on the platform at Siliguri."

"She certainly looks all right," admitted his friend. "Smart and
well-turned out, too. But one can never tell nowadays."

"Let's stroll by her carriage and get a nearer view of her," said
Charlesworth.

As they passed the compartment in which Noreen was seated, the girl's
attention was attracted by two gaily-dressed Sikkimese men with striped
petticoats and peacocks' feathers stuck in their flowerpot-shaped hats, who
came on to the platform.

"Oh, Mr. Chunerbutty, look at those men!" she said eagerly. "What are
they?"

The Hindu had got out and was standing at the door of the compartment.

"Did you notice that?" said Charlesworth, when he and Turner had got beyond
earshot. "She called him Mr. Som