he terrible scourge of the Indian
population--the plague. The despatch announcing the victory, although
no doubt it was known in the native quarter, had evidently not made the
slightest impression.

About eleven o'clock Heideck returned to the hotel, where he found the
Kennedys and Edith still conversing eagerly on the terrace.

"Of course we shall not leave now," he declared. "As soon as the
Russians have evacuated the north, we shall return to Simla."

Heideck made no remark, and since the openly expressed and heartfelt joy
of the English affected him painfully, he soon took leave of them, and
went up to his room, which, like Edith's, was on the second storey.

According to the custom of the country, all the rooms opened on to the
broad balcony which ran round the whole floor like an outer corridor.
As a look from Edith had repeated her wish that he should wait for her
there, he stepped out on to the balcony. His patience was not put to
a severe trial. She must have quickly found an opportunity of escaping
from the Kennedys' society, for he saw her coming towards him even
sooner than he had expected.

"I thank you for waiting for me," she said, "but we cannot stay here,
for we should not be safe from surprise for a moment. Let us go into my
room."

Heideck followed her with hesitation. But he knew that Edith would
feel insulted if he expressed any scruples at her request, for her firm
confidence in his chivalrous honour relieved her of all apprehension.
Only the moon, shining faintly, shed a dim light over the room. The
clock on the tower of the neighbouring university struck twelve.

"Destiny is playing a strange game with us," said Edith, who had seated
herself in one of the little basket chairs, while Heideck remained
standing near the door. "I confess that since the arrival of the news of
the victory I have spent some terrible hours, for the Kennedys have, in
consequence, abandoned their idea of leaving, and seem to take it for
granted that I shall remain with them in India."

"And would you not, in fact, be forced to do so, my dearest Edith?"

"So then you have already reckoned with this contingency? You would not,
surely, think of travelling without me? But perhaps you would even feel
relieved at being freed from me?"

"How can you say such things, Edith, which, I am sure, you do not
believe?"

"Who knows? You are ambitious, and we poor women are never worse off
than when we have to do with ambitiou