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“No,” she said, rather breathlessly. “No; I’m not at all bored. Please don’t get up; I’ll go and order some refreshment.”

“Nonsense!” he said sharply. “I don’t want it. I won’t have any! I mean”–his manner softening abruptly—“not unless you will join me; which, I fear, is too much to expect. Now don’t go away! Come and sit here!” drawing close to his own the chair on which she had been leaning. “I want to tell you something. Don’t look so scared! It’s something you’ll like; it is, really. And you’re bound to hear it sooner or later, so it may as well be now. Why not?”

But Hope’s nerves were stretched to snapping point, and she shrank visibly. After all, she was very young, and there was that about this man that terrified her.

“No,” she said hurriedly. “No; I would rather not. There is nothing you could tell me that I should like to hear. I–I am going to the gate to look for Ronnie.”

It was childish, it was pitiable; and had the man been other than a coward it must have moved him to compassion. As it was he sprang up suddenly, as though to detain her, and Hope’s last shred of self-control deserted her.

She uttered a smothered cry and fled.

III

THE FRIEND IN NEED

The road that led to the cantonments was ill-made and stony, but she dashed along it like a mad creature, unconscious of everything save the one absorbing desire to escape. Ronnie was not in sight, but she scarcely thought of him. The light was failing fast, and she knew that it would soon be quite dark, save for a white streak of moon overhead. It was still frightfully hot. The atmosphere oppressed her like a leaden weight. It seemed to keep her back, and she battled with it as with something tangible. Her feet were clad in thin slippers, and at any other time she would have known that the rough stones cut and hurt her. But in the terror of the moment she felt no pain. She only had the sense to run straight on, with gasping breath and failing limbs, till at last, quite suddenly, her strength gave out and she sank, an exhausted, sobbing heap, upon the roadway.

There came the tread of a horse’s hoofs, and she started and made a convulsive effort to crawl to one side. She was nearer fainting than she had ever been in her life.

Then the hoof-beats stopped, and she uttered a gasping cry, all her nameless terror for the moment renewed.

A man jumped to the ground and, with a word to his animal, stooped over her. She shrank from him in unreasoning panic.

“Who is it? Who is it?” she sobbed. He answered her instantly, rather curtly.

“I–Baring. What’s the matter? Something gone wrong?”

She felt strong hands lifting her, and she yielded herself to them, her panic quenched.

“Oh, Major Baring!” she said faintly. “I didn’t know you!”

Major Baring made no response. He held her on her feet facing him, for she seemed unable to stand, and waited for her to recover herself. She trembled violently between his hands, but she made a resolute effort after self-control.

“I–I didn’t know you,” she faltered again.

“What’s the matter?” asked Major Baring.

But she could not tell him. Already the suspicion that she had behaved unreasonably was beginning to take possession of her. Yet–yet–Hyde must have seen she was alarmed. He might have reassured her. She recalled the look in his eyes, and shuddered. She was sure he had been drinking. She had heard someone say that he did drink.

“I–I have had a fright,” she said at last. “It was very foolish of me, of course. Very likely it was a false alarm. Anyhow, I am better now. Thank you.”

He let her go, but she was still so shaken that she tottered and clutched his arm.

“Really I am all right,” she assured him tremulously. “It is only–only–“