knew that."

"Doesn't Captain Monck know anything?" asked Mrs. Ralston.

"Oh, goodness knows. Monck's away on urgent business, been away for ever
so long now. I haven't seen him since Dacre's death. I daresay he
doesn't even know of that yet. He had to go Home. I suppose he is on his
way back again now; I hope so anyway. It's pretty beastly without him."

"Poor Tommy!" Mrs. Ralston's sympathy was uppermost again. "It's been a
tragic business altogether. But let us be thankful we have dear Stella
safely back! I am going to say good night to her now. Help yourself to
anything you want!"

She went, and Tommy stretched himself out on a long chair with a sigh of
discontent over things in general. He had had no word from Monck
throughout his absence, and this was almost the greatest grievance of
all.

Treading softly the passage that led to Stella's door, Mrs. Ralston
nearly stumbled over a crouching, white-clad figure that rose up swiftly
and noiselessly on the instant and resolved itself into the salaaming
person of Peter the Sikh. He had slept across Stella's threshold ever
since her bereavement.

"My _mem-sahib_ is still awake," he told her with a touch of
wistfulness. "She sleeps only when the night is nearly spent."

"And you sleep at her door?" queried Mrs. Ralston, slightly
disconcerted.