The moon was full on Christmas Eve. It shone in such splendour that the
whole world was transformed into a fairyland of black and silver. Stella
stood on the verandah of the Green Bungalow looking forth into the
dazzling night with a tremor at her heart. The glory of it was in a
sense overwhelming. It made her feel oddly impotent, almost afraid, as
if some great power menaced her. She had never felt the ruthlessness of
the East more strongly than she felt it that night. But the drugged
feeling that had so possessed her in the mountains was wholly absent
from her now. She felt vividly alive, almost painfully conscious of the
quick blood pulsing through her veins. She was aware of an intense
longing to escape even while the magic of the night yet drew her
irresistibly. Deep in her heart there lurked an uncertainty which she
could not face. Up to that moment she had been barely aware of its
existence, but now she felt it stirring, and strangely she was afraid.
Was it the call of the East, the wonder of the moonlight? Or was it
some greater thing yet, such as had never before entered into her life?
She could not say; but her face was still firmly set towards the goal of
liberty. Whatever was in store for her, she meant to extricate herself.
She meant to cling to her freedom at all costs. When next she stood upon
that verandah, the ordeal she had begun to dread so needlessly, so
unreasonably, would be over, and she would have emerged triumphant.

So she told herself, even while the shiver of apprehension which she
could not control went through her, causing her to draw her wrap more
closely about her though there was nought but a pleasant coolness in the
soft air that blew across the plain.

She and Tommy were to drive with the Ralstons to the ruined palace in
the jungle of Khanmulla where the picnic was to take place. She had