asked it as much for her sake as for his own. He would not seek to hold
her if she did not love him. That was the great touchstone to which he
had brought her, and she knew that she must face the test. The mastery
of his love compelled her. As he had freely asserted, he had the
right--just because he was an honourable man and he loved her
honourably.

But how far would that love of his carry him? She longed to know. It was
not the growth of a brief hour's passion. That at least she knew. It
would not burn and go out. It would endure; somehow she realized that
now past disputing. But was it first and greatest with him? Were his
cherished career, his ambition, of small account beside it? Was he
willing to do sacrifice to it? And if so, how great a sacrifice was he
prepared to offer?

She yearned to ask him as he sped her in silence through the chequered
moonlight of the Khanmulla jungle. But some inner force restrained her.
She feared to break the spell.

The road was deserted, just as it had been on that dripping night when
she had answered his summons to Tommy's sick bed. She recalled that wild
rush through the darkness, his grim strength, his determination. The
iron of his will had seemed to compass her then. Was it the same
to-night? Had her freedom already been wrested from her? Was there to be
no means of escape?

Through the jungle solitudes there came the call of an owl, weird and
desolate and lonely. Something in it pierced her with a curious pain.
Was freedom then everything? Did she truly love the silence above all?