trembling from head to foot, she spoke with decision. "Peter, go outside
and wait for me! Keep that old beggar too! Don't let him go! As soon as
I am dressed, we will go to--the place--and--look for him."

She stumbled over the last words, but she spoke them bravely. Peter
straightened himself, recognizing the voice of authority. With a deep
salaam, he turned and passed out, drawing the tent-flap decorously into
place behind him.

And then with fevered energy, Stella dressed. Her hands moved with
lightning speed though her body felt curiously weighted and unnatural.
The fantastic thought crossed her brain that it was as though she
prepared herself for her own funeral.

No sound reached her from without, save only the monotonous and endless
dashing of the torrent among its boulders. She was beginning to feel
that the sound in some fashion expressed a curse.

When she was ready at length, she stood for a second or two to gather
her strength. She still felt ill and dizzy, as though the world she knew
had suddenly fallen away from her and left her struggling in
unimaginable space, like a swimmer in deep waters. But she conquered her
weakness, and, drawing aside the tent-flap once more, she stepped forth.

The morning sun struck full upon her. It was as if the whole earth
rushed to meet her in a riot of rejoicing; but she was in some fashion
outside and beyond it all. The glow could not reach her.

With a sharp sense of revulsion, she saw the deformed man squatting
close to her, his _chuddah_-draped head lodged upon his knees. He did