the journey ends, nor that he may never be able to return; so long as
there is a temple at his destination, that suffices him. The past is
the past, to-morrow is to-morrow, but to-day is to-day: he lives and
works and travels, prisoner to this creed.

Elsa never strolled among them. She was dainty. This world and these
people were new and strange to her, and as yet she could not quite
dominate the fear that some one of these brown-skinned beings might be
coming down with the plague. So she stood framed in the doorway, a
picture rare indeed to the dark eyes that sped their frank glances in
her direction.

"No, Sahib, no; it is three hundred."

"James, I tell you it's rupees three hundred and twelve, annas eight."

Upon a bench, backed against the partition, almost within touch of her
hand, sat the man Warrington and his servant, arguing over their
accounts. The former's battered helmet was tilted at a comfortable
angle and an ancient cutty hung pendent from his teeth, an idle wisp of
smoke hovering over the blackened bowl.

Elsa quietly returned to her chair in the bow and tried to become
interested in a novel. By and by the book slipped from her fingers to
her lap, and her eyes closed. But not for long. She heard the rasp of
a camp-stool being drawn toward her.

"You weren't dozing, were you?" asked the purser apologetically.

"Not in the least. I have only just got up."