"Prevent more damage, if possible. It seems to have been a unique catastrophe; a whole hill, four thousand feet high, has toppled over and jammed up the end of the valley, and turned the river Bela-Gunga into a lake five miles long."
"Does that matter? These hill Tals are so picturesque."
"Picturesque!" impatiently. "It won't be so picturesque when the snows melt and the rains come, and the lake which is filling slowly now bursts and floods a hundred and fifty miles of country."
"Oh, do you think it will be as bad as that?"
"I can tell you after I have inspected the place. I'm afraid I must be off to-morrow. I shall have a heap of things to get and do." He paused to summon a servant, and give an order in fluent Hindustani; "it's a God-forsaken spot, where there are no supplies," he resumed.
"Can't I go with you? Do take me for once," pleaded Angel. "I don't mind roughing it—I should enjoy it."
"You don't know what you are talking about," he interrupted. "There is scarcely a goat track; there will be little or no food—I'll sleep in a native hut and be out all day. It is a wild, lonely spot—impossible for a lady."
"You never take me," remonstrated Angel; "you volunteer, too—you like going."
"I do—it's my work," he answered coolly, now standing up and rapidly collecting his letters. Then he glanced over at his wife.
"Look here, old lady, I'll try and get back in three weeks. You must not take it to heart."