She started up. Monck was returning. He came up the compound like a man who has been beaten in a race. His face was grey, his eyes terrible.
Stella went swiftly to the verandah-steps to meet him. "Everard! What is it? Oh, what is it?" she said.
He took her arm, turning her back. "Have you had tea?" he said.
His voice was low, but absolutely steady. Its deadly quietness made her tremble.
"I haven't finished," she said. "I have been waiting for you."
"You needn't have done that," he said. "I won't have any, Peter," he turned on the waiting servant, "get me some brandy!"
He sat down, setting her free. But she remained beside him, and after a moment laid her hand lightly upon his shoulder, without words.
He reached up instantly, caught and held it in a grip that almost made her wince. "Stella," he said, "it's been a very short honeymoon, but I'm afraid it's over. I've got to get back at once."
"I am coming with you," she said quickly.
He looked up at her with eyes that burned with a strange intensity but he did not speak in answer.