"Hush!" he said again. And she knew that with that one word he resolutely turned his back upon the gulf that had opened between them during those twenty months—that gulf that his love had been great enough to bridge—and that he took her with him, bruised and broken and storm-tossed as she was, into a very sheltered place.
When presently he turned her face up to his own and gravely kissed her she clung to his neck like a tired child, no longer fearing to meet his look, only thankful for the comfort of his arms.
For a while longer he held her silently, then very quietly he began to question her about her journey. Had she told him that she had been putting up at the dâk-bungalow?
"Oh, only for a few hours," she answered. "We arrived this evening,
Nick and I."
"Nick!" he said. "And you left him behind?"
"He is waiting to take me back," she murmured, her face hidden against his shoulder.
Again, very tenderly, his hand pressed her forehead. "He must come to us, eh, dear? I will sent the khit down with a note presently. But you are tired out, and must rest. Lie here while I go and tell Sammy to make ready."
It was when he came back to her that she began to see wherein lay the change in him that had so struck her.
From her cushions she looked up at him, piteously smiling. "How thin you are, Will! And you are getting quite a scholarly stoop."
"Ah, that's India," he said.