Trevelyan sat up late into the night with Stewart, listening while he told of England and the home people. Once or twice Stewart mentioned Cary.
"How is she?" asked the younger man.
He only alluded to her once again.
At midnight he rose to leave.
"Of course there isn't anything to say to you about—your leaving England and—and all that—to come to me out here in this devilish hole—" he began disjointedly, "but it's only fair to try to say something. The fellows and the men can tell you I've been a different chap since I heard of the transfer. When I left England, and for all this year, well—I haven't much cared what happened. Out here—the loneliness without her—"
He turned sharply on his heel and left.
Young Stewart of the Engineers stood still in the middle of his quarters, listening to Trevelyan's footsteps growing fainter. Presently they were lost in the silence of the Indian night. Now and again came sounds from the jungle, but Stewart stood motionless.
Suddenly he flung his right arm across his forehead.
"The loneliness without her—"
And Cary, sleepless in far-away England, watched the sun rise, wondering what made the nights so long.