“Leave Alibad?” faltered Penelope. “I—I know you made me promise, but I never thought——”
“I have come to the conclusion that it may be necessary.”
“But why?” she cried, roused to defend herself. “What have I done?”
“You are spoiling my work. I can’t tell you how many times to-day I have had to keep myself from devising ridiculous excuses for taking a ride in this direction. I had a fortnight’s arrears of writing to make up, and yet I have spent the day between my desk and the corner of the verandah where I can get a glimpse of this house. Now, I know you are too anxious for the welfare of the province to wish me to go on risking it in this way, and there is only one remedy that I can think of.”
“Only one?” Penelope was bewildered and pained.
“Only one—that you should keep your promise and leave Alibad.”
“If you wish it I will go, by all means,” she said proudly.
“But only as far as Bab-us-Sahel, and I shall come after you. And then I shall bring you back.”
“Oh!” said Penelope; then, as his meaning dawned upon her. “I didn’t think you could have been so cruel!” she cried reproachfully. Realising that she had betrayed herself, she tried to rise, but he was kneeling beside her chair.
“Cruel? to a little tender thing like you! No, no; you know I couldn’t mean that,” he said.