The disappearance of the pearls caused general commotion throughout the Commissioner's establishment. Perforce the police were called in to make investigations, and Mr. Piggott being absent from the station on duty, the chief native subordinate took command of the compound and set up a species of martial law. The servants, in terror of secret extortion under threat of false proof or suspicion, seemed to lose their wits, and either blundered idiotically over their duties or forgot them altogether. Champa collapsed, distraught with agitation, and refused to stir from her quarters.

Robert talked of little else but the loss.

"Such a thing has never happened before in my household," he kept repeating, as they sat at an uncomfortable meal next midday. "You are perfectly certain, Stella, that you haven't mislaid the necklace or dropped it anywhere?"

And each time he asked the question Stella replied wearily, "I am perfectly certain," until she felt tempted at last to declare that she had thrown away the pearls of deliberate intention. Her nerves were on edge, and she found it hard to control her temper. Mercifully, breakfast was now practically over.

"What about that man of yours, Flint? How long have you had him?"

"Five years, and he's certainly not the thief, if that's what you mean. He's a respectable, simple-minded old fellow with a long record of good service to his credit."

Robert grunted incredulously and lit a cheroot. "That ayah knows something," he suggested to his wife, "or why hasn't she turned up this morning?"

"She's ill," said Stella, "ill with fright, I should think."

"A guilty conscience more likely."

"I'm quite sure she had nothing to do with it."

Annoying as Champa had been, Stella was convinced of the woman's honesty.

"How can you be sure? Don't talk nonsense."

"Well, wasn't she engaged by Sher Singh?" She felt she had scored, and emboldened by the advantage, added recklessly: "If it comes to that, I would sooner believe that Sher Singh——"

"Sher Singh," interrupted Robert angrily. "On the contrary, if he had been here the thing wouldn't have happened. Some rascal took the opportunity of his absence."

"Then, unless it was all prearranged, the thief must have acted pretty promptly," argued Stella, who had arrived at a pitch of provocation that rendered her indifferent to Robert's displeasure. "Perhaps the telegram was bogus?" she continued ironically; "sent to lure the unsuspecting Sher Singh from his post." And with an effort she quelled a ridiculous impulse to add that possibly Sher Singh had borrowed the necklace in order that some member of his family might wear it at the relative's funeral. She came dangerously near to laughter in picturing the scene that such a suggestion would evoke. As it was, her sly attack on the good name of Sher Singh led to mixed consequences.

Robert rose impatiently. "Sher Singh must come back. If a wire goes at once he ought to be here to-night."

Stella repented her imprudence; on the other hand, as Robert strode from the room to fulfil his intention, there was comfort in the fact that at last she and Philip were safely alone for a space. The table servants, at work in the pantry, were well out of hearing; the punkah coolie at his post could not see them.

Philip said breathlessly: "Stella, what are we to do?"

The moments were precious; she answered with haste, though her voice was calm. "One of us must go away. It's the only thing to do. Sher Singh——"

"What has Sher Singh to do with it?"

"He knows, he has been watching us. He would do anything to harm me. Anyway, we couldn't go on like this——"

"It's all my fault," he said wretchedly. "What a selfish beast I have been. I ought to have held my tongue."

"What difference would it have made? We both knew!"

He was amazed at her fortitude. No longer was she the helpless, unhappy child weighed down by relentless fate, but a woman determined to grapple with the future. The Carrington spirit of pluck and endurance still lived in the last of the line.

A little cloud of masculine grievance gathered in his mind, rose between them. His was the blame for the whole situation, and he was prepared to sacrifice all for her sake, to take her away that they might live for themselves alone. Since his outburst on the balcony wild schemes had invaded his brain, though as yet, without practical plan; now it chafed him to feel that she might not be ready to follow his lead in joyful appreciation of his purpose. The realisation fanned his passion, strong as it was already.

"Are you thinking of yourself or of me?" he asked bitterly.

"Oh, how can you!" she cried, pained beyond further expression of reproach; yet she understood that his cruelty arose from the very strength of his feelings, and while with feminine instinct she divined his love-selfishness she cared for him none the less.

"Look here," she said firmly, "I belong to Robert. You belong to India. And we've both got to remember——"

"Oh, I know what you're going to say—remember our duty. Duty be damned," he retorted, beside himself. "You can't love me as I love you or you wouldn't talk like this. What do I matter to India?—I'm only a fly on the wheel. What do you matter to Crayfield, any more than if you were—well, a pearl necklace, for instance!"

"I know my value to Robert exactly," she told him with a wry little smile; "but I married him for what he could give me, and he has given it. I don't agree with you as to your value to India. India depends on men like you; and if you are flies on the wheel, the wheel wouldn't go round without you."

It was true, and he knew it. All the same, he felt that Stella meant more to him now than his duty to India and all his ambition.

"We belong to each other, and to no one and nothing else," he maintained doggedly. "You can't go on living with one man when you know you love another. It's not right."

"Perhaps not, from one point of view, but I don't take that view. We can't think of ourselves. I shall ask Robert to let me go to the Cuthells, even if I have to pretend to be ill. If he won't let me go, then you must apply for leave, or get away somehow from Rassih."

"Stella, are you made of stone?" He drew his chair nearer to hers, laid his hand on her arm, rejoiced as he felt how her pulses responded to his touch. "Think what the separation would mean. We could go to England," he urged. "I would work for you, slave for you, darling."

"And that would mean your giving up India?"

"Not necessarily. I can take leave on urgent private affairs for six months. Furlough is due to me, too, but that takes time to arrange. I could get it tacked on afterwards, and then—then we could be married and come out together. It would all have blown over."

But even as he spoke there came visions, strive as he would to ignore them, of obscure little stations, promotion tardy, other men passing over his head for the rest of his service.

"And suppose Robert wouldn't—supposing we couldn't be married?"

This possibility had not entered his mind. He hesitated, then added quickly: "He couldn't be such a brute! If he was, I'd retire; we would live quietly somewhere out of the world, just for each other. Don't you care for me enough to take the risk?"

She did not answer, because she feared if she spoke at the moment she might burst into tears. He misunderstood her silence.

"I tell you," he went on impetuously, "I tell you again, as I told you yesterday morning, that nothing matters to me in the world but your love. It means more to me than my work and my aims, my life itself. Without you, success in the Service would simply be dust and ashes. I'd sooner live on a desert island with you than be Viceroy of India. Are you afraid to trust yourself to me?"

She struggled for self-control. His eyes were pleading, his face looked drawn. She longed to give in, to tell him she asked nothing better than to be with him for always, at whatever the price or the punishment. Yet surrender at best must mean greater sacrifice for Philip than she on her side could offer, and she meant to hold out even should it all end in a parting that left Philip with the impression that she valued her worldly well-being beyond his love. Her thoughts were simple, direct; but she felt if she tried to explain, urged the fact that she cared too much for him to become a drag on his life, would find compensation in knowing he was free to go forward untrammelled, she might only appear to be setting herself up on a pedestal of self-righteousness at his expense. She temporised.

"Let us think it over," she entreated; "let us give ourselves time, by one of us going away, at any rate for the present."

"Time would make no difference as far as I am concerned. It would only be the same thing all over again! But if you think it would help you to forget, then of course I must agree."

"Oh, it isn't that," she protested, tortured beyond endurance. She cast about in her mind for further argument. "Do you remember one day when I told you how I regretted I wasn't a man to do what little I could for India, and you said my chance might come?"

"Oh, you sweet, silly child!" he scoffed. "Do you honestly imagine that India would crumble to pieces without me?" He laughed as he seized her in his arms, kissing her madly. She wrenched herself free, stood swaying, confused, overcome with the force of his passion, the thrill of his embrace. Then came the sound of Robert's returning footsteps, and she held up a warning hand, bent over the bowl of flowers on the table as though to rearrange them. Philip moved his chair back to its original position and busied himself with his cigarette case, but he could have wished that Crayfield had surprised them; then there would have been an end to all subterfuge, of all Stella's doubts and scruples. He felt a cur because he did not stand up and proclaim the truth there and then, so setting her free from the onus of decision.

"That's done!" said Robert. "Now, when Sher Singh comes back, perhaps we shall get to the bottom of this pearl business. Are you ready, Flint? We ought to be off again if we're to see to that farther chain of villages. It looks like more rain, thank goodness. Stella, you'd better go and lie down; you look like a ghost."

"I feel like one, too," she answered, and as he turned to leave the room she followed him quickly. "Robert, wait a moment." She caught his elbow. "Come into my room, I want to speak to you."

He acquiesced, though with impatience. "Well, what is it?"

"I must have a change," she began volubly; "I can't stand the heat any longer. I believe I shall die if I don't get away from it. You can't think how awful I feel."

He looked at her in astonishment, with which concern, vexation, and a shade of indefinite suspicion were mingled.

"You want to go away? You know perfectly well I can't ask for leave with all this distress in the district, even if the rains break freely in the next few days."

"But I could go alone," she pleaded. "Mrs. Cuthell would have me, I know she would. I'd come down again directly I felt better. It isn't gaiety I want, only to feel better."

"Antonio must come and have a look at you. Perhaps——"

"No, no," cried Stella. "It's not that!" She almost wished it were, that she might have stronger excuse for flight. The idea even crossed her mind to feign doubt in order to gain her purpose, and though she dismissed it with horror she clung ignominiously to the straw that floated detached from definite deception.

"If I could only get strong," she hinted shamefacedly, "it might make a difference. I feel such a wreck, Robert. I'm so sorry, but I can't help it."

It was all true, she told herself wildly. She did feel a wreck; she was sure she would be seriously ill if she stayed on at Rassih, unless—unless Philip would go instead.

"Well, wait till this evening," said Robert, "and we'll see. I must be off now; Flint is waiting, and we've a long afternoon's work to get through." He advised her to rest, and kissed her in kindly, if perfunctory, farewell.

When he had gone, Philip with him, a hot muggy silence descended upon the premises. The servants went off to their quarters in the compound for the customary midday meal and sleep, save for a couple of peons on duty who snoozed in the front veranda, and the ever present shift of punkah pullers. Since the downpour of rain the west wind had ceased to roar and rage over the land; Nature seemed motionless, as though waiting in patient expectance for the swollen clouds to discharge their burden of water.

Stella, torn with emotion, wandered from room to room, unable to rest, Jacob pattering at her heels. She found herself longing for the peace and security of The Chestnuts, for the home of her childhood that in her young arrogance she had despised, rebelling against its restrictions. Now she visualised the old house and garden bathed in serene summer sunlight, the village, the common, the cornfields; remembered with regret the small vexations, her ignorant, stupid little grievances that were as grains of sand compared with the mountain of trouble before her. She wept with self-pity, with terror of the future. The word "disgrace" rang in her ears, disgrace for herself and for Philip unless she had strength to resist him; and yet if she remained steadfast, what of the long empty years that lay ahead like a limitless desert? Even to face them with courage—for Philip, that Philip might go forward unshackled by fetters riveted in shame—seemed more than she had power to undertake. Could she tell Robert the truth, entreat him to help her, to let her leave Rassih for a time? No; such a scheme was unworkable. She knew him well enough to feel sure she might as well throw in her lot with Philip at once. Robert would never forgive, understand; and could she think that he might, she herself had rendered such a course impossible by her way of deception—allowing him to believe that she loved him, leading him to assume that she but tolerated Philip's companionship. Even from Philip there was no hope for such help as would support her in her struggle.

The room grew dark. At first she fancied that the gloom must be of her own mental making; then came a dull roll of thunder, followed by a close, threatening pause, full of portent. A little breeze rose and whispered through the house, stirring the curtains, like a scout feeling its way in advance of the attack to come. She went out on the balcony, to see huge purple clouds, rent with forked lightning, rolling up rapidly from the horizon. The air was full of dust; birds were wheeling and crying against the sinister background. Jacob cowered, trembling, at her feet. A drop of rain fell like a bullet on the balustrade, another, and another.... In a few seconds a rush of wind drove her indoors, and with a mighty tumult of sound the rain fell in one solid, relentless sheet as if giant buckets were being emptied from above.

Stella threw herself on a sofa in the drawing-room, Jacob cuddled at her side. She ceased to think, was conscious only of the noise and the darkness that seemed to continue for hours, until, exhausted body and soul, she fell asleep.

Robert and Philip returned late in the evening, drenched. Robert, despite his wetting, was cheerful over the fact that, to all appearances, the rains had arrived to stay, though he grumbled because there was no further news of the necklace, and because Sher Singh had not yet arrived. Philip looked white and ill as they sat down to a belated dinner; once or twice he shivered, and he ate little or nothing. Stella watched him in anxious concern; a return of malaria was only to be expected after his long ride in wet clothes. By this time the downpour had slackened, and from without came the clamour of frogs—"Croak, croak, co-ax, co-ax"—in regular rhythmical chorus. The temperature had fallen, punkahs were almost unwelcome; the reaction was depressing. A damp mist crept into the great room; little black insects gathered in multitudes around the lamps on the walls; lizards darted among them, enjoying the feast they provided. Stella could have cried with dejection, and, to add to it all, as they passed from the dining-room they encountered Sher Singh, salaaming, full of important concern. He had heard of the robbery, understood why he had been recalled, though he explained humbly that in any case it had been his intention to return next morning. The Sahib's telegram had, of course, hastened his departure. The matter of the necklace, he added miserably, was to him terrible, a disgrace to the household; he, the slave of the Sahib and Memsahib, would neither sleep nor eat till the thief was discovered, the pearls restored; until then his face, as chief servant, was blackened.... He showed signs of prostrating himself at his master's feet, and Robert, to escape a scene, bade him go and do his best to clear up the mystery, thus tactfully dismissing him.

Philip, with Stella's warning in his mind, had regarded the man closely during this interview. Stella was right; he felt certain Sher Singh was up to no good, that his leave had been part of some treacherous scheme, and he made up his mind to remain in the house till he knew what it was. If Sher Singh meant to make mischief, to arouse his master's suspicions in regard to his mistress, he, Philip, must be at hand to see Stella through; it might even bring matters to a crisis, help to decide for them both. He had a presentiment that, whatever Sher Singh's intention, something would happen that night, and, ill as he felt, he assumed liveliness, made conversation with Crayfield, discussing results should the rain prove to be merely local, the effect that severe distress would have on the various areas under their control. Robert, lured from the subject of the pearls, talked freely, held forth on his experiences in a famine that had occurred early in his own service, and how abominably he had been treated, his efforts ignored by the Government.

"It's always been the same," he complained; "the fellows who do the real work may die in harness, literally driven to death, and get no credit; while those who have done nothing but talk and write, are smothered in decorations and shoved up to the top of the tree. Thank goodness I could retire to-morrow, if I felt so inclined, and snap my fingers at the lot of them."

He cited instances of his contemporaries in the Service, who, without a quarter of his own claim to distinction, had been given the C.I.E. and the K.C.I.E., the C.S.I. and the K.C.S.I., until Stella felt that the alphabet, as well as the Government, must be to blame for failing to recognise Robert's meritorious achievements; and her memory turned to the evening at The Chestnuts when she had wondered if he were sore because no Order had yet been bestowed upon him. Since then she had not thought of it, but now she suspected that the omission rankled in his mind, and her sympathy with his possible disappointment went out to him. She knew how he worked, and even if he worked without enthusiasm, surely that was even more to his credit than if he were spurred by romantic inspiration? She wished he had confided in her, allowed her to share his feelings; but she knew that to him she was of small account intellectually; the disparity of years stood between them. And even had he admitted her to his confidence, what could she have done save endeavour to console him with understanding? It was not as if he were young, like Philip, with the world of India before him.

But the very fact of this disadvantage helped her determination to fight against her love for Philip. For Robert's sake in the present she could only refrain from adding to his sense of failure in life; for Philip's sake in the future she must stick to her post; and for her own sake—well, at least she could feel she was doing right, whatever Philip, in his desperation, might argue. Peace of mind would come, though at best a dull, empty peace, with the knowledge that she had nothing to fear, that she had brought trouble to no one. Then again round and round swung the question on which hung her chief difficulty: if Robert refused to let her go to the Cuthells—if Philip could not, or would not, get leave or a transfer from Rassih, what was she to do? In such a situation she saw little chance of true peace of mind. It would mean one continual effort to avoid Philip by every manoeuvre in her power, to pretend, pretend, pretend, both to him and to Robert.

She sank into a sort of lethargy; her brain felt numbed, and the voices of the two men sounded hardly nearer than the ceaseless song of the frogs outside. A figure came into the room, stood for a moment by Robert. It was Sher Singh—always Sher Singh! How she loathed the creature. Robert rose, and went away; Sher Singh too. She roused herself with an effort; Philip was asking her something:

"Did you hear what he said? Were you asleep?"

"No, I don't think so; I don't know." She sat upright, passed her hand over her eyes. "What did he say?"

"He said the pearls had been found."

So the tiresome pearls had been found! It seemed to Stella that the news had barely reached her understanding before Robert was back. He crossed the room reflectively, with measured tread, the pearls gleaming white in his big hand; the contrast struck Philip as painfully symbolical: just as pure and as perfect was his dear love in the man's coarse keeping.

Crayfield paused, dandling the pearls. When he spoke he addressed himself to Flint in a voice that was devoid of all expression. He said: "My wife's necklace was found in your room."

For a moment Philip gazed at him dumbfounded. Then, as with the shock of a flashlight, he understood. Sher Singh! Sher Singh had either put the necklace in his room, or pretended to find it there, not with the object of fastening false suspicion of theft upon anyone, but in order to compromise the mistress he so hated. What a fool as well as a devil the fellow must be! How could he imagine that such an obvious piece of spite was likely to succeed? Yet, what was the meaning of Colonel Crayfield's curious attitude? Was it possible that he believed—— Swiftly Flint's mind pounced on the opportunity: he might refrain from defence, allow the "find" to speak for itself. But what about Stella? Would she realise the situation? Already she had risen, trembling and white with indignation.

"Robert! What do you mean? Surely you don't—you can't suggest that Mr. Flint took the pearls?"

Philip glanced at her hopelessly. Her simplicity was almost unbelievable; her innocence, all too obvious, had lost them their chance of freedom.

"Philip!" she cried involuntarily, and made a quick movement towards him. Crayfield moved also, just a couple of interceptory steps. He laughed, and put the pearls in his pocket.

"That's all I wanted to know," he said coolly, an ugly glint in his eyes. "Out you go, my boy! You didn't steal the pearls, of course; but you've been doing your damnedest to steal something else, and you haven't succeeded."

"You may think what you like!" interposed Philip hotly; but he felt he was blustering, that Colonel Crayfield, his senior in years and authority, had the whip hand of him, perceiving the truth. The trap had been cleverly laid.

"Thank you! Then I like to think this: you have been making love to my wife under my roof, taking advantage of her youth and inexperience; but mercifully you've been caught in time. Now go and pack your belongings and clear out. Consider yourself on leave. I want no scandal. Slink off—quick! You young hound!"

Stella had sunk into a chair. Her husband stood before her; Philip could not see her face. He was racked with humiliation, with helpless rage; his pride, his self-respect lay in the dust, since he could not but recognise the fundamental justice of his chief's accusation.... Must he leave Stella without comfort, without reassurance of his fealty and love? Driven to desperation, he tried to push Crayfield aside; he might as well have endeavoured to move a mountain.

"Stella!" he called hoarsely; but for answer to his cry came only the sound of stifled, terrified sobbing.