"
She smiled gravely.
"You do right to trust me. You have made me worthy of your trust."
He put his arm about her shoulder, and led her gently on to the
verandah. The night had fallen dark and starless. Through the black
veil they saw the gleam of bivouac fires and heard the voices of men
calling to one another, and the clatter of piled arms. They remained
silent, after the storm and stress of the past, content to be together
and at peace. They knew that the long night was over and that the dawn
had broken.
When the Colonel entered they did not hear him, and without speaking
he turned back and closed the door after him. In his hand he held a
telegram ordering the deposition of Nehal Singh, Rajah of Marut, and
the recognition, pardon and release of one Steven Caruthers,
Englishman. But he crept away with the long-hoped-for message.
"Time enough," he thought. "They are happy."
And if beneath his heartfelt rejoicing there lurked the shadow of
bitterness, who shall blame him? There was one dearer to him than his
own child could have been, for whose wounded heart there seemed as yet
no balsam. And yet, unknown to him, for her also the dawn was
breaking. For even as he crept away with knitted brows, sharing her
burden with her by the power of love and sympathy, she held in her
hands the first herald of a happier future.
"What you have told me I accept--for now," Adam Nicholson had written.
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