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Updated: May 25, 2025
And Violet Oliver laughed harshly. But Dick Linforth paid no attention to that laugh. His hesitation had gone. He found that for this occasion only he had the gift of tongues. There was nothing new and original in what he said. But, on the other hand, he said it over and over again, and the look upon his face and the tone of his voice were the things which mattered.
There was always that glare of menacing light over the hill-districts of India as above the crater of Stromboli, now contracting, now expanding and casting its molten stream down towards the plains. At the moment when Linforth watched the crown of light above Stromboli, the glare was widening over the hill country of Chiltistan.
He was conscious that she passed through the restaurant towards the lobby at no great distance from himself. He was aware, though he did not raise his head, that she was looking at him. Five minutes afterwards the waiter brought to him a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read: "Dick, won't you speak to me at all? I am waiting. Linforth looked up at his friend.
But he never did so with a more whole-hearted conviction than on the day when he received word that Linforth had been diverted to Rawal Pindi, in order that he might take up purely military duties. It took Ralston just seven months to secure his release, and it was not until the early days of autumn had arrived that Linforth at last reached Peshawur.
By the by, there's Monica. She's surely not come to play tennis? It's too hot." "Fifteen degrees too hot," agreed Monica, throwing herself down on the grass beside the others and fanning herself with her hat. "Out on the road the heat's at simmering-point. I came to bring a message to Miss Russell, and I hear she's gone to Linforth and won't be back until half-past four.
He leaned forward, with his hands covering his face. "Yes," he whispered, "there's the road there's the road." A passion of self-reproach shook him. Not for nothing had Linforth been his friend. "I feel a traitor," he cried. "For ten years we have talked of that road, planned it, and made it in thought, poring over the maps. Yes, for even at the beginning, in our first term at Eton, we began.
"He looked pretty bad," said Colonel Dewes. "Jumpy and feverish, and with the air of a man who has been sitting up all night for a week or two. But this is what interested me most," and Dewes told how the lad had implored him to bring Linforth out to India. "Who's Linforth?" asked the official quickly. "Not the son of that Linforth who " "Yes, that's the man," said the Colonel testily.
"I beg your pardon," he said, and he spoke in a spiritless voice. "The post has just come in. I received a letter which interested me. Is there anything I can do?" "Yes," said Ralston. "We have sure news at last. Shere Ali has fled to the north. The opportunity you asked for at Peshawur has come." Linforth was silent for a little while. Then he said slowly: "I see. I am to go in pursuit?" "Yes!"
"I thought he was safe in Chiltistan. I did not let him know that I was coming out. I did not write to him after I had landed. But he came down to Agra and we met. There he asked me to marry him." "He asked you!" cried Linforth. "He must have been mad to think that such a thing was possible." "He was very unhappy," Violet Oliver explained. "I told him that it was impossible. But he would not see.
Linforth continued, as though Dewes had not interrupted, "it is not natural for a boy at his age to want to be alone, is it? I don't think it is good either. It is not natural for a boy of his age to be thoughtful. I am not sure that that is good. I am, to tell you the truth, very troubled." Dewes looked at her sharply.
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