Part 37 (1/2)

”Thanks, but I cannot read music, only I have rather a good ear.”

So he strikes the chords one by one very slowly, while Eleanor repeats them.

”I should never have picked it out by myself. Now I shall be able to sing to Carol in the evenings.”

”Are they not delightful?” says Eleanor, as the two men ride away. ”I have quite enjoyed to-day, Carol.”

”I believe,” muttered Major Short as they turned out of sight, ”I believe that fellow Quinton lied to his wife. Do you think for a moment he went our way? There is only one road that is fit to ride on, that he could have gone by; besides, it was written on his face when he saw us.”

”You are too sharp, Short, my boy,” laughed the good-natured Captain Stevenson. ”But there is something wrong with Quinton undeniably. I wonder who the little woman is, and where she came from?”

Major Short rides on in silence, he is thinking of the little woman's smile.

That night, as Quinton smokes in his low cane chair, Eleanor brings the guitar, running her lithe fingers over the strings.

”I say, Eleanor,” he begins, ”you need not have let out you could not read music. It was awfully _gauche_ of you. You don't want to advertise your farm origin.”

”I am so sorry, darling,” she answers penitently.

Again she strikes the cords, this time hesitatingly, for her hand trembles.

The spicy garlic smells are wafted on the night air.

Eleanor breaks suddenly into song, as if inspired by the oriental atmosphere:

”When the mist was on the rice fields, an' the sun was droppin' low, She gets her little banjo, an' she'd sing ”Kullalo-lo.

With her arms upon my shoulder, an' 'er cheek agin my cheek, We use ter watch the steamers, and the 'hathis ”pilin'” teak.

Her voice travels far in the darkness; she feels as if singing to some unseen audience--perchance spirits peopling that road to Mandalay.

The dog at her feet starts up suddenly, bristling all over, growling, barking!

”Did you hear anything?” asks Carol nervously.

”I fancied a rustle came from the bushes.”

”Perhaps danger is stalking abroad to-night,” mutters Carol, throwing his cigar aside.

The dog refuses to be silenced, while Eleanor, holding him by the collar, tries to soothe his petulance.

But Carol goes indoors.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LET US BE OPEN AS THE DAY.

Eleanor notices after that night Carol becomes nervous and irritable.

His absences are more frequent, but whereever he goes he takes the dog with him for protection.