He's forgotten me, though." That night, the night when Berthe Louison, in her special car was nearing Calcutta, at last, Captain Hardwicke was haunted in his dreams by the sweet apparition of Nadine Johnstone, and her lovely arms were stretched appealingly to him.

It was the early dawn when he awoke, and sprang blithely from his couch.

"If that graceful shade crosses my path to-day, I'll speak to it in the flesh--though a dozen Hawkes and a hundred crusty fathers forbid," he gayly cried, for his entrancing dream had given him a strangely prophetic courage.
In the ambrosial freshness of the morning, a long gallop upon his pet charger, "Garibaldi," restored the equilibrium of the young officer's nerves.

He had neatly taken the strong-limbed cross-country horse over a dozen of the old walls out by the Kootab Minar, and with the reins lying loosely on Garibaldi's neck, he rode back to the live city by the side of its two dead progenitors.
The bustle and hum of awaking Delhi interested him not, for a fond unrest led him down to the great walled inclosure of the marble house.
"Shall I see her to-day?
Will she be in the garden ?" he murmured in his loving day-dream.
The springy feet of the charger dropped noiselessly on the lonely avenue and already the double carriage gate was in sight.

An instinct of martial coquetry caused Harry Hardwicke to gather up his reins and straighten lightly into the military position of eyes right.