"That you will be gentle in word and in deed--yes, of that I am sure.

But will you think gently of me--always?
That is a different thing." "Of course," he answered with a laugh.
But Violet Oliver was in no mood lightly to be put off.
"Promise me that!" she cried in a low and most passionate voice.

Her lips trembled as she pleaded; her dark eyes besought him, shining starrily.
"Oh, promise that you will think of me gently--that if ever you are inclined to be hard and to judge me harshly, you will remember these two nights in the dark garden at Peshawur." "I shall not forget them," said Linforth, and there was no longer any levity in his tones.

He spoke gravely, and more than gravely.

There was a note of anxiety, as though he were troubled.
"I promise," he said.
"Thank you," said Violet simply; "for I know that you will keep the promise." "Yes, but you speak"-- and the note of trouble was still more audible in Linforth's voice--"you speak as if you and I were going to part to-morrow morning for the rest of our lives." "No," Violet cried quickly and rather sharply.