Help yourself to anything you want!" She went, and Tommy stretched himself out on a long chair with a sigh of discontent over things in general.

He had had no word from Monck throughout his absence, and this was almost the greatest grievance of all.
Treading softly the passage that led to Stella's door, Mrs.Ralston nearly stumbled over a crouching, white-clad figure that rose up swiftly and noiselessly on the instant and resolved itself into the salaaming person of Peter the Sikh.

He had slept across Stella's threshold ever since her bereavement.
"My _mem-sahib_ is still awake," he told her with a touch of wistfulness.

"She sleeps only when the night is nearly spent." "And you sleep at her door ?" queried Mrs.Ralston, slightly disconcerted.
The tall form bent again with dignified courtesy.

"That is my privilege, _mem-sahib,_" said Peter the Great.
He smiled mournfully, and made way for her to pass.
Mrs.Ralston knocked, and heard a low voice speak in answer.