Tears were for small things.
This grief of hers was too immense, too infinite for tears.
Only at last something, some inner prompting, stirred her, and as if at the touch of a hand that compelled, she raised her head.
She saw neither the colonel nor Phil, and a sharp prick of wonder pierced her lethargy of despair.

She turned in her chair, obedient still to that inner force that compelled.

Yes, they had gone.

Only the native remained--an old, bent man, who humbly awaited her pleasure.

His face was almost hidden in his _chuddah_.
Audrey looked at him.
"There is nothing to wait for," she said at length.