He gave no voluntary thought to his wife waiting for him in loneliness, but ever and anon those blazing eyes of hers rose before his mental vision, and he saw again that brave, sweet smile with which she had watched him go.
The morning found him haggard but indomitable, wrestling with the difficulties of establishing a camp a mile or more from the barracks out in the rain-drenched open.

There had been fourteen deaths in the night, and seven men were still fighting a losing battle for their lives in the hospital.

He had a native officer to help him in his task; young Harley was superintending the digging of graves, and the colonel had gone to the bungalow where the two stricken officers lay.
Dank and gruesome dawned the day, with the smell of rot in the air and the sense of death hovering over all.

And there came to Merryon a sudden, overwhelming desire to go back to his bungalow beyond the fetid town and see how his wife was faring.

She was the only white woman in the place, and the thought of her isolation came upon him now like a fiery torture.
It was the fiercest temptation he had ever known.