It was a distinct command, the most distinct he had ever given her.  Her clinging hands slipped from his arm.  She stood rigid, unprotesting, white as death.

The knocking was renewed with fevered energy as Merryon turned quietly to obey the summons.  He closed the door upon his wife and went down the passage.

There was no haste in his movements as he slipped back the bolts, rather the studied deliberation of purpose of a man armed against all emergency.  But the door burst inwards against him the moment he opened it, and one of his subalterns, young Harley, almost fell into his arms.

Merryon steadied him with the utmost composure.  “Halloa, Harley!  You, is it?  What’s all this noise about?”

The boy pulled himself together with an effort.  He was white to the lips.

“There’s cholera broken out,” he said.  “Forbes and Robey—­both down—­at their own bungalow.  And they’ve got it at the barracks, too.  Macfarlane’s there.  Can you come?”

“Of course—­at once.”  Merryon pulled him forward.  “Go in there and get a drink while I speak to my wife!”

He turned back to her door, but she met him on the threshold.  Her eyes burned like stars in her little pale face.

“It’s all right, Billikins,” she said, and swallowed hard.  “I heard.  You’ve got to go to the barracks, haven’t you, darling?  I knew there was going to be—­something.  Well, you must take something to eat in your pocket.  You’ll want it before morning.  And some brandy too.  Give me your flask, darling, and I’ll fill it!”

Her composure amazed him.  He had expected anguished distress at the bare idea of his leaving her, but those brave, bright eyes of hers were actually smiling.

“Puck!” he said.  “You—­wonder!”

She made a small face at him.  “Oh, you’re not the only wonder in the world,” she told him.  “Run along and get yourself ready!  My!  You are going to be busy, aren’t you?”

She nodded to him and ran into the drawing-room to young Harley.  He heard her chatting there while he made swift preparations for departure, and he thanked Heaven that she realized so little the ghastly nature of the horror that had swept down upon them.  He hoped the boy would have the sense to let her remain unenlightened.  It was bad enough to have to leave her after the ordeal they had just faced together.  He did not want her terrified on his account as well.

But when he joined them she was still smiling, eager only to provide for any possible want of his, not thinking of herself at all.

“I hope you will enjoy your picnic, Billikins,” she said.  “I’ll shut the door after you, and I shall know it’s properly fastened.  Oh, yes, the khit will take care of me, Mr. Harley.  He’s such a brave man.  He kills snakes without the smallest change of countenance.  Good-night, Billikins!  Take care of yourself.  I suppose you’ll come back sometime?”