She had had
no fever, but she was far from well, as her friend, Mrs. Latimer,
realized as soon as she saw her.
She at once prescribed complete rest, and the week that followed was to
Hope the laziest and the most peaceful that she had ever known. She was
always happy in Mrs. Latimer's society, and she had no desire just then
for gaiety. The absolute freedom from care acted upon her like a tonic,
and she very quickly began to recover her usual buoyant health.
The colonel's wife watched her unobserved. She had by her a letter,
written in the plain language of a man who knew no other, and she often
referred to this letter when she was alone; for there seemed to be
something between the lines, notwithstanding its plainness.
As a result of this suspicion, when Hope rode back in Mrs. Latimer's
_rickshaw_ from an early morning service at the little English church on
the hill, on the second Sunday after her arrival, a big figure, clad in
white linen, rose from a _charpoy_ in Mrs. Latimer's veranda, and
stepped down bareheaded to receive her.
Hope's face, as she recognized the visitor, flushed so vividly that she
was aware of it, and almost feared to meet his eyes.
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