Morning and evening he visited her, yet failed to read that in her haunted eyes which could not have escaped a clearer vision.
Entering her room two hours after his interview with his officers regarding her, he looked at her searchingly indeed, but without understanding.

She lay among cushions on a _charpoy_ of bamboo in the light of a shaded lamp.

Young and slight and angular, with a pale little face of utter weariness, with great dark eyes that gazed heavily out of the black shadows that ringed them round, such was Muriel Roscoe.

Her black hair was simply plaited and gathered up at the neck.

It lay in cloudy masses about her temples--wonderful hair, quite lustreless, so abundant that it seemed almost too much for the little head that bore it.