eight o'clock
During these pauses the fret and jar of the labouring train gave place to a babel of voices -- shouting , expostulating , denunciating in every conceivable key . For the third-class passenger in the East is nothing if not vociferous , and the itch of travel has penetrated even to these outskirts of empire . Sleep , except in broken snatches , was a blessing past praying for , and as the moon swung downward to the hills , Honor Meredith had settled herself at the open window , to watch the lifeless wastes glide silently past , and await the coming of dawn . She had been journeying thus , with only moon and stars , and unfamiliar scenes of earth for company , since eight o'clock ; and morning was near at hand . The informal civilisation of Rawal Pindi lay fifty miles behind her ; and five miles ahead lay Kushalghur , a handful of buildings on the south bank of the Indus , where the narrow line of railway came abruptly to an end . Beyond the Indus a lone wide cart-road stretched , through thirty miles of boulder-strewn desert , to the little frontier station of Kohat . For six years it had been Honor 's dream to cross the Indus and join her favourite brother , the second-in-command of a Punjab cavalry regiment ; to come into touch with an India other than the light-hearted India of luxury and smooth sailing , which she had enjoyed as only daughter of General Sir John Meredith , K.C.B. , and now , with the completion of her father 's term of service , her dream had become an almost incredible reality .