squatting at Feversham's side continued to explain
with words. And as he spoke he loosed a gazelle skin which was fastened
about his waist beneath his jibbeh, and he let it fall by Feversham's
side. The gazelle skin contained a chicken, and upon that Feversham and
Trench breakfasted and dined and supped. An hour later they were allowed
to pass out of the zareeba and make their way to the Nile. They walked
slowly and with many halts, and during one of these Trench said:--

"We can talk here."

Below them, at the water's edge, some of the prisoners were unloading
dhows, others were paddling knee-deep in the muddy water. The shore was
crowded with men screaming and shouting and excited for no reason
whatever. The gaolers were within view, but not within ear-shot.

"Yes, we can talk here. Why have you come?"

"I was captured in the desert, on the Arbain road," said Feversham,
slowly.

"Yes, masquerading as a lunatic musician who had wandered out of Wadi
Halfa with a zither. I know. But you were captured by your own
deliberate wish. You came to join me in Omdurman. I know."

"How do you know?"

"You told me. During the last three days you have told me much," and
Feversham looked about him suddenly in alarm, "Very much," continued
Trench. "You came to join me because five years ago I sent you a white
feather."

"And was that all I told you?" asked Feversham, anxiously.

"No," Trench replied, and he dragged out the word. He sat up while
Feversham lay on his side, and he looked towards the Nile in front of
him, holding his head between his hands, so that he could not see or be
seen by Feversham. "No, that was not all--you spoke of a girl, the same
girl of whom you spoke when Willoughby and Durrance and I dined with you
in London a long while ago. I know her name now--her Christian name. She
was with you when the feathers came. I had not thought of that
possibility. She gave you a fourth feather to add to our three. I am
sorry."

There was a silence of some length, and then Feversham replied slowly:--

"For my part I am not sorry. I mean I am not sorry that she was present
when the feathers came. I think, on the whole, that I am rather glad.
She gave me the fourth feather, it is true, but I am glad of that as
well. For without her presence, without that fourth feather snapped from
her fan, I might have given up there and then. Who knows? I doubt if I
could have stood up to the three long years in Suakin. I used to