e weeks of
flight?" exclaimed Trench. "Why? There's no more to be done. Castleton's
dead. You keep the feather which he sent, but he is dead. You can do
nothing with it. You must come home."

"Yes," answered Feversham, "but after you, certainly not with you. You
go on to Assouan and Cairo. At each place you will find friends to
welcome you. I shall not go with you."

Trench was silent for a while. He understood Feversham's reluctance, he
saw that it would be easier for Feversham if he were to tell his story
first to Ethne Eustace, and without Feversham's presence.

"I ought to tell you no one knows why you resigned your commission, or
of the feathers we sent. We never spoke of it. We agreed never to speak,
for the honour of the regiment. I can't tell you how glad I am that we
all agreed and kept to the agreement," he said.

"Perhaps you will see Durrance," said Feversham; "if you do, give him a
message from me. Tell him that the next time he asks me to come and see
him, whether it is in England or Wadi Halfa, I will accept the
invitation."

"Which way will you go?"

"To Wadi Halfa," said Feversham, pointing westwards over his shoulder.
"I shall take Abou Fatma with me and travel slowly and quietly down the
Nile. The other Arab will guide you into Assouan."

They slept that night in security beside the well, and the next morning
they parted company. Trench was the first to ride off, and as his camel
rose to its feet, ready for the start, he bent down towards Feversham,
who passed him the nose rein.

"Ramelton, that was the name? I shall not forget."

"Yes, Ramelton," said Feversham; "there's a ferry across Lough Swilly to
Rathmullen. You must drive the twelve miles to Ramelton. But you may not
find her there."

"If not there, I shall find her somewhere else. Make no mistake,
Feversham, I shall find her."

And Trench rode forward, alone with his Arab guide. More than once he
turned his head and saw Feversham still standing by the well; more than
once he was strongly drawn to stop and ride back to that solitary
figure, but he contented himself with waving his hand, and even that
salute was not returned.

Feversham, indeed, had neither thought nor eyes for the companion of his
flight. His six years of hard probation had come this morning to an end,
and yet he was more sensible of a certain loss and vacancy than of any
joy. For six years, through many trials, through many falterings, his
mission had strengthe