d with the beast over
the body of a Kaffir servant, and had rescued the man at the cost of his
own life, it seemed at first, later on of his right arm. It was doubtful
whether the strength and vitality of it would ever be restored.

He was not merely a brave man, however, this Mr. Jardine. He had gone to
the Gold Coast, and from there into Central Africa, inspired, in the
first place, by the desire of knowledge and love of adventure. But, amid
the thrilling adventures and hairbreadth escapes, there had grown up in
his heart the liveliest interest in and sympathy with the people he
found himself amongst. He discovered that they had an ancient
civilisation of their own. To be sure, what remained of it hung in
shreds and patches on some of them; but there were others, civilised
after a fashion, which was not the Western one. He discovered
traditions, folk-lore, ancient poetry, laws, a wealth of customs.
Understanding the people, he came to love them. They interested him
profoundly. He was going back to them as soon as he could.

He stayed after the other guests, and was yet talking eagerly to his
hostess when the dressing-bell rang.

"We dine alone," Lady Agatha said to the old friend who had brought Mr.
Jardine. "And I go nowhere afterwards: I am fagged out. How glad I am
that next week sees us at Hazels! If you and Mr. Jardine could dine,
Colonel Brind?"

The old friend answered her wistful look.

"Our lodgings are not far off; we have only to jump into a hansom; we
should be back before the dinner-bell rings. Only--this fellow has a
host of engagements."

"Ah!"

Lady Agatha had hardly sighed when Jardine woke up as if from a dream.

"Have I engagements?" he asked. "I do not remember any. Anyhow, I am a
convalescent, and the privileges of convalescence are mine. I vote for
that hansom, Brind."

After dinner they sat around the fire and talked. Although it was June,
it had been a sunless day of arid east wind, and Lady Agatha, who always
snatched at the least excuse for a fire because it was so beautiful, had
ordered one to be lit. The three long windows were open beyond the red
leather screen that made a cosy corner of the fireplace, and the scent
of flowers came in from the balcony.

Paul Jardine talked as much as they desired him to talk. He started on
his hobby about those West African peoples, and rode it with spirit and
energy. His friend laughed at him.

"Why, Jardine," he said, "I can never again cal