hers? But as she gazed into his face, it seemed as though
no such idea had fallen upon him. But during those two or three
minutes, a multitude of thoughts crowded on poor Mary's mind. Was it
possible that because of the coming of John Gordon, Mr Whittlestaff
should withdraw his claim, and allow this happy young hero to walk
off with the reward which he still seemed to desire? She felt sure
that it could not be so. Even during that short space of time, she
resolved that it could not be so. She knew Mr Whittlestaff too well,
and was sure that her lover had arrived too late. It all passed
through her brain, and she was sure that no change could be effected
in her destiny. Had he come yesterday, indeed? But before she could
prepare an answer for John Gordon, Mr Whittlestaff entered the room.

She was bound to say something, though she was little able at
the moment to speak at all. She was aware that some ceremony was
necessary. She was but ill able to introduce these two men to each
other, but it had to be done. "Mr Whittlestaff," she said, "this is
Mr John Gordon who used to know us at Norwich."

"Mr John Gordon," said Mr Whittlestaff, bowing very stiffly.

"Yes, sir; that is my name. I never had the pleasure of meeting you
at Norwich, though I often heard of you there. And since I left the
place I have been told how kind a friend you have been to this young
lady. I trust I may live to thank you for it more warmly though not
more sincerely than I can do at this moment."

Of John Gordon's fate since he had left Norwich a few words must be
told. As Mrs Lawrie had then told him, he was little better than a
pauper. He had, however, collected together what means he had been
able to gather, and had gone to Cape Town in South Africa. Thence he
had made his way up to Kimberley, and had there been at work among
the diamond-fields for two years. If there be a place on God's earth
in which a man can thoroughly make or mar himself within that space
of time, it is the town of Kimberley. I know no spot more odious
in every way to a man who has learned to love the ordinary modes
of English life. It is foul with dust and flies; it reeks with bad
brandy; it is fed upon potted meats; it has not a tree near it. It is
inhabited in part by tribes of South African niggers, who have lost
all the picturesqueness of niggerdom in working for the white man's
wages. The white man himself is insolent, ill-dressed, and ugly.
The weather is very ho