mewhat vague note
for my--for us. He wrote from Africa, I believe, but I never heard the
details. I imagine Jack Meredith was in some difficulty. But it is a
wonderful scheme this, is it not? They are certain to make a fortune, I
understand."

"So people say," replied Jocelyn. It was a choice to tell all--to tell
as much as she herself knew--or nothing. So she told nothing. She could
not say that she had been forced by a sudden breakdown of her brother's
health to leave Loango while Jack Meredith's fate was still wrapped
in doubt. She could not tell Lady Cantourne that all her world was in
Africa--that she was counting the days until she could go back thither.
She could not lift for a second the veil that hid the aching, restless
anxiety in her heart, the life-absorbing desire to know whether Guy
Oscard had reached the Plateau in time. Her heart was so sore that she
could not even speak of Jack Meredith's danger.

"How strange," said Lady Cantourne, "to think that you are actually
living in Loango, and that you are the last person who has spoken to
Jack Meredith! There are two people in this house to-night who would
like to ask you questions from now till morning, but neither of them
will do it. Did you see me go through the room just now with a tall
gentleman--rather old."

"Yes," answered Jocelyn.

"That was Sir John Meredith, Jack's father," said Lady Cantourne in a
lowered voice. "They have quarrelled, you know. People say that Sir John
does not care--that he is heartless, and all that sort of thing. The
world never says the other sort of thing, one finds. But--but I think I
know to the contrary. He feels it very deeply. He would give worlds to
hear some news of Jack; but he won't ask it, you know."

"Yes," said Jocelyn, "I understand."

She saw what was coming, and she desired it intensely, while still
feeling afraid--as if they were walking on some sacred ground and might
at any moment make a false step.

"I should like Sir John to meet you," said Lady Cantourne pleasantly.
"Will you come to tea some afternoon? Strange to say, he asked who you
were not half an hour ago. It almost seems like instinct, does it not?
I do not believe in mystic things about spirits and souls going out to
each other, and all that nonsense; but I believe in instinct. Will you
come to-morrow? You are here to-night with Mrs. Sander, are you not?
I know her. She will let you come alone. Five o'clock. You will see
my niece Millicent