was
no one else to do it, you see!"

"Yes--I see."

And perhaps he did.

Lady Cantourne helped them skilfully. But there came a time when
Millicent would stand it no longer, and the amiable Grubb wriggled out
of the room, crushed by a too obvious dismissal.

Sir John rose at once, and when Millicent reached them they were talking
of the previous evening's entertainment.

Sir John took his leave. He bowed over Jocelyn's hand, and Millicent,
watching them keenly, could see nothing--no gleam of a mutual
understanding in the politely smiling eyes.

"Perhaps," he said, "I may have the pleasure of meeting you again?"

"I am afraid it is doubtful," she answered, with something that sounded
singularly like exultation in her voice. "We are going back to Africa
almost at once."

And she, also, took her leave of Lady Cantourne.

CHAPTER XXXI. SEED-TIME

What Fate does, let Fate answer for.

One afternoon Joseph had his wish. Moreover he had it given to him even
as he desired, which does not usually happen. We are given a part, or
the whole, so distorted that we fail to recognise it.

Joseph looked up from his work and saw Jocelyn coming into the bungalow
garden.

He went out to meet her, putting on his coat as he went.

"How is Mr. Meredith?" she asked at once. Her eyes were very bright, and
there was a sort of breathlessness in her manner which Joseph did not
understand.

"He is a bit better, miss, thank you kindly. But he don't make the
progress I should like. It's the weakness that follows the malarial
attack that the doctor has to fight against."

"Where is he?" asked Jocelyn.

"Well, miss, at the moment he is in the drawing-room. We bring him
down there for the change of air in the afternoon. Likely as not, he's
asleep."

And presently Jack Meredith, lying comfortably somnolent on the
outskirts of life, heard light footsteps, but hardly heeded them. He
knew that some one came into the room and stood silently by his couch
for some seconds. He lazily unclosed his eyelids for a moment, not in
order to see who was there, but with a view of intimating that he was
not asleep. But he was not wholly conscious. To men accustomed to
an active, energetic life, a long illness is nothing but a period
of complete rest. In his more active moments Jack Meredith sometimes
thought that this rest of his was extending into a dangerously long
period, but he was too weak to feel anxiety about anything.

Joce