r months. Richard Carew's only
action was to lavish hush-money, and keep as much as possible out of
the papers. One mistake he made. Through his solicitor he informed his
nephew he was willing to give him his former income, that he might
remain in his old regiment. In answer to that Peter wrote to the
lawyer: "I am leaving England for ever, and I shall cease to remember
from this moment that I have the misfortune to be related to Richard
and Geoffrey Fourtenay-Carew. No letters will reach me. I leave no
address," and then he signed himself "Peter Carew" without the
Fourtenay, and used the second name no more. And immediately
afterwards he joined one of the early pioneer bands setting out for
Rhodesia, possessing nothing in the world but a little money gained by
the sale of his personal possessions and a memory that would shadow
his whole life.

Sitting alone on the kopje-top, he leaned his elbows on his knees and
buried his face in his hands, and it was as though the waters of
bitterness overflowed him.

No, of course he could never tell Meryl such a story as that. For
sixteen years his path had lain alone and his bitterness been shared
with none. It must go on so now to the end. When he could bear it the
memory of Joan's dear face still came to him as in infinite love and
compassion; but he seldom dared allow himself even that; it was better
to have nothing in his life--no past, present, nor future except his
work.

He got up and stood for a moment leaning against his horse, resting
his arms on the saddle and gazing far away. Then he rode slowly home
under the stars, and by the time he reached the police camp his face
was only rigid and mask-like.

XXIV

A RAIN-WASHED MORNING AND A DISCUSSION

It was the first rain-washed morning of the wet season when Ailsa
Grenville heard the news, through a letter from Diana.

And the first rain-washed morning is an epoch in the Rhodesian year;
therefore it cannot be dismissed with a curt announcement.

All night long the vigorous, boisterous spring-cleaning had been in
progress. Ailsa, snug in her little bed, with the rain slashing and
banging and pounding on the corrugated-iron roof, and the trees
swishing and swaying, and the wind rushing around like a mad thing,
apparently from all four corners of the earth at once, had laughed
softly to herself at the commotion Mother Nature was making upon the
dusty, dishevelled, rubbish-strewn land. It was as if, having bee