months together from intercourse with
his kind, was yet keenly interested in their practical outcome.

The stronger light in which he now sat revealed him as a big fair man,
by no means ill-featured, his soldierly figure emphasised by the gunner
mess-dress of those days, with its high scarlet waistcoat and profusion
of round gilt buttons, in each of which twin flames winked and
sparkled. A suggestion of kindly, uncritical contentment with things
in general pervaded his face and bearing. The blue eyes were rarely
serious for long together; the mouth, under a neatly trimmed moustache,
showed no harsh lines, no traces of past conflict. Had the great
Overseer of men's destinies not seen fit to guide him to the Frontier,
out of reach of demoralising influences, it is doubtful whether he
would have escaped the trail of the petticoat, the snare of the
grass-widow in determined search of amusement. As it was, he had
passed through the critical twenties with a clean defaulter sheet; had
established himself as a good soldier and a good comrade, a
"friend-making, everywhere friend-finding soul," and the closest among
these was the Commandant of his battery--a wholesome and pleasant state
of things for both.

He was beginning to weary of geographical detail, when steps sounded in
the verandah, and he was on his feet as Lenox came in.

"Hullo, Dick! Good man to wait for me! Thought I should have seen you
before mess, though. What do you mean by not coming here straight?"

"None of my fault, old chap. We were delayed as usual crossing that
blamed old Indus. Stuck on a sandbank for over an hour. Gives a
fellow time to count up his sins and renounce the devil, eh? Expected
to find you at mess, of course. I wasn't prepared for this sort of
upheaval in the natural order of things!"

Lenox stooped to caress Brutus, who was urgently demanding attention.

"Upheavals belong to the natural order of things," he said quietly.
"The world would come to a standstill without them. Light a fresh
cheroot, and fill up."

He indicated the chair vacated by Brutus, sat down by the
writing-table, and picking up a pipe proceeded to clean it out with
scrupulous care. Richardson watched him the while, his face grown
suddenly thoughtful. Once he leaned forward, as though he had some
urgent matter to communicate, but apparently changed his mind, and
spoke conversationally between puffs at his cigar.

"Zyarulla said you were at the Desmo