corrected Charles Gould,
gently. "And that's how I've presented it to Mr. Holroyd."

"And what did he say to it?" asked the engineer, with undisguised
interest.

"He"--Charles Gould spoke after a slight pause--"he said something
about holding on like grim death and putting our trust in God. I should
imagine he must have been rather startled. But then"--pursued the
Administrador of the San Tome mine--"but then, he is very far away, you
know, and, as they say in this country, God is very high above."

The engineer's appreciative laugh died away down the stairs, where the
Madonna with the Child on her arm seemed to look after his shaking broad
back from her shallow niche.

CHAPTER SIX

A profound stillness reigned in the Casa Gould. The master of the house,
walking along the corredor, opened the door of his room, and saw his
wife sitting in a big armchair--his own smoking armchair--thoughtful,
contemplating her little shoes. And she did not raise her eyes when he
walked in.

"Tired?" asked Charles Gould.

"A little," said Mrs. Gould. Still without looking up, she added with
feeling, "There is an awful sense of unreality about all this."

Charles Gould, before the long table strewn with papers, on which lay a
hunting crop and a pair of spurs, stood looking at his wife: "The heat
and dust must have been awful this afternoon by the waterside," he
murmured, sympathetically. "The glare on the water must have been simply
terrible."

"One could close one's eyes to the glare," said Mrs. Gould. "But, my
dear Charley, it is impossible for me to close my eyes to our position;
to this awful . . ."

She raised her eyes and looked at her husband's face, from which all
sign of sympathy or any other feeling had disappeared. "Why don't you
tell me something?" she almost wailed.

"I thought you had understood me perfectly from the first," Charles
Gould said, slowly. "I thought we had said all there was to say a long
time ago. There is nothing to say now. There were things to be done. We
have done them; we have gone on doing them. There is no going back now.
I don't suppose that, even from the first, there was really any possible
way back. And, what's more, we can't even afford to stand still."

"Ah, if one only knew how far you mean to go," said his wife inwardly
trembling, but in an almost playful tone.

"Any distance, any length, of course," was the answer, in a
matter-of-fact tone, which caused Mrs. Gould to make ano