the native out of existence."

Blackburn here vigorously protested. "Yes, it's very like a novelist,
on the hunt for picturesque events, to spend his forensic soul upon 'the
poor native,'--upon the dirty nigger, I choose to call him: the
meanest, cruellest, most cowardly, and murderous--by Jove, what a lot of
adjectives!--of native races. But we fellows, who have lost some of
the best friends we ever had--chums with whom we've shared blanket and
tucker--by the crack of a nulla-nulla in the dark, or a spear from the
scrub, can't find a place for Exeter Hall and its 'poor native' in our
hard hearts. We stand in such a case for justice. It is a new country.
Not once in fifty times would law reach them. Reprisal and dispersion
were the only things possible to men whose friends had been massacred,
and--well, they punished tribes for the acts of individuals."

Mrs. Falchion here interposed. "That is just what England does. A
British trader is killed. She sweeps a native town out of existence with
Hotchkiss guns--leaves it naked and dead. That is dispersion too; I have
seen it, and I know how far niggers as a race can be trusted, and how
much they deserve sympathy. I agree with Mr. Blackburn."

Blackburn raised his glass. "Mrs. Falchion," he said, "I need no further
evidence to prove my case. Experience is the best teacher."

"As I wish to join the chorus to so notable a compliment, will somebody
pass the claret?" said Colonel Ryder, shaking the crumbs of a pate
from his coat-collar. When his glass was filled, he turned towards Mrs.
Falchion, and continued: "I drink to the health of the best teacher."
And every one laughingly responded. This impromptu toast would have been
drunk with more warmth, if we could have foreseen an immediate event.
Not less peculiar were Mrs. Falchion's words to Hungerford the evening
before, recorded in the last sentence of the preceding chapter.

Cigars were passed, and the men rose and strolled away. We wandered
outside the gardens, passing the rejected guide as we did so. "I don't
like the look in his eye," said Clovelly.

Colonel Ryder laughed. "You've always got a fine vision for the
dramatic."

We passed on. I suppose about twenty minutes had gone when, as we were
entering the garden again, we heard loud cries. Hurrying forward towards
the Tanks, we saw a strange sight.

There, on a narrow wall dividing two great tanks, were three
people--Mrs. Falchion, Amshar, and the rejected Arab g