before. Fortunately, Mrs.
Falchion's heroism at Aden had taken the place of the sensation
attending Boyd Madras's suicide. Those who tired of thinking of both
became mildly interested in Red Sea history. Chief among these was the
bookmaker. As an historian the bookmaker was original. He cavalierly
waved aside all such confusing things as dates: made Moses and Mahomet
contemporaneous, incidentally referred to King Solomon's visits
to Cleopatra, and with sad irreverence spoke of the Exodus and the
destruction of Pharaoh's horses and chariots as "the big handicap."
He did not mean to be irreverent or unhistorical. He merely wished
to enlighten Mrs. Callendar, who said he was very original, and quite
clever at history. His really startling points, however, were his
remarks upon the colours of the mountains of Egypt and the sunset tints
to be seen on the Red Sea and the Suez Canal. To him the grey, and
pink, and melancholy gold only brought up visions of a race at Epsom or
Flemington--generally Flemington, where the staring Australian sun
pours down on an emerald course, on a score of horses straining upon
the start, the colours of the jockeys' coats and caps changing in the
struggle like a kaleidoscope, and making strange harmonies of colour.
The comparison between the mountains of Egypt and a race-course might
seem most absurd, if one did not remember that the bookmaker had his own
standards, and that he thought he was paying unusual honour to the
land of the Fellah. Clovelly plaintively said, as he drank his hock
and seltzer, that the bookmaker was hourly saving his life; and Colonel
Ryder admitted at last that Kentucky never produced anything quite like
him.

The evening before we came to the Suez Canal I was walking with Miss
Treherne and her father. I had seen Galt Roscoe in conversation with
Mrs. Falchion. Presently I saw him rise to go away. A moment after,
in passing, I was near her. She sprang up, caught my arm, and pointed
anxiously. I looked, and saw Galt Roscoe swaying as he walked.

"He is ill--ill," she said.

I ran forward and caught him as he was falling. Ill?

Of course he was ill. What a fool I had been! Five minutes with him
assured me that he had fever. I had set his haggard appearance down
to some mental trouble--and I was going to be a professor in a medical
college!

Yet I know now that a troubled mind hastened the fever.

CHAPTER X. BETWEEN DAY AND DARK

From the beginning Galt Roscoe