n't, Bill," said Ralph. "For God's sake don't talk like that.
Who knows?--we may pull you through yet. Lie still, and don't talk,
there's a dear old chap."

"My head is clear now," whispered Bill, "and it mayn't last long. My
affairs are all right at home. If anything happens, see my lawyers.
Give my love to Laura (his sister) and Aunt Marion; tell them I thought
of them at the end. I feel faint... give me some brandy." Ralph poured
strong brandy and water into the sufferer's mouth, and he revived again.
"One more word, old chap," went on Bill. "I know I am near the end. I
feel it. I shall soon know that great secret we spoke of. _Remember
this_,"--he raised his left hand as he spoke, and feebly took hold of
Ralph's flannel shirt sleeve,--"If I can tell you hereafter, or let you
know, _I will. Don't forget! Don't forget_! If I can... It's dark,
isn't it? and I'm very sleepy. Hold my hand, dear old Ralph...
Good-bye. If I don't see you..."

Bill's head fell back a little; his eyes closed again; a little blood
trickled from his lips; his breathing came and went with yet more
effort. Again Ralph administered more brandy to his dying friend. It
was of little use. Bill never rallied more. In half an hour the end
had come, and Ralph, still holding his friend's hand within his own,
knew that Bill had entered the unknown land, and that he himself had
lost the best and bravest comrade that ever entered the hunting veldt.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ralph took his friend's body across the river next morning, and buried
it reverently beneath a big giraffe-acacia tree by the wagons, and set
up a wooden cross in that lone wilderness. He took with him, too, the
great horns of the buffalo by which Bill had come to his untimely end.
Then slowly and painfully he made his way down-country, the saddest,
loneliest man in Africa, and presently reached England.

It is some years ago now, but Ralph has never forgotten that last scene
and Bill's impressive words. Often, whether he be in the far
wilderness--to which he still periodically returns--or at home, in the
park, or at his club, or in his own sanctum, surrounded by many a goodly
spoil of the chase, he thinks of his comrade's last words, and sees
before him every incident of that dying sunset beyond the Okavango
River.

But of the Great Secret,--of that mystery which Bill so earnestly
desired to pierce,--Ralph has