Desmond went to the Scaife moor in Scotland. John noted that his
friend's letters were full of two things only: sport, and the
ever-increasing probability of war. At the end of August John Verney,
the explorer, returning to Verney Boscobel after an absence of nearly
four years, began to write his now famous book on the Far East. Then
John learned from his mother that his uncle had borne all the charges of
his education. When he thanked him, the uncle said warmly--

"You have more than repaid me, my dear boy; not another word, please,
about that. Warde tells me they expect great things of you at Oxford."

Uncle and nephew were alone, after dinner. John had noticed that the
hardships endured in Manchuria and Thibet had left scars upon the
traveller. His hair was white, he looked an old man; one whose
wanderings in wild places must perforce come soon to an end.

"Uncle," said John, "I want to chuck Oxford."

"Eh?"

"I should like to go into the Army."

"Bless my soul!"

The explorer eyed his nephew with wrinkled brow. John gave reasons; we
can guess what they were. The prospect of war had set all ardent souls
afire.

"I must think this over, my boy," the uncle replied presently. "I must
sleep on it. Have you told your mother?"

"No; I counted upon you to persuade her."

"Um. Now tell me about Lord's! Ah! I'm sorry I missed that match."

Next day, his uncle said nothing of what lay next to John's heart, but
the pair rode together over the estate. During that ride it became plain
to the young man that his uncle had no intention of settling down. Once
or twice, in the driest, most matter-of-fact tone, the elder spoke as if
his heir were likely to inherit soon. Finally, John blurted out a
protest--

"But, uncle, you are a strong man. Why do you talk as if--as if----" the
boy couldn't finish the phrase.

"Tut, tut," said the uncle. "I know what I know"; and he fell into
silence.

Not till the evening, after Mrs. Verney had gone to bed, did the man of
many wanderings speak freely.

"John," said he, quietly, "I have a story to tell you. Years ago, your
father and I fell in love with the same girl. She married the better
man." He paused to fill a pipe: John saw that his uncle's fingers
trembled slightly; but his voice was cool, measured, almost monotonous.
"I made my first expedition to Patagonia. When I came back you were just
born; and I asked that I might be your godfather. I went to Africa after
the christ