red black and leaping in the
long grass; a coloured line of women, with water bamboos on their heads,
moved swaying through a thin grove of fruit-trees. Karain stopped in the
midst of his men and waved his hand; then, detaching himself from the
splendid group, walked alone to the water's edge and waved his hand
again. The schooner passed out to sea between the steep headlands that
shut in the bay, and at the same instant Karain passed out of our life
forever.

But the memory remains. Some years afterwards I met Jackson, in the
Strand. He was magnificent as ever. His head was high above the crowd.
His beard was gold, his face red, his eyes blue; he had a wide-brimmed
gray hat and no collar or waistcoat; he was inspiring; he had just
come home--had landed that very day! Our meeting caused an eddy in the
current of humanity. Hurried people would run against us, then walk
round us, and turn back to look at that giant. We tried to compress
seven years of life into seven exclamations; then, suddenly appeased,
walked sedately along, giving one another the news of yesterday. Jackson
gazed about him, like a man who looks for landmarks, then stopped before
Bland's window. He always had a passion for firearms; so he stopped
short and contemplated the row of weapons, perfect and severe, drawn up
in a line behind the black-framed panes. I stood by his side. Suddenly
he said--

"Do you remember Karain?"

I nodded.

"The sight of all this made me think of him," he went on, with his face
near the glass . . . and I could see another man, powerful and bearded,
peering at him intently from amongst the dark and polished tubes
that can cure so many illusions. "Yes; it made me think of him," he
continued, slowly. "I saw a paper this morning; they are fighting
over there again. He's sure to be in it. He will make it hot for
the caballeros. Well, good luck to him, poor devil! He was perfectly
stunning."

We walked on.

"I wonder whether the charm worked--you remember Hollis's charm, of
course. If it did . . . Never was a sixpence wasted to better advantage!
Poor devil! I wonder whether he got rid of that friend of his. Hope so.
. . . Do you know, I sometimes think that--"

I stood still and looked at him.

"Yes . . . I mean, whether the thing was so, you know . . . whether it
really happened to him. . . . What do you think?"

"My dear chap," I cried, "you have been too long away from home. What a
question to ask! Only look at all