g in the world so tantalizing, and so hard to bear, as
the conviction that knowledge is just within reach and that it is
deliberately withheld. Heath stood between him and elucidation, and the
more firmly the clergyman held his ground, and the more definitely he
blocked the path, the more sure Hartley became that he did so of set
purpose.

"But _why_, _why_?" he asked himself, as he drove through the Cantonment
towards Mrs. Wilder's bungalow.

Atkins got off his bicycle and handed it over to his boy as he arrived
at the dreary entrance.

"The Padre Sahib is out?" he said, in his brisk, matter-of-fact tones.

"The Padre Sahib is upstairs," said the boy, with an immovable face; and
Atkins went up quickly.

"Hallo, Heath, I met Hartley just now, and he said you were out."

Heath looked up from a sheet of paper laid out on the writing-table
before him.

"I did not feel up to seeing Hartley," he said, a little stiffly. "It is
not a convenient hour for callers, so I availed myself of an excuse."

"He told me to tell you that it was rather a pressing matter that
brought him here, and I said that I would give you his message, and that
you would probably go round to see him."

"You said that, Atkins?"

His face was so drawn and unnatural that Atkins looked at him in
surprise.

"I suppose I was right?"

"If Hartley wants to see me," said Heath, in a loud, angry voice, "or if
he wants to come bullying and blustering, he must write and make an
appointment. I have every right to protect myself from a man who asks
personal and most impertinent questions."

"Hartley, impertinent?" Atkins' eyes grew round.

"When I say impertinent, I mean not pertinent, or bearing upon any
subject that I intend to discuss with him."

The Rev. Francis Heath got up and walked towards the window, turning his
back upon the room.

"I don't mix in social politics," said Atkins, soothingly. "But at the
same time, I can't understand you, Heath. What the devil does Hartley
want to know?"

The clergyman caught at the curtain and gripped it as he had gripped the
back of his chair at the Club.

"Never ask me that again, Atkins," he said, in a low, hoarse voice.
"Never speak to me about this again."

Atkins retreated quickly from the room; there was something in the
manner of the Rev. Francis Heath that he did not like, and he registered
a mental vow to let the subject drop, so far as he, a lieutenant in His
Majesty's Royal Engineers, was