laced them in his pocket-book.

"I have told you everything," he said. "You see, I wait upon chance
opportunities; the three may not come in Egypt. They may never come at
all, and in that case I shall not come back at all. Or they may come
only at the very end and after many years. Therefore I thought that I
would like just one person to know the truth thoroughly in case I do not
come back. If you hear definitely that I never can come back, I would
be glad if you would tell my father."

"I understand," said Sutch.

"But don't tell him everything--I mean, not the last part, not what I
have just said about Ethne and my chief motive, for I do not think that
he would understand. Otherwise you will keep silence altogether.
Promise!"

Lieutenant Sutch promised, but with an absent face, and Feversham
consequently insisted.

"You will breathe no word of this to man or woman, however hard you may
be pressed, except to my father under the circumstances which I have
explained," said Feversham.

Lieutenant Sutch promised a second time and without an instant's
hesitation. It was quite natural that Harry should lay some stress upon
the pledge, since any disclosure of his purpose might very well wear the
appearance of a foolish boast, and Sutch himself saw no reason why he
should refuse it. So he gave the promise and fettered his hands. His
thoughts, indeed, were occupied with the limit Harry had set upon the
knowledge which was to be imparted to General Feversham. Even if he died
with his mission unfulfilled, Sutch was to hide from the father that
which was best in the son, at the son's request. And the saddest part of
it, to Sutch's thinking, was that the son was right in so requesting.
For what he said was true--the father could not understand. Lieutenant
Sutch was brought back to the causes of the whole miserable business:
the premature death of the mother, who could have understood; the want
of comprehension in the father, who was left; and his own silence on
the Crimean night at Broad Place.

"If only I had spoken," he said sadly. He dropped the end of his cigar
into his coffee-cup, and standing up, reached for his hat. "Many things
are irrevocable, Harry," he said, "but one never knows whether they are
irrevocable or not until one has found out. It is always worth while
finding out."

The next evening Feversham crossed to Calais. It was a night as wild as
that on which Durrance had left England; and, like Durrance, Fe