XX FAREWELL
XXI A "HOARDING HUSTLING"
XXII MERYL'S DECISION
XXIII CAREW'S STORY
XXIV A RAIN-WASHED MORNING AND A DISCUSSION
XXV AILSA LEARNS CAREW'S SECRET
XXVI "HOW CAN I GO TO HER!..."
XXVII DIANA BEGINS TO GROW PERPLEXED
XXVIII DIANA'S PERPLEXITIES INCREASE
XXIX A USEFUL BLUNDER
XXX DIANA IS RESTLESS
XXXI THE SOLUTION IS SEALED
XXXII A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES
FINIS

TO THE PATHFINDERS

"Fate lies hid,
But not the deeds that true men dared and did."

THE RHODESIAN.

I

THE POLICE CAMP

The velvety darkness of a southern night, with its sense of rich,
luscious, breathing intensity, lay over that romantic spot in Southern
Rhodesia where the grey walls of the Zimbabwe ruins, with a sublime,
imperturbable indifference, continue to baffle the ingenuity and
ravish the curiosity of all who would read their story. Scientists,
archaeologists, tourists come and go, but the stern old walls, guarded
by the sentinel hills, give back no answer to eager questioning, eager
delving, eager surmise.

But in the meantime the Valley of Ruins no longer lies alone and
unheeded in the sunlight; and no longer do the hills look down upon
rich plains left solely to the idle pleasure of a careless black
people. The forerunners of to-day's great civilising army have marched
into the valley, and beside the ancient walls there is now a police
camp of the British South Africa Police, presided over by two robust
young troopers.

In the velvety darkness on the night in question there is a single
bright light pouring through the open doorway of a dwelling-hut.
Through the enfolding silence breaks the bizarre music of an
indifferent gramophone, recklessly mocking the sublime grandeur of
the age-old antiquities. Laughter and gay music and devil-may-care
colonists awaking echoes that have been more or less silent to
civilisation for how many thousand years?

But on this particular evening it is as though some shadow had fallen
upon the little camp. Nothing tangible--nothing that changed the
general habits or surroundings--but a vague regret and introspective
sadness upon the faces of two young men, usually full of careless
content. Cecil Stanley, the more refined, a gentleman by birth and
education, lounged low in his chair, with his hands behind his head
and his feet on the table, and ever and anon his eyes looked with
paine