alconer nodded.

"Diamonds. I fancy I've read an account of the great Sir Stephen Orme's
first beginnings," he put in with a touch of sarcasm.

Sir Stephen reddened.

"I daresay. It was the start, the commencement of the luck. From the
evening I took those stones in my hands--great Heaven! I can see the
place now, the sunset on the hill; the dirty brat playing in the
dust!--the luck has stood by me. Everything I touched turned out right.
I left the diamond business and went in for land: wherever I bought
land towns sprang up and the land increased in value a thousandfold.
Then I stood in with the natives: you've heard of the treaty--"

Falconer nodded.

"The treaty that enabled you to hand over so many thousand square miles
to the government in exchange for a knighthood."

"No," said Sir Stephen, simply. "I got that for another business; but I
daresay the other thing helped. It doesn't matter. Then I--I married. I
married the daughter of a man of position, a girl who--who loved and
trusted me; who knew nothing of the past you and I know; and as I would
rather have died than that she should have known anything of it, I--"

"Conveniently and decently buried it," put in Falconer. "Oh, yes, I can
see the whole thing! You had blossomed out from Black Steve--"

Sir Stephen rose and took a step towards the door, then remembered that
he had shut it and sank down again, his face white as ashes, his lips
quivering.

--"To Sir Stephen Orme, the African millionaire, the high and lofty
English gentleman with his head full of state secrets, and his safe
full of foreign loans; Sir Stephen Orme, the pioneer, the empire
maker--Oh, yes, I can understand how naturally you would bury the
past--as you had buried your old pal and partner. The dainty and
delicate Lady Orme was to hear nothing--" Sir Stephen rose and
stretched out his hand half warningly half imploringly.

"She's dead, Falconer!" he said, hoarsely. "Don't--don't speak of her!
Leave her out, for God's sake!"

Falconer shrugged his shoulders.

"And this boy of yours--he's as ignorant as her ladyship was, of
course?"

Sir Stephen inclined his head.

"Yes," he said, huskily. "He--he knows nothing. He thinks me--what the
world sees me, what all the world, saving you, Falconer, thinks me: one
who has risen from humble but honest poverty to--what I am. You have
seen him, you can understand what I feel; that I'd rather die than that
he should know--that he should thi