wall, clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and
goats of the city were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white
light of the winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and
improved nothing, from the whining Peisian-wheel by the lawn-tennis
court to the long perspective of level road and the blue, domed tombs of
Mohammedan saints just visible above the trees.

"A Happy New Year," said Orde to his guest. "It's the first you've ever
spent out of England, isn't it?"

"Yes. 'Happy New Year," said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. "What a
divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown cold fog hanging
over London now!" And he rubbed his hands.

It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his
schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The one
had quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of the great
Indian Government; the other more blessed with goods, had been whirled
into a similar position in the English scheme. Three successive
elections had not affected Pagett's position with a loyal constituency,
and he had grown insensibly to regard himself in some sort as a pillar
of the Empire, whose real worth would be known later on. After a few
years of conscientious attendance at many divisions, after newspaper
battles innumerable and the publication of interminable correspondence,
and more hasty oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think
upon, it occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in
Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger lyre
and address himself to the problems of Imperial administration with a
firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general invitation extended to him
by Orde some years before, Pagett had taken ship to Karachi, and only
over-night had been received with joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of
Amara. They had sat late, discussing the changes and chances of twenty
years, recalling the names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the
living, as is the custom of men meeting after intervals of action.

Next morning they smoked the after breakfast pipe in the veranda, still
regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey frock-coat and
garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried
sun-hat carefully and wonderfully made. Orde in a shooting coat, riding
breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax helmet. He
had ridden some miles in the early mo