II. THE FIRST LESSON
III. AN IMPERSONAL DEMONSTRATION
IV. SOMEWHAT MORE PERSONAL
V. A PROJECT AND SOME SIDE-ISSUES
VI. THE SECOND LESSON AND SOME FURTHER SIDE-ISSUES
VII. THE THIRD LESSON, AND A DIGRESSION
VIII. THE THIRD LESSON IS LEARNED
IX. "AND OTHER FELL ON GOOD GROUND"

PART IV

HARVEST

PART I

THE WAY TO THE LAND

I

It came suddenly when it did come, it may be remembered. Every one
knew it was coming, and yet--it was all so impossible, so incredible.
I remember Clive Draycott looking foolishly at his recall telegram in
the club--he had just come home on leave from Egypt--and then
brandishing it in front of my nose.

"My dear old boy," he remarked peevishly, "it's out of the question.
I'm shooting on the 12th."

But he crossed the next day to Boulogne.

It was a Sunday morning, and Folkestone looked just the same as it
always did look. Down by the Pavilion Hotel the usual crowd of Knuts
in very tight trousers and very yellow shoes, with suits most obviously
bought off the peg, wandered about with ladies of striking aspect.
Occasional snatches of conversation, stray gems of wit, scintillated
through the tranquil August air, and came familiarly to the ears of a
party of some half-dozen men who stood by a pile of baggage at the
entrance to the hotel.

"Go hon, Bill; you hare a caution, not 'arf." A shrill girlish giggle,
a playful jerk of the "caution's" arm, a deprecating noise from his
manly lips, which may have been caused by bashfulness at the
compliment, or more probably by the unconsumed portion of the morning
Woodbine, and the couple moved out of hearing.

"I wonder," said a voice from the group, "if we are looking on the
passing of the breed."

He was a tall, thin, spare fellow, the man who spoke; and amongst other
labels on his baggage was one marked Khartoum. His hands were sinewy
and his face was bronzed, while his eyes, brown and deep-set, held in
them the glint of the desert places of the earth: the mark of the
jungle where birds flit through the shadows like bars of glorious
colour; the mark of the swamp where the ague mists lie dank and
stagnant in the rays of the morning sun.

No one answered his remark; it seemed unnecessary, and each was busy
with his own thoughts. What did the next few days hold in store for
the world, for England, for him? The ghastly, haunting fear that
possibly they held nothing for England gnawed at men's hearts. It