gate.

Soon I was in the deserted, deep-rutted street shut in on either
side by mud hovels, low and crouching close together in their
pitiful poverty. There was nothing to guide me, save that distant
speck of flame. Further on, I heard the rush of water and made out
the dim line of an ancient bridge. Half way across I stumbled.
From the heap of rags my foot had struck, came moans, and, by the
sound of it, awful curses. It was a handless leper. I saw the
stumps as they flew at me. Sick with horror, I fled and found an
open place.

The light still beckoned. The way was heavy with high, drifted
sand. The courage of despair goaded me to the utmost effort.
Forced to pause for breath, I found and leaned against a post. It
was a telegraph pole. In all the blackness and immeasurable
loneliness, it was the solitary sign of an inhabited world. And
the only sound was the wind, as it sang through the taut wires in
the unspeakable sadness of minor chords. A camel caravan came by,
soft-footed, silent and inscrutable. I waited till it passed out
to the mysteries of the desert beyond the range of hills.

I began again to climb the path. It was lighter when I crept
through a broken wall and found myself in a stone courtyard, with
gilded shrines and grinning Buddhas. One image more hideous than
the rest, with eyes like glow-worms, untangled its legs and came
towards me. I shook with fright. But it was only the dwarf
priest--a monstrosity of flesh and blood, who kept the temple. I
pointed to the light which seemed to be hanging to the side of the
rocks above. He slowly shook his head, then rested it on his hands
and closed his eyes. I pushed him aside and painfully crawled up
the shallow stone stairs, and found a door at the top. I opened
it. Lying on a stone bed was Jack, white and still. A woman
leaned over him with her hand on his wrist. Her face was heavily
lined with a long life of sorrow. On her head was a crown of
snow-white hair. She raised her hand for silence. I fell at her
feet a shaking lump of misery.

I could not live through it again, Mate--those remaining hours
of agony, when every second seemed the last for Jack. But morning
dawned, and with the miracle of a new-born day came the magic gift
of life. When Jack opened his eyes and feebly stretched out his
hand to me, my singing heart gave thanks to God.

And so the crisis was safely passed. And the hateful science I
believed was takin