was the one that had come at his last breakfast-time
from Dick Hunter, the card that he had reserved rather indignantly
for future consideration.

On the one side of it was a color-process reproduction, very good
of its kind Christ in Glory the Rex Tremendoe Majestatis and also
the Fons Pietatis of the Dies Ira with tears in His Eyes and
thorns on His Brows as He judged just judgment. On the other side
were four lines from Browning, faithfully transcribed save for
the change of a name. They were written in the shaking writing of
a sick man, in Hunter's round, unformed hand:

'For the main criminal I have no hope
Except in such a suddenness of fate
So may the truth be by one blow flashed out.
And Julian see one instant and be saved.'

There is no question as to the suddenness of the stroke of fate
that ended Julian's career in South Africa. There is an open
question as to the illuminative force of that blow, and we must
wait for the answer.

THE DOUBLE CABIN

We had been close to a certain line of fire together, and yet we
had not seen much fighting. That is to say, we were taking part
in a campaign together that was for the time being an affair of
patrols near a certain border an affair that flashed into fire
now and then as between man and man. As between sun and man the
firing was fairly continuous for eight hours of most days. Were
we not within a hundred miles or so of the equator? In that
climatic struggle (so much the more constant of the two for us
Northerners) I on my noncombatant job came off lightly, he, as a
combatant, suffered. He was down with malaria time and time
again. He had it on him that night when he put me up at his place
a night when the old year was almost out. He was then inhabiting
a border outpost a clean little camp tucked away behind a native
village. It was none too airy, I thought, with its heavy curtains
of cactus hedging. He seemed a little better that next morning,
when I said prayers, and afterwards rehearsed a certain Rite. He
stayed to the end of my ministrations. After breakfast I started
again on my journey, a round that took me far from the centre of
our small world. When I touched that centre again I heard his
news, which was not so very reassuring. He had gone down with
blackwater, and been carried into a small hospital. There, having
almost gone out, he had rallied enough to be put on board a ship
crossing the lake. So he came to a greater hospital. It was
thi