t we sat on and talked, and looked about us. Edgar seemed
to me to be growing in discernment. Once he had seemed so
provocatively cock-sure about his mighty patron. To pray for him
as we had prayed that morning in the language of a race he had
contemned might have sounded to him in years past mere clerical
impertinence. Now he seemed to suffer me rather gladly.

But he said little. We had scant time to spare just then; there
were so many miles to go to the railway. He was to leave for
Oxford that very night. While the carriers were cooking their
breakfast he came with me to the grave and knelt at the head,
looking northwards. I said nothing aloud, nor did he. The rocks
bulked dark in the bright air, the hills wore mystic colors, the
sun shone passionately in a setting of tender blue. Words seemed
a presumption just then, too much of a time or nation or age that
passes. That which may or may not take shape in words remained
the untied power of silent prayer. That morning among the
many-colored hills I looked to sight the faith that can remove such
as these. And I prayed there quietly, in prayer that seemed to
need no words, for Edgar. I asked for him that he might see those
visions without which! people are apt to perish.

II.

He did not write much, and he did not come for five years. When
he came he was not at first communicative. He seemed to take more
interest than he used to do in the Mission, I noticed. He had
always been a hero among the Mashona boys: that was no new thing.
And I was thankful indeed to see that he had not lost his old
artless art of making friends with them. So many things might
have conspired to rob him of it. He stayed but a month in all at
the Mission, and he said little all that time, but his eyes were
full of thought as I talked to him passing on to him hopes,
disappointments, joys of battle unabating and enhanced. He was a
good listener. I did not try to force the pace with him. But for
all that I was eager to know his mind. And it seemed a long while
waiting and waiting, thinking he might be going to speak day
after day. Then at last the time did come for him to speak, but
it was after he had left the Mission.

History repeated itself, and we camped in the old place once
more. The camp-fire shone out, and the moon rose broad and golden
over the grave of pilgrimage. There he lay with his feet to the
north on the height above us the founder and name-giver of our
State. It was strange h