to some notable people, but he said
that he must go--he was fatigued after his journey. He had no wish to be
lionised.

As he left the salon, the band was playing a tune that made him close
his eyes, as though against something he would not see. The band in
Kaid's Palace had played it that night when he had killed Foorgat Bey.

CHAPTER XX. EACH AFTER HIS OWN ORDER

With the passing years new feelings had grown up in the heart of Luke
Claridge. Once David's destiny and career were his own peculiar and
self-assumed responsibility. "Inwardly convicted," he had wrenched
the lad away from the natural circumstances of his life, and created a
scheme of existence for him out of his own conscience--a pious egoist.

After David went to Egypt, however, his mind involuntarily formed the
resolution that "Davy and God should work it out together."

He had grown very old in appearance, and his quiet face was almost
painfully white; but the eyes burned with more fire than in the past.
As the day approached when David should arrive in England, he walked by
himself continuously, oblivious of the world round him. He spoke to no
one, save the wizened Elder Meacham, and to John Fairley, who rightly
felt that he had a share in the making of Claridge Pasha.

With head perched in the air, and face half hidden in his great white
collar, the wizened Elder, stopping Luke Claridge in the street one day,
said:

"Does thee think the lad will ride in Pharaoh's chariot here?"

There were sly lines of humour about the mouth of the wizened Elder as
he spoke, but Luke Claridge did not see.

"Pride is far from his heart," he answered portentously. "He will ride
in no chariot. He has written that he will walk here from Heddington,
and none is to meet him."

"He will come by the cross-roads, perhaps," rejoined the other piously.
"Well, well, memory is a flower or a rod, as John Fox said, and the
cross-roads have memories for him."

Again flashes of humour crossed his face, for he had a wide humanity, of
insufficient exercise.

"He has made full atonement, and thee does ill to recall the past,
Reuben," rejoined the other sternly.

"If he has done no more that needs atonement than he did that day at the
cross-roads, then has his history been worthy of Hamley," rejoined the
wizened Elder, eyes shut and head buried in his collar. "Hamley made
him--Hamley made him. We did not spare advice, or example, or any
correction that came to our min