and striven--whether pacifying a tribe, meeting
a loan by honest means, building a barrage, irrigating the land,
financing a new industry, or experimenting in cotton--it suddenly
eluded him. Nahoum had snatched it away by subterranean wires. On such
occasions Nahoum would shrug his shoulders, and say with a sigh, "Ah, my
friend, let us begin again. We are both young; time is with us; and we
will flourish palms in the face of Europe yet. We have our course set by
a bright star. We will continue."

Yet, withal, David was the true altruist. Even now as he walked this
road which led to his old home, dear to him beyond all else, his
thoughts kept flying to the Nile and to the desert.

Suddenly he stopped. He was at the cross-roads. Here he had met Kate
Heaver, here he had shamed his neighbours--and begun his work in life.
He stood for a moment, smiling, as he looked at the stone where he
had sat those years ago, his hand feeling instinctively for his flute.
Presently he turned to the dusty road again.

Walking quickly away, he swung into the path of the wood which would
bring him by a short cut to Hamley, past Soolsby's cottage. Here was the
old peace, the old joy of solitude among the healing trees. Experience
had broadened his life, had given him a vast theatre of work; but the
smell of the woods, the touch of the turf, the whispering of the trees,
the song of the birds, had the ancient entry to his heart.

At last he emerged on the hill where Soolsby lived. He had not meant, if
he could help it, to speak to any one until he had entered the garden of
the Red Mansion, but he had inadvertently come upon this place where he
had spent the most momentous days of his life, and a feeling stronger
than he cared to resist drew him to the open doorway. The afternoon
sun was beating in over the threshold as he reached it, and, at his
footstep, a figure started forward from the shadow of a corner.

It was Kate Heaver.

Surprise, then pain showed in her face; she flushed, was agitated.

"I am sorry. It's too bad--it's hard on him you should see," she said in
a breath, and turned her head away for an instant; but presently looked
him in the face again, all trembling and eager. "He'll be sorry enough
to-morrow," she added solicitously, and drew away from something, she
had been trying to hide.

Then David saw. On a bench against a wall lay old Soolsby--drunk. A
cloud passed across his face and left it pale.

"Of course," he sa