"I had not known you were coming back," she faltered reproachfully. "I heard no word from you. Why didn't you let me know?"
He smiled whimsically.
"I wished to take you by surprise," said he.
"Well, you certainly have done that," she declared. … "And Arthur—— Did he come with you?"
"No," said Jerold softly. "Here as I spoke to you of Coningsby one year ago to-night, I have come to speak again."
And then Jerold Wharton commenced his story. He told of the meeting with Mowbray at the European Club, of the contract and of the mission upon which they had gone down into the Rana Country.
"For a month," he said, "we pushed forward into the forest on an uneventful march. Daily we saw nothing but gnarled and matted trees and vines and sometimes a patch of sunlight. To say that the hours were monotonous would be putting it mild. They were nerve-racking; nothing but scorching, merciless heat, and the sound of a hundred bare, black feet tramping doggedly on through the forest. Thus, as I say, we pushed on toward the Rana Country for a month and nothing happened. Nightly, we prayed that something would occur to break the dreadful monotony. And then suddenly our prayer was heard and answered. One morning Coningsby awakened with a slight headache, his appetite was gone and all day he ate practically nothing, just marched gloomily along without uttering a word. By evening he was down with a raging fever and by morning he was out
