would eventually have disgraced his sister. But as it is, she must never know. We will tell her that he lost his life endeavoring to save a native lad from drowning. Deacons may rant about the gorgeous purity of truth, but as for me, I admire the man who tells a lie, when he does it to save a soul from pain.'
"We traded beads and petty nicknacks for the few remaining possessions of Warburton, then turned our backs upon the village with a sigh of relief, for we had not failed in the work which we had set out to do. A few months later, as we neared Zanzibar, Coningsby was again struck down by the fever, and for the remainder of our journey back he raved deliriously. Now he lies in his room at the European Club, patiently waiting for the fever to abate, when he is not raving in delirium. Almost the moment we arrived at the club he bade me come to you and tell you that he will leave for New York as soon as he is strong enough to make the voyage. Probably at this very moment he is engaging a berth upon a steamer, and will be with you in a very few weeks."
"Oh, Jerry," she cried, rising to her feet, "not that! It isn't true."
"Yes," said Jerold, his throat strangely dry, "it is true."
"But he mustn't come back!" she exclaimed frantically. "Oh, my God, what shall I do? You don't understand, Jerry. I am only an actress still. I have failed in my love of Coningsby."
"No," said Jerold tensely, "I believe I do not understand." He gripped her wrist brutally. "Tell me,"
