The man who had come up from below stopped under the veranda.
"Well, Marek, so I've found you at last!"
Marek looked up, not greatly pleased. The man who stood before him was G. H. Bondy.
"So I've found you at last!" Bondy said again.
"Come along up, then," said Marek, with obvious reluctance. "What the deuce has brought you here? Heavens, man, you do look queer!"
G. H. Bondy did indeed look sunken and yellow; he had gone very grey about the temples, and lines of weariness made dark shadows around his eyes. He seated himself without a word beside Marek and squeezed his hands together between his knees.
"Come now, what's wrong with you?" Marek pressed him after a painful silence.
Bondy raised his arms.
"I'm going to retire, old man. You see, it's got me too . . . me!"
"What, religion?" shouted Marek, recoiling as though from a leper.
Bondy nodded. Was it not a tear of shame that trembled on his lashes? Marek whistled softly. "What—it's got you now? My poor old fellow!"
"No," cried Bondy quickly, wiping his eyes. "Don't think I'm not all right at present; I've got under, you might say, Rudy, I've beaten it. But, do you know, when it came over me, it was the very
