an incident occurred on the voyage which turned back forcibly for a time the current of his thoughts into the old channel.
A party of the homeward-bound passengers had taken advantage of a two-days delay in the transit through Egypt to stop at Cairo; and Yorke, who was of the party, not feeling strong enough yet to join the rest in an excursion to the Pryamids, was standing at the window of the hotel in the early morning, after the others had set out, watching the beginning of a Cairo day, when a couple of regiments of Egyptian cavalry came by on their way to exercise on the plain beyond the city. To Yorke the sight was sufficiently interesting; and as they passed by he noted their appearance with critical eye, admitting with scrupulous fairness the superiority of the horses to those of the Indian cavalry, but concluding with much satisfaction that the latter were vastly superior in the physique and appearance of the men. How my old regiment would ride these fellows down, to be sure, or my new one either! he said to himself. The colonel of the leading regiment, too, apparently a foreigner, was a portly-looking middle-aged man, who sat his horse like a sack. "I don't fancy that worthy gentleman would have a long tether of office if he came under the orders of Sir Hugh," ejaculated Yorke mentally; "one can't expect much from a regiment with such an old muff at the head of it." The officer who rode at the head of the second regiment was, however, a very different sort of man; and Yorke's eye was caught at once by his erect, soldier-like figure, and the splendid horse he rode — still more, as he came near, by his handsome, resolute face. The officer was so dark-complexioned that Yorke was puzzled at first to guess whether he was a European, but suddenly was struck by the resemblance to well-known features. Except for the long black beard, the man looked the very double of Kirke; nay, surely it must be Kirke himself, — and Yorke hurried out of the room, and ran along the corridor and down the staircase; but by the time he reached the entrance-door of the hotel the rear of the regiment was passing by, and the leading files were hidden from view.
The hotel-manager was standing at the entrance smoking an early cigar, and nodded affably to his visitor. "A fine sight that, isn't it?" he observed, as if the cavalry reflected considerable credit on the hotel and himself; "but I suppose you have seen a good deal of the same sort of thing in your part of the world?"
Yorke asked him if some of the officers were not Europeans.
Oh yes, was the answer, "the pacha employs a lot of Europeans in all kinds of ways, army and everything else. That was a European who rode at the head of the second regiment, which had just gone by leastways — an American, which was the same thing — a Colonel Wood.
An American! repeated Yorke, wondering whether he could be mistaken; how did the manager know that?
Why, because he gave himself out as such, to be sure; the manager knew him well enough; he kept himself to himself pretty much, but he often came to the hotel to dine or lunch, at times when there were no Indian travellers going through.
Did the manager know how long he had been in the Egyptian service? Yes, to be sure he did; about two years. Was he married? No, certainly not; at any rate he had left his wife in America, added the manager with a laugh. Cairo wasn't much of a place for European ladies, he reckoned, nor American ones neither. The colonel was living in lodgings by the barracks, and used to get his wine from them [meaning the hotel], and there was no lady living with him, that was quite certain. "But you seem interested about the gentleman," continued the manager, looking at Yorke curiously; there are some rum customers in the Egyptian army, I can tell you;" and Yorke hastened to turn the conversation.
The parade-ground was said to be too far off for a convalescent to walk there under a Cairo sun, and Yorke went up to his room to await the return of the regiments. They must, however, have chosen another route for the march back, for they did not come past the hotel again; but Yorke felt no doubt that it was Kirke he had seen. No American of that stamp would be idling at Cairo with a tremendous war going on at home; the time, too, of his appearance in the country coincided with Kirke's flight from India; besides, although his face was altered, there could be no mistaking that figure and seat on horseback; he could have recognized him among a thousand. And Yorke's thoughts flew back to the time when Falkland and he first made out Kirke from the residency roof — on the eventful day of Falklands death — riding in front of his men on the plain beyond the trees; and he thought
