"Welcome, Mr. Morpeth, you are a sight for 'sair een,' as my old Scots aunt used to put it." Mark was more than astonished at the cordiality of Mrs. Fellowes' greeting when he recognised in the visitor the man whom the restive Australians of the mail-phaeton had almost trampled under foot, and whom Alfred Rayner had characterised as a "greasy half-caste." On the first opportunity he asked his hostess the name of the guest. "David Morpeth," she replied, "a man whom we are proud to know, though he is an East Indian," she added, lowering her voice. "You know--or perhaps you don't know yet--what an inveterate prejudice there is against these people. I always say that David Morpeth would redeem a nation; he lives and toils for his despised people, pours out his money and his life for them, often, I fear, with very poor return. He has even enlisted me, and we have started one or two things together. I must add, that though Mr. Morpeth is of that despised mixed blood, he is really personally much respected here; but he declines social advances from any quarter, so my husband and I feel honoured when he puts in one of his rare appearances. Besides, I value the little change for the dear man from the toils of those wretched people." "I should like to be introduced to Mr. Morpeth, if you don't mind," said Mark eagerly. "By all means! How nice of you, Mr. Cheveril!" Mrs. Fellowes, with a pleased air, led the way to the shade of a tamarind tree where the helper of his people stood talking pleasantly to a little fair-haired English boy, the son of Mrs. Fellowes' next door neighbour. David Morpeth's face wore a bright smile now, very different from his sad stern mien of the previous evening. Mark felt ashamed when he recalled the incident, but could not venture to apologise, though, somehow, he knew that the older man recognised him as one of the occupants of the mail-phaeton. An evident air of surprise seemed to mingle with his recognition, though all awkwardness was at once eliminated by Mark Cheveril's greeting. "Mrs. Fellowes has just been telling me of your efforts for our poor brothers, and I want to give you the hand of fellowship," he said with a frank smile. "I welcome it heartily, sir," returned David Morpeth with a half startled air, though his whole face beamed. Then a puzzled look flitted across it as he said slowly, fixing his deep eyes on the young man: "I believe I speak to the new Assistant-Collector of Puranapore just arrived from England? I must not take advantage of your inexperience, Mr. Cheveril. I am an East Indian--a half-caste, and I naturally try to help my own people!" "And I also am an East Indian. My father's wife was a Hindu girl. I've always been proud of the link with this great country--my mother's land!"