But when the morning came, the cool, clear morning, it brought counsel, it brought a multitude of papers that absorbed all his thoughts and time. After several hours of this detachment, his mind returned to the attitude of indecision, his ideas were again readjusted. Whilst Philip was thus balancing his feeling and weighing the _pros_ and _cons_, the Gordons went away into camp, for the Commissioner's usual cold weather tour, and they took Angel with them. CHAPTER XXII "A WHITE ELEPHANT AND A WHITE ROSE" THE tour of a Commissioner in camp in the cold weather means a march from place to place, visiting certain villages and districts, holding official courts for the inhabitants, granting interviews, receiving petitions, looking into taxation and the working of the code, inspecting new works—such as canals and roads—and perhaps opening a local hospital, or attending some high native feast. The tour is intended to bring the great man into touch with the people. The camp is struck every morning soon after dawn, and the party ride on to the next encampment (there are invariably two sets of tents). Here they arrive in time for early breakfast, after which the chief transacts business, then comes the evening ride, a little shooting, a group round the log fire, and early to bed. Such is the usual programme, and as far as the working portion was concerned, an exact epitome of Mr. Gordon's routine, but he rarely went for an evening ride, and seldom joined his wife and her guest by the camp fire, and the two ladies appeared gracefully resigned to his desertion. Donald Gordon's manners were gruff, his conversation monosyllabic, his opinions startling; for instance, he had been heard to suggest the lethal chamber for half the women who were born! By a strange paradox, he burnt much midnight oil, writing his great Persian epic, in praise of the beautiful Shireen—Queen of Chrosroes of the Golden Spears—and her lover, Ferhad the sculptor. But this streak of romance in his character never appeared in broad daylight; the midnight poet, with his rushing pen, his eyes aflame, one hand grasping his red, flowing beard, was by midday surly, hard-headed, rugged Donald Gordon, the clear-sighted, prompt, able administrator, who managed the great area over which he ruled, and his various collectors and subordinates, with amazing address; who said aloud things that others scarcely dared to whisper, was a pillar of the Empire, and a genius in his way.