The bright black eyes were shining with suppressed excitement. The great man was afraid that his tool would refuse to work under this exacting touch. “But what about my people?” asked Agar. “Oh, I will put that right. You see, they have got over the worst of it by this time. It is wonderful how soon people do get over it. They have known it for a week now, and have bought their mourning and all that.” There came a look into Agar's face which the little officer did not understand. We never do understand what we could not feel ourselves, and it is not a matter of wonder that the lesser intelligence should foil the greater in this instance. There was a depth in Jem Agar which was beyond the fathom of his keen-witted companion. “I am going home,” continued General Michael, “almost at once. The first thing I do on landing is to go straight to your people and tell them. We cannot afford to telegraph it. Telegraph clerks are only human, and it is worth the while of the newspapers in these days of large circulation to pay a heavy price for their news. We all know that some items, published _can_ only have been bought from the telegraph clerks.” Agar was making a mental calculation. “That means,” he said, “two months before they hear.” The expression on the face of the little man was scarcely human in its heartless cunning. “Hardly,” he answered carelessly. “And when they hear the reason they will admit that the result is worth the sacrifice. It will be the making of you!--and of me!” added the black eyes with a secretive gleam. “It is,” went on the General, “such a chance as only comes once to a man in his lifetime. I wish I had had it at your age.” The voice was a pleasant one, with that ring of friendliness and familiarity which is usually heard in the tones of an educated Jew; for General Michael was that rare combination, a Jew and a soldier. “I don't like leaving them so long under the mistake,” answered Agar, half yielding to authoritative persuasion, half tempted by ambition and a love of adventure. “I don't like it, General. The straight thing would be to telegraph home at once.” In the wavering smile that crossed the dark face there was suggested a fine contempt for the straight thing unaccompanied by some tangible advantage. “Who are they?” inquired the General almost affectionately. “Who are your people?” Agar walked to the tent door and looked out. There was some clatter of swords going on outside, and as commander of this post it was his duty to know all that was passing. He turned, and standing in the doorway, quite filling it with his bulk, he answered: “My father died three years ago. I have a step-mother and a step-brother, that is all--besides friends.” The General stooped to loosen the strap of his spur. “Of course,” he said in that attitude, “I know you are not a married man.” “No.”