She walked in the clearing, a white, slim figure; he heard the swish of her skirt as she came through the long grass--white, with a green belt all encrusted with gold embroidery. He took in every detail hungrily--the dangling gold ornaments that hung from her belt, the lace collar at her throat, the---- She did not hurry to him, that was not her way. But in her eyes dawned a gradual tenderness--those dear eyes that dropped before his shyly. "Ethel!" he whispered, and dared to take her hand. "Aren't you wonderfully surprised?" she said. "Ethel! Here!" "I--I had to come." She would not look at him, but he saw the pink in her cheek and heard the faltering voice with a wild hope. "I behaved so badly, dear--so very badly." She hung her head. "Dear! dear!" he muttered, and groped toward her like a blind man. She was in his arms, crushed against his breast, the perfume of her presence in his brain. "I had to come to you." Her hot cheek was against his. "I love you so." "Me--love me? Do you mean it?" He was tremulous with happiness, and his voice broke--"Dearest." Her face was upturned to his, her lips so near; he felt her heart beating as furiously as his own. He kissed her--her lips, her eyes, her dear hair---- "O, God, I'm happy!" she sobbed, "so--so happy----" * * * * * Sanders sprang ashore just as the sun was rising, and came thoughtfully through the undergrowth to the camp. Abiboo, squatting by the curtained bed, did not rise. Sanders walked to the bed, pulled aside the mosquito netting, and bent over the man who lay there. Then he drew the curtains again, lit his pipe slowly, and looked down at Abiboo. "When did he die?" he asked. "In the dark of the morning, master," said the man. Sanders nodded slowly. "Why did you not send for me?" For a moment the squatting figure made no reply, then he rose and stretched himself. "Master," he said, speaking in Arabic--which is a language which allows of nice distinctions--"this man was happy; he walked in the Forest of Happy Thoughts; why should I call him back to a land where there was neither sunshine nor happiness, but only night and pain and sickness?" "You're a philosopher," said Sanders irritably. "I am a follower of the Prophet," said Abiboo, the Kano boy; "and all things are according to God's wisdom." CHAPTER VIII. THE AKASAVAS. You who do not understand how out of good evil may arise must take your spade to some virgin grassland, untouched by the hand of man from the beginning of time. Here is soft, sweet grass, and never a sign of nettle, or rank, evil weed. It is as God made it. Turn the soil with your spade, intent on improving His handiwork, and next season--weeds, nettles, lank creeping things, and coarse-leafed vegetation cover the ground.