And, away in the African swamps, at that very hour, David, lying in his wooden hut, recovering from one of the short bouts of fever, now becoming so frequent, leaned upon his elbow and drew from beneath his pillow Diana's last letter, which he had been too ill to read when the mail came in; scanned it through eagerly, seeking for some word which might breathe more than mere friendliness; pressed his hot lips against the signature, _yours affectionately_, _Diana Rivers_; then lay back and fought the hopeless consuming longing, which grew as the months passed by, strengthening as he weakened. "I promised it should never mean more than she intended," he said. "She chose me, because she trusted me. I should be a hound, to go back! But oh, my wife--my wife--my wife!" * * * * * "You can serve dinner for me in the library to-night, Rodgers," said Diana. "Tell Mrs. Mallory I shall dine there alone. I am tired. Yes, thank you; I caught the mail." She shivered. "Order fires everywhere, please. The place is like an ice-house. Winter has taken us unawares." She moved wearily across the great silent hall, and slowly mounted the staircase. No light shone through the stained-glass window at the bend of the staircase; the stern outline of Rivers knights stood unrelieved by glow of colour. The knight with the dark bared head, his helmet beneath his arm, more than ever seemed to resemble David; not David in his usual quiet gentleness; but David, standing white and rigid, protesting, in startled dismay: "Why not? Why, because, even if I wished--even if you wished--even if we both wished for each other--in that way, Central Africa is no place for a woman. I would never take a woman there." As she looked at the young knight with the close-cropped dark head, and white face, she remembered her sudden gust of fury against David; and the mighty effort with which she had surmounted it. Her answer came back to her with merciless accuracy; and, turning half way up the second flight of stairs, she faced the shadowy knight, and repeated it in low tones. "My dear Cousin David, you absolutely mistake my meaning. I gave you credit for more perspicacity. I have not the smallest intention of going to Central Africa, or of ever inflicting my presence or my companionship, upon you.... And you yourself have told me, over and over, that you never expect to return to England." Diana's hand tightened upon the balustrade, as she stood looking across at the big window. These were the words she had spoken to David. The bareheaded knight remained immovable; but his face seemed to whiten, and his outline to become more uncompromisingly mail-clad. "David," came the low tender voice from the staircase, "oh, David, I _do_ want you--'in that way'! I would go to Central Africa or anywhere else in the wide world to be with you, David. Send for me, David, or come to me--oh, David, come to me!"