By this time I had reached the gate which I opened, remarking quietly, “How do you do, Lord Ragnall? How do you do, Mr. Savage? I thought that I recognized your voices on the road and came to see if I was right. Please walk in; that is, if it is I whom you wish to visit.” As I spoke I studied them both, and observed that while Savage looked much the same, although slightly out of place in these strange surroundings, the time that had passed since we met had changed Lord Ragnall a good deal. He was still a magnificent-looking man, one of those whom no one that had seen him would ever forget, but now his handsome face was stamped with some new seal of suffering. I felt at once that he had become acquainted with grief. The shadow in his dark eyes and a certain worn expression about the mouth told me that this was so. “Yes, Quatermain,” he said as he took my hand, “it is you whom I have travelled seven thousand miles to visit, and I thank God that I have been so fortunate as to find you. I feared lest you might be dead, or perhaps far away in the centre of Africa where I should never be able to track you down.” “A week later perhaps you would not have found me, Lord Ragnall,” I answered, “but as it happens misfortune has kept me here.” “And misfortune has brought me here, Quatermain.” Then before I had time to answer Savage came up and we went into the house. “You are just in time for lunch,” I said, “and as luck will have it there is a good rock cod and a leg of oribé buck for you to eat. Boy, set two more places.” “One more place, if you please, sir,” said Savage. “I should prefer to take my food afterwards.” “You will have to get over that in Africa,” I muttered. Still I let him have his way, with the result that presently the strange sight was seen of the magnificent English majordomo standing behind my chair in the little room and handing round the square-face as though it were champagne. It was a spectacle that excited the greatest interest in my primitive establishment and caused Hans with some native hangers-on to gather at the window. However, Lord Ragnall took it as a matter of course and I thought it better not to interfere. When we had finished we went on to the stoep to smoke, leaving Savage to eat his dinner, and I asked Lord Ragnall where his luggage was. He replied that he had left it at the Customs. “Then,” I said, “I will send a native with Savage to arrange about getting it up here. If you do not mind my rough accommodation there is a room for you, and your man can pitch a tent in the garden.” After some demur he accepted with gratitude, and a little later Savage and the native were sent off with a note to a man who hired out a mule-cart. “Now,” I said when the gate had shut behind them, “will you tell me why you have come to Africa?” “Disaster,” he replied. “Disaster of the worst sort.” “Is your wife dead, Lord Ragnall?” “I do not know. I almost hope that she is. At any rate she is lost to me.”