Everard smiled very wearily at the words. "I've given up expecting any light from that quarter," he said. "It seems to me that He hasn't much use for the wanderers once they get off the beaten track." "Oh, my dear chap!" Bernard's hands pressed upon him suddenly. "Do you really believe He has no care for that which is lost? Have you blundered along all this time and never yet seen the lamp in the desert? You will see it--like every other wanderer--sooner or later, if you only have the pluck to keep on." "You seem mighty sure of that." Everard looked at him with a species of dull curiosity. "Are you sure?" "Of course I am sure." Bernard spoke vigorously. "And so are you in your heart. You know very well that if you only push on you won't be left to die in the wilderness. Have you never thought to yourself after a particularly dark spell that there has always been a speck of light somewhere--never total darkness for any length of time? That's the lamp in the desert, old chap. And--whether you realize it or not--God put it there." He ceased to speak, and rose quietly to his feet; then, as Everard stretched a hand to him, gave him a steady pull upwards. They stood face to face. "And that," Bernard added, after a few moments, "is all I've got to say. You turn in now and get a rest! If you want me, well, you know where to find me--just any time." "Thanks!" Everard said. His hand held his brother's hard. "But--before you go--there's one thing I want to say--no, two." A shadowy smile touched his grim lips and vanished. His eyes were still and wholly remote, sheltering his soul. "Go ahead!" said Bernard gently. Everard paused for a second. "You have asked no promise of me," he said then; "but--I'll make you one. And I want one from you in return." Again he paused, as if he had some difficulty in finding words. "You can rely on me," Bernard said. "Yes, old fellow." For an instant his eyes smiled also. "I know it. It's by that fact alone that you've gained your point. And so I'll hang on somehow for the present--find another way--anyhow hang on, just because you are what you are--and because--" his voice sank a little--"you care." "Don't you know I love you before any one else in the world?" Bernard said, giving him a mighty grip. "Yes," Everard looked him straight in the face, "I do. And it means more to me than perhaps you think. In fact--it's everything to me just now. That's why I want you to promise me--whatever happens--whatever I decide to do--that you will stay within reach of--that you will take care of--my--my--of Stella." He ended abruptly, with a quick gesture that held entreaty. And Bernard's reply came instantly, almost before he had ceased to speak. "Before God, old chap, I will." "Thanks," Everard said again. He stood for a few moments as if debating something further, but in the end he freed himself and turned away. "She will be all right, with you," he said. "You're--safe anyhow." "Quite safe," said Bernard steadily.