"I think," said Lucy, "you had better send one or two spare men on ahead with a brief note to my husband saying you will be arriving at our station in about an hour, that you met me on the road and will bring me on with you. This will give our people time to—to—plan where to put you all. There won’t be room for everybody inside the stockade. Then when you’ve sent off the note we can rest for half an hour or so in that piece of shade, where there are the euphorbias and the fig trees, and I shan’t feel quite so shaky. I’ve been rather ill—I’ll tell you all about it when you’ve sent off the note." Roger scribbled the message on a leaf out of his road-book. "There is our station," said Lucy, "about two miles off, on that great spur that comes out from the mountain. You can see the white houses and the red brick chapel and the glint of the corrugated iron. And away to the—well, I s’pose it’s the south—is the chief Mbogo’s principal village—all those little brown huts...." The two impatient messengers scarcely waited for this information but bounded off to deliver their message and find some resting-place for the caravan, extenuated as it was with the long, hot march. Lucy took Roger’s arm—how it thrilled her, how like an impossible dream come true!—and followed by Halima and the machila reached the patch of blue shade made by a group of candelabra euphorbias and fig trees with thick glossy leaves and pendent branches. The ground underneath was absolutely clear of any cover for snakes and was whitish with the ashes of many a cooking fire, lit here by caravans arriving at evening and preferring to postpone their interviews with Chief Mbogo—sometimes a rapacious gentleman over his dues—till the morning light. Whilst Brentham’s cook was preparing a cup of tea, Lucy poured forth tumultuously her story of the chief happenings of the past six months. Brentham said in reply that she must have gone through a beastly time; but she might now take heart. He had come with definite instructions to take her away to the coast and her husband too, if the men-folk agreed. "Any other English woman at the station?" he inquired. Lucy told him there was Ann Jamblin, but did not think the present moment the right one in which to expatiate on the irritating side of Ann’s disposition. Moreover now that she was going back to England, why run down Ann? If Ann stayed behind, as she was convinced she would do, she might be a great comfort to John. "Don’t think it odd of me," finished Lucy, "if when we reach the station I go straight to my house and to bed. I feel really too much shaken to take part in any discussion. I would much sooner you settled everything with John. I’m sure he won’t oppose my going."