“Yes, Mr. Travers, the Mine Manager, is very anxious to see you, and he wants to return you your property.” “What property?” “Some packages you had when you—came—in Walla Balla.” The boys looked at each other blankly. They had entirely forgotten the papyrus and censer and jewels they had brought from the Tomb of Korah. They had been worrying about their financial position, and now, if the jewels proved to be real, they could raise enough money and to spare for their expenses and their fares back to England. “Mr. Travers will be here in about half an hour,” went on the nurse. “Do you feel well enough to be wheeled out in chairs to the garden?” “Please,” said Desmond. “I’m sick of this room.” But they felt very weak as they walked across the corridor to where the bath chairs were awaiting them with many comfortable cushions and rugs. One of the under nurses wheeled Alan out first, and as Mavis tucked the rugs round Desmond, he whispered “Wheel me once round the garden first, Nurse.” The hazel eyes smiled down at the blue ones, and a touch of colour came into the nurse’s pretty cheeks. Of the two strangers, Desmond was her favourite. He reminded her of her brother—in many ways he was so helpless, and she mothered him and cared for him, until love had overtaken her unawares. She wheeled him along the grassy paths, and he asked her to stop and pick him a rose, but when she offered it, he saw only the roses in her cheeks—smelt only the perfume of her hair. “Mavis, Mavis,” he whispered, “will you come back to England with us—with me—when we go? It seems too soon to speak—I’m an old crock—old before my time—but you have brought me back to life and hope. I can’t tell you what we have been through, Alan and I. Some day you shall know the whole story. Meanwhile may I hope? I love you with my whole soul. Come back to England with me as my wife!” The hazel eyes grew tender as Mavis bent over the chair and smoothed the thin hand that lay on the coverlet. “I do care,” she whispered tremulously. “I have grown to care a great deal—but are you sure? I know so little of you both. I realize you have been through some terrible experiences. I won’t question you, I will trust you, but isn’t it wiser to wait? Wait until you are stronger. Perhaps in England there was a girl once,” the pretty lips trembled, “a girl you once cared for. She may be waiting still—but you have been ill, and have forgotten.”