In the background, emotional thrills travelled across the orderly's foolishly sentimental countenance. He took mental notes of a situation which bulked largely and enticingly in a letter to an apple-cheeked damsel in far-away Provence a few days later. "Such are the rewards of the soldier, my soul," he explained. "Love? Its cords are strong to drag its devotees even across this waste wilderness of Africa!" Wherein he did one of the most fertile lands upon the habitable globe a vile injustice. But your true lover is invariably a poet and girdled with merely a poet's limitations, while the apple-cheeked demoiselle's romantic sensibilities were quickened to the point of tears. Mr. Van Arlen moved forward to his daughter's side with a suddenly instinctive motion. And she understood it. The embarrassment of the situation had at once become plain to him; his desire was to clear it, he was framing words--courteous, no doubt, but without any trace of sentiment--to assist her in this. He would do it admirably; his tact was beyond question. And she? Again she felt a sudden thrill of protest. No, how could they deal coldly with this man, now? It would be less than womanly--would it even be common fair play? He was down. Surely till he was up again, the indomitable soldier she knew and feared, honor forbade their striking even at his self-assurance. Her hand was laid upon her father's arm, pressing it in gentle remonstrance. Then she leaned towards the bed. "We have come to thank you," she said quietly. "You have suffered much for us, too much." His smile was fading while she spoke. "I--I failed," he muttered. "I had my hands upon him, and failed." "Ah, but you mustn't think us unjust, always," she answered. "What you intended--that is what we look at. You have worked for us ceaselessly. And now you suffer for us. You must accept our gratitude for that." He shook his head slowly, and his gaze wandered past her to Van Arlen's face. "It is a check," he said slowly, "but only a check. He is not going to win." His eyes grew suddenly clear and his lips grim. "I shall follow him to the end," he said. The orderly moved forward and rearranged the coverlet. He looked significantly at a flush which had risen to Aylmer's cheek. "It is better that Monsieur should not excite himself," he explained amiably. "Mademoiselle is here; matters are going well. Monsieur will convalesce all the quicker if he avoids emotion." Aylmer pushed at the rearranged coverlet with a gesture of irritation. He drew himself into a sitting posture. "Don't think that I have flung up the sponge!" he cried. "Before, before this weakness came over me I arranged for the future. Daoud has seen to that; he has put matters in train. Landon will be watched--if necessary, followed. And when I am up again--" he smiled savagely--"when I take the trail for the second time, he will pay in full, as I promised he should."