The only association the sick man had with Amber was that other dramatic meeting, and though they met almost daily, the elder Sutton had no comment to offer than that. Day by day, whether he greeted him in the morning at breakfast, or took leave of him at night, the explorer’s distressed, “I am afraid my son shot at you,” was the beginning and the end of all conversation. They walked slowly back to the house, Amber and Peter bringing up the rear. “He’s more sensible, Mr. Amber,” said Peter. “He seems to have improved durin’ the last two days.” “How long has he had the benefit of your society, my Peter?” asked the other. “Two days,” replied the unconscious Mr. Musk. Amber had an opportunity of studying the old man as they sat at tea--the meals at White House were of a democratic character. Old he was not as years went, but the forest had whitened his hair and made deep seams in his face. Amber judged him to be of the same age as Lambaire. He spoke only when he was addressed. For the greater part of the time he sat with his head sunk on his breast deep in thought, his fingers idly tapping his knee. On one subject his mind was clear, and that was the subject which none cared to discuss with him--the River of Stars. In the midst of a general conversation he would begin talking quickly, with none of the hesitation which marked his ordinary speech, and it would be about diamonds. Amber was giving an account of his visit to London when the old man interrupted him. At first his voice was little above a whisper, but it grew in strength as he proceeded. “... there were a number of garnets on the ground,” he said softly, as though speaking to himself. “There were also other indications of the existence of a diamond pipe ... the character of the earth is similar to that found in Kimberley and near the Vaal River ... blue ground, indubitable blue ground ... naturally it was surprising to find these indications at a place so far remote from the spot wherein our inquiries had led us to believe the mine would be located.” They were silent when he paused. By-and-by he went on again. “The rumours of a mine and such specimens as I had seen led me to suppose that the pipe itself led to the north-westward of the great forest, that it should be at the very threshold of the country rather than at the furthermost border illustrates the uncertainty of exploration ... uncertainty ... uncertainty? that is hardly the word, I think....” He covered his eyes with his hand. Though they waited he said no more. It was a usual ending to these narratives of his; some one word had failed him and he would hesitate, seeking feebly the exact sentence to convey a shade of meaning, and then relapse into silence. The conversation became general again, and soon after Mr. Sutton went to his room. “He’s better,” said Amber heartily, as the door closed upon the bent figure. “We get nearer and nearer to the truth about that discovery of his.” Frank nodded.