"You’ve over-excited yourself again, Father. You were anxious about Gordon when his horse fell and those abominable spears were flying about." "Not a bit of it. I knew he would come out all right. The fighting devil isn’t civilised out of the British blood yet, thank God! But those Egyptians at the end—the ingrates, the dastards!" "Father!" "Oh, I am calm enough now—don’t be afraid, girl. I was sorry to hear Gordon standing up for them, though. A soldier every inch of him, but how unlike his father! Never saw father and son so different. Yet so much alike too! Fighting men both of them, Hope to goodness they’ll never come to grips. Heavens! that would be a bad day for all of us." And then drowsily, under the influence of the medicine— "I wonder what Nuneham wanted with Gordon! Something about those graceless tarbooshes, I suppose. He’ll make them smart for what they’ve done to-day. Wonderful man, Nuneham! Wonderful!" *CHAPTER III* John Nuneham was the elder son of a financier of whose earlier life little or nothing was ever learned. What was known of his later life was that he had amassed a fortune by colonial speculation, bought a London newspaper, and been made a baronet for services to his political party. Having no inclination towards journalism the son became a soldier, rose quickly to the rank of Brevet-Major, served several years with his regiment abroad, and at six-and-twenty went to India as Private Secretary to the Viceroy, who, quickly recognising his natural tendency, transferred him to the administrative side and put him on the financial staff. There he spent five years with conspicuous success, obtaining rapid promotion, and being frequently mentioned in the Viceroy’s reports to the Foreign Minister. Then his father died, without leaving a will, as the cable of the solicitors informed him, and he returned to administer the estate. Here a thunderbolt fell on him, for he found a younger brother, with whom he had nothing in common and had never lived at peace, preparing to dispute his right to his father’s title and fortune on the assumption that he was illegitimate, that is to say, was born before the date of the marriage of his parents. The allegation proved to be only too well founded, and as soon as the elder brother had recovered from the shock of the truth, he appealed to the younger one to leave things as they found them. "After all, a man’s eldest son is his eldest son—let matters rest," he urged; but his brother was obdurate. "Nobody knows what the circumstances may have been—is there no ground of agreement?" but his brother could see none. "You can take the inheritance, if that’s what you want, but let me find a way to keep the title so as to save the family and avoid scandal"; but his brother was unyielding. "For our father’s sake—it is not for a man’s sons to rake up the dead past of his forgotten life"; but the younger brother could not be stirred.