Gordon went about his work that morning like a man dazed and dumb, but after lunch he dressed himself carefully in his full staff uniform, with his aiguilettes hanging from his left shoulder, his gold and crimson sash, his sword, and his white, be-spiked helmet. He put on all his medals and decorations—his Distinguished Service Order: his King’s and South African War medal with four clasps: his British Soudan medal: his Medjidieh: and his Khedive’s medal with four clasps. It was not for nothing that he did this, nor merely because he was going to an official conference, but with a certain pride as of a man who had won the right to consideration. Taking a cab by the gate of the barracks he drove through the native quarters of the city, and saw crowds surging through the streets in the direction of El Azhar. The atmosphere seemed to tingle with the spirit of revolution, and seeing the operation of the sublime instinct of humanity which leads people in defence of their faith to the place where danger is greatest, he felt glad and proud that what was best in him was about to conquer. Arriving at the Citadel he found Helena’s black boy waiting for him at the door of the General’s house with a message from his mistress, saying the gentlemen had not arrived and she wished to see him. The city below lay bright under the warm _soolham_ of the afternoon sun, and the swallows were swirling past the windows of Helena’s sitting-room, but Helena herself was under a cloud. "I see what it is—you are angry with me for going to El Azhar last night," said Gordon. "No, it isn’t that, though I think you might have kept faith with me," she answered. "But we have no time to lose, and I have something to say to you. In the first place I want you to know that Colonel Macdonald, your Deputy Assistant Adjutant, has been ordered to stand by. He will be only too happy to take your place if necessary." "He’s welcome!" said Gordon. Her brows were contracted, her lips set. She fastened her eyes on him and said— "Then there is something else I wish to tell you." "What is it, Helena?" "When my father asked me if I could marry a man who had disobeyed and been degraded, I said ... But it doesn’t matter what I said. My father has hardly spoken to me since. It is the first cloud that has come between us—the very first. But when I answered him as I did, there was something I had forgotten." "What was it, dearest?" "I cannot tell you what it was—I can only tell you what it comes to." "What does it come to, Helena?" "That whatever happens to-day I can never leave my father—never as long as he lives." "God forbid that you should be tempted to do so—but why?" "That is what I cannot tell you. It is a secret." "I can think of no secret that I could not share with you, Helena." "Nor I with you—if it were my own—but this isn’t." "I cannot understand you, dear."