He gently pushed the wine towards him at the same time. Durnovo had not slept for forty hours. The excitement of his escape from the plague-ridden camp had scarcely subsided. The glitter of the silver on the table, the shaded candles, the subtle sensuality of refinement and daintiness appealed to his hot-blooded nature. He was a little off his feet perhaps. He took the decanter and put it to the worst use he could have selected. “Not so soon as that,” he said; “but in time--in time.” “Lucky beggar!” muttered Maurice Gordon, with a little sigh. “I don't mind telling you,” said Durnovo, with a sudden confidence begotten of Madeira, “that it's Simiacine--that's what it is. I can't tell you more.” “Simiacine,” repeated Gordon, fingering the stem of his wine-glass and looking at him keenly between the candle-shades. “Yes. You've always been on its track, haven't you?” “In six months your go-downs will be full of it--my Simiacine, my Simiacine.” “By God, I wish I had a hand in it.” Maurice Gordon pushed the decanter again--gently, almost surreptitiously. “And so you may, some day. You help me and I'll help you--that is my ticket. Reciprocity--reciprocity, my dear Maurice.” “Yes, but how?” “Can't tell you now, but I will in good time--in my own time. Come, let's join the ladies--eh? haha!” But at this moment the servant brought in coffee, saying in his master's ear that Miss Jocelyn had gone to bed with a slight headache. CHAPTER XV. A CONFIDENCE The spirits Of coming things stride on before their issues. There is nothing that brings men so close to each other as a common grievance or a common danger. Men who find pleasure in the same game or the same pursuit are drawn together by a common taste; but in the indulgence of it there is sure to arise, sooner or later, a spirit of competition. Now, this spirit, which is in most human affairs, is a new bond of union when men are fighting side by side against a common foe. During the three days that followed Durnovo's departure from Msala, Jack Meredith and Oscard learnt to know each other. These three days were as severe a test as could well be found; for courage, humanity, tenderness, loyalty, were by turns called forth by circumstance. Smallpox rages in Africa as it rages nowhere else in these days. The natives fight it or bow before it as before an ancient and deeply dreaded foe. It was nothing new to them, and it would have been easy enough for Jack and Oscard to prove to their own satisfaction that the presence of three white men at Msala was a danger to themselves and no advantage to the natives. It would have been very simple to abandon the river station, leaving there such men as were stricken down to care for each other. But such a thought never seemed to suggest itself. The camp was moved across the river, where all who seemed strong and healthy were placed under canvas, awaiting further developments.