the shadow of Life?" he asked. "If you love the shadow because the substance has passed away--if you love the soul because the dust has returned to the earth as it was--" "It has _not_!" said the younger man. The Tracer said very gravely: "It is written that whenever 'the Silver Cord' is loosed, 'then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto Him who gave it.'" "The spirit--yes; _that_ has taken its splendid flight--" His voice choked up, died out; he strove to speak again, but could not. The Tracer let him alone, and bent again over his desk, drawing imaginary circles on the stained blotter, while moment after moment passed under the tension of that fiercest of all struggles, when a man sits throttling his own soul into silence. And, after a long time, Burke lifted a haggard face from the cradle of his crossed arms and shook his shoulders, drawing a deep, steady breath. "Listen to _me_!" he said in an altered voice. And the Tracer of Lost Persons nodded. CHAPTER XVIII "When I left the Point I was assigned to the colored cavalry. They are good men; we went up Kettle Hill together. Then came the Philippine troubles, then that Chinese affair. Then I did staff duty, and could not stand the inactivity and resigned. They had no use for me in Manchuria; I tired of waiting, and went to Venezuela. The prospects for service there were absurd; I heard of the Moorish troubles and went to Morocco. Others of my sort swarmed there; matters dragged and dragged, and the Kaiser never meant business, anyway. Being independent, and my means permitting me, I got some shooting in the back country. This all degenerated into the merest nomadic wandering--nothing but sand, camels, ruins, tents, white walls, and blue skies. And at last I came to the town of Sa-el-Hagar." His voice died out; his restless, haunted eyes became fixed. "Sa-el-Hagar, once ancient Saïs," repeated the Tracer quietly; and the young man looked at him. "You know _that_?" "Yes," said the Tracer.
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