among the trees. Then the stranger came slowly up the steps, with his eyes once more fixed upon the broken window. In another moment they had run like lightning over the face of the house, and, before Harry had time to move, had met his own. 

 The stranger raised his eyebrows, shook his head, and pointed to the front door. Harry went to it, shot the bolts back, turned the key, and flung the door wide open. He was trembling now with simple terror. His tongue would not ask what had happened. It was like standing to be shot, and having to give the signal to the firing party. 

 The other seemed to feel it almost equally: his fresh face was pale, and his quick eyes still with sorrow and compunction. It was evident he knew the worst. If only he would tell it unasked! 

 "My name is Lowndes," he began at last. "Gordon Lowndes—you must have heard of me?" 

 "I—I don't remember it," stammered Harry at the second attempt. 

 "I stayed here several times while you were in Africa. I was here in February." 

 "Yes, now I remember your name: it was in the last letter I had." 

 He could say this calmly; and yet his lips could not frame the question whose answer would indeed be life or death. 

 "Two years ago I did not know your people," resumed the other. "But for two years I have been their most intimate friend." 

 "Tell me," at length whispered Harry: "is—either of them—dead?" And he awaited the worst with a sudden fortitude. 

 Mr. Lowndes shook his head. 

 "Not that I know of," said he. 

 "Thank God!" the boy burst out, with the first break in his voice. "Nothing else matters—nothing—nothing! I made sure it was that! Can you swear that my father is all right?" 

 The other winced. "To the best of my knowledge," said he almost sharply. 

 "And my mother?" 

 "Yes, yes, I was with her three days ago." 

 "Where?" 

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