But this was hopelessly unsound, heresy, perilous stuff; almost, it
seemed to him, a posthumous betrayal. . . .



11


One night when he was in India the spirit of adventure came upon
Benham. He had gone with Kepple, of the forestry department, into
the jungle country in the hills above the Tapti. He had been very
anxious to see something of that aspect of Indian life, and he had
snatched at the chance Kepple had given him. But they had scarcely
started before the expedition was brought to an end by an accident,
Kepple was thrown by a pony and his ankle broken. He and Benham
bandaged it as well as they could, and a litter was sent for, and
meanwhile they had to wait in the camp that was to have been the
centre of their jungle raids. The second day of this waiting was
worse for Kepple than the first, and he suffered much from the
pressure of this amateurish bandaging. In the evening Benham got
cool water from the well and rearranged things better; the two men
dined and smoked under their thatched roof beneath the big banyan,
and then Kepple, tired out by his day of pain, was carried to his
tent. Presently he fell asleep and Benham was left to himself.

Now that the heat was over he found himself quite indisposed to
sleep. He felt full of life and anxious for happenings.

He went back and sat down upon the iron bedstead beneath the banyan,
that Kepple had lain upon through the day, and he watched the soft