Stella Croyle quoted the verses gaily, and Hillyard, lost in the
anticipation of his journey, never noticed that the gaiety rang false.

"And where are you going?" she asked.

"To the Sudan."

It seemed that Stella expected just that answer and no other. She gazed
into the fire without moving, seeking to piece together a picture in the
coals of that unknown country which held all for which she yearned.

"I shall travel slowly up the White Nile to Renk," Hillyard continued,
blissfully. He was delighted at the interest which Mrs. Croyle was
taking in his itinerary. She was clearly a superior person. "From Renk,
I shall cross to the Blue Nile at Rosaires, and travel eastward again to
the River Dinder----"

"You are most fortunate," Stella interrupted wistfully.

"Yes, am I not?" cried Hillyard. It looked as if nothing would break
through his obtuseness.

"I should love to be going in your place."

"You?"

Hillyard smiled. She was for a mantelshelf in a boudoir, not for a camp.

"Yes--I," and her voice suddenly broke.