and wondering if the morning would ever come; and even in that time of
tension the habit of his mind reasserted its sway. This long, silent
waiting for the dawn in the depths of an African forest with death at
his very elbow--here was another sharp event of life in vivid contrast
with all the others which had gone before. The years in London, the
letter-box opposite the Abbey where he had posted his manuscripts at
three in the morning and bought a cup of coffee at the stall by the
kerb--times so very close to him--the terms at Oxford, the strange
hungry days on the quays of Spain, the moonlit wanderings on the
footpath over the rustic ridge and up the hill, when he composed poems
to the moon and pithy short, great thoughts--here was something fresh to
add to them if he didn't go down at daybreak under the hoofs of the
herd! Here was yet a further token, that out of the vicissitudes of his
life something more, something new, something altogether different and
unimagined was to come, as the crown and ultimate reason of all that had
gone before. Once more the shikari's hand touched him and pointed
eastwards. The tree-trunks were emerging from the darkness. Beyond them
the black cup of the sky was thinning to translucency. Very quickly the
grey light widened beyond this vast palisade of trees. Even in here
below the high branches, it began to steal vaporous and dim. About them
on every side now the buffalo were moving. The shikari's grip tightened
on Hillyard's arm. The moment of danger had come. It would be the smash
of his breast-bone against the forehead of the beast, hoofs and knees
kneading his broken body and the thrust and lunge of the short curled
horns until long after he was dead, or--the new test and preparation to
add to those which had gone before!

Suddenly the shikari cried aloud.

"They are off"; and while he spoke came a loud snapping of boughs, the