"Now," I said when the gate had shut behind them, "will you tell me why
you have come to Africa?"

"Disaster," he replied. "Disaster of the worst sort."

"Is your wife dead, Lord Ragnall?"

"I do not know. I almost hope that she is. At any rate she is lost to
me."

An idea leapt to my mind to the effect that she might have run away with
somebody else, a thing which often happens in the world. But fortunately
I kept it to myself and only said,

"She was nearly lost once before, was she not?"

"Yes, when you saved her. Oh! if only you had been with us, Quatermain,
this would never have happened. Listen: About eighteen months ago she
had a son, a very beautiful child. She recovered well from the business
and we were as happy as two mortals could be, for we loved each other,
Quatermain, and God has blessed us in every way; we were so happy that
I remember her telling me that our great good fortune made her feel
afraid. One day last September when I was out shooting, she drove in a
little pony cart we had, with the nurse, and the child but no man, to
call on Mrs. Scroope who also had been recently confined. She often went
out thus, for the pony was an old animal and quiet as a sheep.

"By some cursed trick of fate it chanced that when they were passing
through the little town which you may remember near Ragnall, they met a