depressing human habitation even for the most cheerful and care-free
of souls, a terrible place for a man in a dangerous mental state of
unstable equilibrium and cruel agony.... Only thirty miles away--and a
camel at the door. _Lucille_ still within a night's ride. Lucille and
absolute joy.... The desert and certain death--a death of which she
must be assured, that in time she might marry Ormonde Delorme or some
such sound, fine man. Abdul must find his body--and it must be the
body not of an obvious suicide, but of a man who, lost in the desert,
had evidently travelled in circles, trying to find his way to the hut
he had left, on a shooting expedition. Yes--he knew all about
travelling in circles--and what he had done in ignorance (as well as
in agony and horror), he would now do intentionally and with grim
purpose. Hard on the poor camel!... Perhaps he could manage so that it
was set free in time to find its way back somehow. It would if it were
loosed within smell of water.... He must die fairly and squarely of
hunger and thirst--no blowing out of brains or throat-cutting, no
trace of suicide; just lost, poor chap, and no more to be said....
Death of _thirst_--in that awful desert--_again_--No! God in Heaven he
had faced the actual pangs of it once, and escaped--he could _not_
face it again--he wasn't strong enough ... and the unhappy man sprang
to his feet to rush from the room and saddle-up the camel for--Life
and Lucille--and then his eye fell on the Sword, the Sword of his
Fathers, brought to him by Lucille, who had said, "Have it with you
always, Dearest. It can _talk_ to you, as even I can not...."

He sat down and drew it from the incongruous modern case and from its
scabbard. Ha! What did it say but "_Honour_!" What was its message but
"Do the right thing. Death is nothing--Honour is everything. Be worthy
of your Name, your Traditions, your Ancestors--"