of disaster. Suppose, for instance, this boy were to turn out a strong
man. Do you see?"

Dewes nodded his head.

"Yes, I see," he answered, and he answered so because he saw that Luffe
had come to the end of his strength. His voice had weakened, he lay with
his eyes sunk deep in his head and a leaden pallor upon his face, and his
breath laboured as he spoke.

"I am glad," replied Luffe, "that you understand."

But it was not until many years had passed that Dewes saw and understood
the trouble which was then stirring in Luffe's mind. And even then, when
he did see and understand, he wondered how much Luffe really had
foreseen. Enough, at all events, to justify his reputation for sagacity.
Dewes went out from the bedroom and climbed up on to the roof of the
Fort. The sun was up, the day already hot, and would have been hotter,
but that a light wind stirred among the almond trees in the garden. The
leaves of those trees now actually brushed against the Fort walls. Five
weeks ago there had been bare stems and branches. Suddenly a rifle
cracked, a little puff of smoke rose close to a boulder on the far side
of the river, a bullet sang in the air past Dewes' head. He ducked behind
the palisade of boards. Another day had come. For another day the flag,
manufactured out of some red cloth, a blue turban and some white cotton,
floated overhead. Meanwhile, somewhere among the passes, the relieving
force was already on the march.

Late that afternoon Luffe died, and his body was buried in the Fort. He
had done his work. For two days afterwards the sound of a battle was