"At the second pigsty to the left," I repeated, "we will find the
breakfast I promised you seven eternities ago. Forward to the
pigsty!"

We said very little for the remainder of that walk. I had almost
reached the limit of endurance: with every step the broken ends of
the bone grated together. We found the farm-house without
difficulty, and I remember wondering if I could hold out to the end
of the old stone walk that led between hedges to the door.

"Allah be praised," I said with all the voice I could muster.
"Behold the coffee-pot!" And then I put down the grip and folded
up like a jack-knife on the porch floor.

When I came around something hot was trickling down my neck, and a
despairing voice was saying, "Oh, I don't seem to be able to pour
it into your mouth. Please open your eyes."

"But I don't want it in my eyes," I replied dreamily. "I haven't
any idea what came over me. It was the shoes, I think: the left
one is a red-hot torture." I was sitting by that time and looking
across into her face.

Never before or since have I fainted, but I would do it joyfully,
a dozen times a day, if I could waken again to the blissful touch
of soft fingers on my face, the hot ecstasy of coffee spilled by
those fingers down my neck. There was a thrill in every tone of
her voice that morning. Before long my loyalty to McKnight would
step between me and the girl he loved: life would develop new