246 The Light That Failed all the world was desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On their return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was doing. The blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand on George’s elbow as he replied — “Egyptian Government — mules. My orders are to give them over to the A.C.G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion to show my papers?” “Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I’d no right to ask, but not seeing your face before I —” “I go out in the train tonight, I suppose,” said Dick, boldly. “There will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?” “You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up early.” The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down waif this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark, and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking of what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, and all had been as it was not. George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. There was a great bustle and clamor about him. He grew afraid and almost called for George. “I say, have you got your mules ready?” It was the voice of the subaltern over his shoulder. “My man’s looking after them. The — the fact is I’ve a touch of ophthalmia and can’t see very well. “By Jove! that’s bad. You ought to lie up in hospital