“No communication with what you call the world outside. No mail. No trade. You would lose by that, Lechworthy.”
“Yes, yes, never mind about that. Did you not tell me that you had used a bad weapon once, and that it had hurt your hand, but that you would burn it with a little powder and it would be clean? It has been burned with powder. It is clean now. The chance for the native Faloo begins to-day.”
They talked long and earnestly on their way back to the house together.
Late that evening Lechworthy found himself alone with his niece.
“So it comes to an end,” he said. “To-morrow the Snowflake. You’re sure he’s strong enough for it?”
Hilda laughed. “If I didn’t feel sure, I wouldn’t let him go.”
“And in a month—five weeks—some such time—you will be married. And after that when shall we meet again?”
“You must come out here. We’ve been talking about that.”
“Well, it’s quite likely. And perhaps, not now but, in a few years, he will come back to England.”