Chapter Thirty Three.
Envoi.
The table was laid out in the cool shade of the fig-trees, but the birds which loved to depredate in crowds in the garden at Sipazi had taken themselves off to the further end of the same with that object, for it was not quiet here; not by any means. A small, but very jovial party was assembled, a party of six. And it was Christmas day.
The afternoon heat of the midsummer day shimmered without, but there was no hot wind, wherefore here in the cool shade it was delightful. Nearly a year had gone by since we first made acquaintance with the spot, and the party here gathered; nearly half a year since we last saw the latter brought safely through the times of peril and anxiety which that year had brought forth. And upon the third finger of the left hand of two members of that party was a plain ring of somewhat suspicious brightness—which had not been there then.
“I say,” cried Hyland, getting up to pop off another of the gold-headed bottles which stood in a vaatje of water. “We’ve drank all our own healths and everybody else’s. Now we ought to drink the health of this jolly ghost party.”
“Contradiction in terms, boy,” said his father. “Who ever heard of a ‘jolly’ ghost?”
“Well, ain’t we? We’re all in white.”
“Lucky we’re not all in black,” said Edala, half seriously.
“Hear—hear!” cried Prior.