The study lamp grew dim, flickered spasmodically; and, finally, went out. David reached for matches, and lighted one candle on the table at his elbow.
He saw his Prayer-book on the floor, picked it up, and glanced at the open page. "Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take unto Himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground——"
David smiled. It seemed so simple a solution to all earthly difficulties:—"we therefore commit his body to the ground." It promised peace at the last.
Who would read those words, over the forest grave in Central Africa? Would he be borne, feet foremost, down the aisle of the Church of the Holy Star—his church and Diana's—or would he be carried straight from his own hut to the open grave beneath the mighty trees? It would not matter at all to his wasted body, which it was; but, ah, how much it would matter to the people he left behind!
"Oh God, give me light—give me light!"
The clock struck three.
The study grate was black. The last red ember had burned itself out.
David shuddered. He was too completely lost to outward things to be conscious of the cold; but he shuddered in unison with the many passing souls.