When Carew had started up into the Acropolis Hill an hour previously, he had not had the faintest intention of fulfilling his engagement and going in search of Meryl. On the contrary, he had gone there to avoid her.

All day long, as Stanley described, he had been grinding away at his native report in a gruff, determined silence: a silence even gruffer and more determined than usual. Because of his thoughts the previous evening and of his decision in the morning, he had finally made up his mind not to visit the temple with Meryl Pym, and not to run any further risk of slipping unconsciously into the friendly attitude he was so anxious to avoid. When Stanley set out towards the tents, he mentioned casually that he was going up the valley to the store, which is also a most attractive and comfortable hostel for Zimbabwe visitors, and should ask the two girls to go with him. A little later, glancing in the valley direction, Carew saw the khaki figure for a moment going up the pathway, and the flutter of a light dress, or possibly two, just ahead. He took it for granted that Meryl and Diana had both accompanied Stanley, and that his escort was no longer expected. He told himself he was glad, and decided to go into the Acropolis Hill, about that point of interest still unravelled between himself and Grenville, and so avoid any chance encounter.

But when he found himself among the ruined fortifications, he became conscious of a flagging interest wholly unlooked for. Something seemed to have gone out of him, or out of the ancient stones, and he knew himself in some vague way not in tune. He gazed at the amazing walls, erected upon granite boulders two hundred to two hundred and fifty feet above the valley, and the marvel in him that never seemed to die was, at any rate, less arresting than it had ever been before.

Here, on an isolated hill, rising to a height of three hundred and fifty feet, were fortifications which in their ingenuity, massive character, and persistent repetition at every point of vantage had astonished the highest experts of modern military engineering. Rampart walls, traverses, screen-walls, intricate entrances, narrow and labyrinthine passages, sunken thoroughfares, banquettes, parapets, and other devices of a people thoroughly conversant with military engineering and defence, and not one word, not one line, not one clue as to the identity of the builders nor the object of their colossal labours; labours which one felt could only have been achieved through the compulsory service of many slaves, for thousands of tons of granite blocks had been transported up the precipitous kopje to a height of no less than two hundred feet, which a careful examination of the rocks on the hill proves must mostly have been quarried from granite about twelve miles distant. And all this in spite of the fact that Nature alone had made the hill already impregnable, it being inaccessible on three sides and very difficult of ascent on the fourth. It is one of Rhodesia's mysteries, and one also of its fascinations; those mysteries and fascinations which so far have effectually baffled all efforts to find the clue and read the closed book. Who was it came for gold in those old, old days? Who was it built the line of forts to Solfala on the coast to guard the route along which the gold was undoubtedly carried, and of which remains may still be seen at regular intervals the whole distance? Where was the gold taken to from Solfala, and by whom?

And no less strange perhaps is the absence of all clue to the burial-ground of this stalwart race; for only a stalwart people could have built those temple walls and those amazing fortifications. Where then are the bones of their dead? Strange and incomprehensible as it may seem, no excavations have yet unearthed human bones, or brought to light any spot that might be supposed to have been a burial-ground.

To Peter Carew the mystery and the fascination had become such an ever-present companion in his thoughts, that it was not surprising a moment should come when he stood among the ramparts and found their interest for the time being crowded out. The surprising thing was the source of that crowding out. For it was not even the lengthy report for the Native Commission to which he was giving such infinite thought and pains that filled his mind; neither was it anything to do with the police force he had grown to care for as truly as his old regiment; nor any far-reaching, visionary dream for the welfare of the country. Chiefly it was a pair of grave blue-grey eyes, with a gleam in them as their owner said, "Will you take me if I promise not to ask any silly questions?" And he had said "Yes." Yet now he was here on the Acropolis Hill alone.

He stared moodily at the broken walls and pondered within himself. Why had he not taken her? Or why, since he had chosen not to do so, could he not put the whole remembrance from his mind? Nay, why did he half begin to wish that he had not let himself be overruled by his own counsel of prudence? They would be going so soon now, and it might be long before he would again be given an opportunity to speak with any woman of Meryl's charm, or look into any face so full of attraction. And yet that was just what he wished; was actually the chief reason for his unsociable resolutions. His own inconsistency puzzled and worried him, and his eyes as he looked steadily to the horizon had a lurking cloud in them.

Then quite suddenly and unexpectedly he had turned his gaze to the temple walls lying far below, and seen the figure seated idly on fallen masonry, lost in thought.

Then she had not gone with Stanley and Diana? She had remained behind alone, nettled perhaps by his bearishness, and choosing to be independent, and still take her stroll to the temple without him.

But it was not the thought of her possible censure that spurred him unexpectedly to a new decision. He had accustomed himself to be indifferent to that in most people. It was a perfectly simple and direct desire to join her. And because at heart he was a perfectly simple and direct man, he suddenly left off cogitating and started down the hill. Perhaps until that moment he had not truly known which way his desire lay. Perhaps in the first discovery he had purposely not chosen to give himself time to weigh and probe. Anyhow, he hesitated no more, until he stood at her side and looked into her eyes with that direct gaze that Meryl so unexpectedly found disconcerting. But the sensation passed rapidly, and in its place came a quiet content. Whether he had avoided her all day or not, at least he came now entirely of his own initiative, and for the time it was enough. She was too honest to pretend anything herself, and possessed too fine a nature to cover what might have held embarrassment by a coquettish taunt or feigned pique.

"I had given you up," she said; "it seemed probable that you had spoken unthinkingly when you said you would come."

"I have been working all day at my report," he replied simply.

He seemed a little different somehow, and besides, he had come entirely of his own free will. She remembered it, and put away all sense of restraint, fought down and conquered the self-consciousness that sometimes seemed to grip her when he was taciturn and aloof.

He had placed one foot on a low wall, and leaned back against a tree in a natural, unrestrained attitude, and quite naturally she seated herself on the wall before him.

"You found it very engrossing?"

"It is interesting work."

"Has it any special object, or just a general one?"

"A little of both. We want to benefit the natives as a whole and improve their conditions; and we want also to make some changes in the native administration of the country."

"And you are fond of the natives? For you at least they are worth while?"

"Emphatically so."

"To any particular end?"

His face grew grave and thoughtful, but the hardening stayed away still—the hardening that so often came when either she or Diana, sought to draw him. Only apparently to men would he speak of his work and his beliefs.

"It is difficult to say. Probably nothing but time will show us the true solution of the problem of the black and the white race living together in one country. But meanwhile the black man is eminently worth while. With firm and just treatment he is capable of great development."

He raised his eyes and looked out into the distance. "If only we could ensure it for him everywhere! Native commissioners and their clerks and the magistrates, all men of fine fibre, who honestly care about the natives under them and the welfare of the country. So much could be done if ... if ..." He smiled a little grimly. "We are so apt to expect the impossible," he finished. "How should numbers of men of fine fibre ever reach Rhodesia at all? In so many cases we must just take what we can get."

"But the standard will improve as the country grows?"

"O yes; it is improving steadily. All the signs are hopeful, if we can but light upon what is truly the best method of administering the native laws, and get good men to carry the work out."

And still the heavenly sense of unrestrained mental kinship lingered. Happy, yet fearful, Meryl ventured a word of appreciation.

"It must make you glad to feel you are doing such a useful work for a young country. It seems as if ... as if ... it is just what a man might ask to be doing."

He drew himself up with a slightly taut movement, and she divined he did not wish for any personal praise; yet, because a tinge of red showed under the bronze, she was glad she had seized the opportunity to offer a tribute that might at some odd moment heal a passing sense of uselessness and appreciation.

She stood up also, and they moved slowly round the ruins together, while he explained to her much that he had read and gathered and surmised in his leisure hours, not only about the temple itself, but about all the ancient remains and the mysterious people who had dwelt there long ago. Told as he told it, the listener could only find it enthralling, for the man's heart was in his subject; and where another might have rhapsodised or sentimentalised, he only stated certain remarkable facts, and gave her the simple reasons for and against certain deductions, that she might decide her own view for herself.

"But you?..." she questioned at last. "In spite of the scientific men who have scoffed, and their followers who have thrown cold water upon all enthusiastic belief in the antiquity of the ruins, you are quite satisfied that they are really of a very great age, are you not?"

"Absolutely."

"Can you tell me why chiefly?" She smiled a little. "I believe it absolutely myself, but I am afraid it is partly a sentimental belief. Already I love them, and it makes me jealous for them. I feel I cannot bear anyone to throw doubt upon their antiquity."

"It is not easy to explain in a few words, without a great many facts and a lot of detail, but I can tell you one or two salient points. For one thing, Zimbabwe was evidently connected with a gold industry on a very large scale. Mr. Telford Edwards, a well-known and able mining engineer in Rhodesia, measured up, about fourteen years ago, the length, breadth, and depth of most of the then known old workings in Rhodesia, and calculated the cubic contents of what had been taken out. And taking the assay value in each old working to be per ton the same as it is in the reef in each case now, he estimated that at the present value of gold more than one hundred million pounds' worth had been taken out. Even two hundred years ago gold was worth very much more than it is now; so that it is inconceivable that such an amount had been produced within the last two thousand years without any mention of it anywhere. Such a production of gold would have upset the markets of the world."

"Yes," she said eagerly as he paused; "please go on."

He did so, but without withdrawing his gaze from the distance. "Another point is that the workings are so widely dispersed and so numerous, requiring such an enormous amount of time and labour, that it seems only reasonable to believe that the gold-mining went on for many hundreds of years, probably before the age of writing at all. I am not prepared to agree offhand that Zimbabwe is probably the ancient Havilah of the Scriptures, but I see no very good reason why it should not be. On the other hand, the ancient workings and fortifications and temples may have been the work of Phoenicians or Mongols several thousand years ago. Certainly against Mr. McIver's theory, that the Temple was the work of Bantus a few hundred years ago, I think we may put the fact that an admirable drainage system has been unearthed;—drainage systems of any kind being more or less unknown to black races of a low order. In the meantime, we can but await fresh clues, which may put us upon the track of proofs, and hope that the day is not very far distant when much of the mystery will be cleared."

"O, I hope so," she said; "and thank you so much for telling me all that you have. I shall think of it often when I am back in 'the cities of the plain,'" and she smiled a little wistfully.

He did not answer, and she wondered what deep thoughts at the back of his brain made him always so grave. She felt instinctively he had not always worn this serious, preoccupied air, and her heart grew tender anew at the thought of that "something" which had hurt him long ago.

Had he ever told anyone? she wondered. Would he ever tell anyone?... or would he go quietly on through his life, self-contained, self-dependent, aloof? Well, it was good to have met him and known him; a simple, strong soul going quietly about its appointed service is always good to have known. Perhaps the recollection of the meeting later would help her to do likewise, and in the maze of her life learn at least to do the simple, strong thing at the moment.

They were moving towards the western entrance now, and she wondered if he would accompany her back to the tents, and perhaps stay a little, as Stanley did evening after evening. But just as they approached the opening voices were heard, and a moment later Diana and Stanley stood in the wide aperture. Diana's winsome face was lit with whimsical mischievousness, but it fell somewhat when she beheld Carew.

"O goodness!" she remarked comically. "Who would have thought of finding you here?"

Stanley and Meryl laughed at her apparent discomfiture, and even Carew relaxed as he replied, "You don't seem entirely pleased."

"Well, no, I'm not; but if you are just leaving it doesn't matter."

"I think I shall stay; I scent some vandalism."

"O well," airily, "if you will have it, we were just coming to dig for corpses;" and she tossed her head with an independent air.

"It is strictly forbidden to dig for anything on pain of various dire penalties," Carew told her.

"I know it is, and that is just exactly why it interferes with my plans to find you here."

"I see. And what about Mr. Stanley, who is also a representative of the Government that made the laws?"

"Mr. Stanley is only a trooper, and I am Diana Pym. It is not his place to interfere with my actions. It would only be mine to shield him if he was persuaded to help me and got into trouble."

"And what in the world do you want with a corpse, Di?" asked Meryl.

"Why gold, of course! Mr. Stanley has been telling me a perfectly thrilling theory about corpses with a lot of antique gold ornaments on them being buried in the ruins; and he knows where one or two are, because a gold-diviner showed him with his divining-rod, and he marked the places in case he wanted to remember later; and to-day is when he did want to remember later, and he's just strolled round with me to point out the spots; and if that isn't a long enough sentence for you, you must add some more yourself," drawing a long breath.

The Kid, enjoying himself hugely, hastened to add for Carew's benefit, "It's only just a joke. Miss Pym wanted me to show her where our visitor of the other day said he had divined gold."

"It's not a joke at all," declared Diana defiantly. "It's the key to the whole mystery. While all you scientific folks are arguing this, that, and the other, I want to look and see. Besides, if there are antique gold ornaments, perhaps a few thousand years old, I want some. I'm not specially in love with your old broken walls, but I'm ready to be in love with your jewellery, worn a few thousand years ago."

"You Philistine!" exclaimed Meryl. "If you can't appreciate the ruins, you certainly ought not to be allowed to possess a single treasure taken from them."

"O rot!... What's the use of decayed old walls anyway? You and Major Carew can have the heaps of stones. We don't want to rob you of so much as a pebble. But we do badly want to dig down and look for a corpse."

"And when did you propose to begin?" asked Carew.

"Well, I suppose a moonlight night would be best, when you're rolled up in your den or else when you've gone off to a distant kraal."

"You would see a ghost in about half an hour," from Meryl, "and fly for your life."

"O, are there ghosts?" looking suddenly dubious. "Did your diviner divine any ghosts while he was about it?..." turning to Stanley. "You never told me that. Of course, I shouldn't much like to be handling a corpse, and feel its ghost put a cold, clammy hand on my shoulder. What a horrible idea! Do you think there are any?"

"There might be;" and The Kid's eyes twinkled. "Of course, I supposed you would imagine we ran risks of that sort."

"Ugh!..." with a cold shudder. "I believe I can see one now. It must have overheard me saying I coveted those gold ornaments. Come away quickly. I want ... I want ... now don't look shocked, Meryl; I want a whisky and soda!..."

They followed her out from the gathering gloom of the walls into the quick-coming darkness, and as she and Stanley pressed on ahead, Carew and Meryl could only follow. As they did so they spoke little. It was as though some bond of sympathy between them had slipped into being of itself outside their consciousness altogether, and with a blessed sense of quiet understanding neither attempted to make conversation; and neither questioned as yet whence came this unsought bond, this link forged as by a power outside themselves. The time for probing was near, but it lingered yet a little.

As they approached the tents and joined the other two waiting to make their adieux, Diana's voice again broke in upon their quiet, dispelling its curious sense of unreality.

"It wasn't you I was afraid of, Major Carew," she called lightly. "Baboons and owls and bears I dare tackle any day; but a ghost three thousand years old!... ugh!... I give it up!... You will not need to add to that precious native report another one, concerning the daring theft of a corpse from the ancient ruins of Zimbabwe by a well-known young lady from Johannesburg."

He smiled into her laughing eyes in a manner that surprised her, and made his face extraordinarily attractive in a way she had not yet seen it.

"And what would have happened to Stanley, do you suppose?... I'm afraid the police force might have considered it necessary to dispense with his services."

"O, that wouldn't have mattered in Rhodesia in the least! He'd have opened a butcher's shop, or come on with us as our butler, or gone and dug a hole in a kopje and called it gold-mining. No one would have thought any the worse of him, and I'd have felt indebted to him for life. We'd both have had a run for our money, anyhow!..." and she laughed gaily as she turned away.

But in their tent, alone together, she suddenly made the epigrammatic remark, "Dangerous, very dangerous indeed; like most bears. Mind you don't get badly clawed, Meryl!..." and then with her usual lightness ran off into another subject.