"
"I know," said Lewis dismally.
"You see it is the Nemesis of your race which has overtaken you. The
rich, strong blood of you Haystouns must be given room or it sours into
moodiness. It is either a spoon or a spoiled horn with you. You are
capable of the big virtues, and just because of it you are
extraordinarily apt to go to the devil. Not the ordinary devil, of
course, but to a very effective substitute. You want to be braced and
pulled together. A war might do it, if you were a soldier. A religious
enthusiasm would do it, if that were possible for you. As it is, I have
something else, which I came up to propose to you."
Lewis faced round in an attitude of polite attention. But his eyes had
no interest in them.
"You know Bardur and the country about there pretty well?"
Lewis nodded.
"Also I once talked to you about a man called Marka. Do you remember?"
"Yes, of course I do. The man who went north from Bardur the week
before I turned up there?"
"Well, there's trouble brewing thereabouts. You know the Taghati
country up beyond the Russian line. Things are in a ferment there,
great military preparations and all the rest of it, and the reason, they
say, is that the hill-tribes in the intervening No-man's-land are at
their old games. Things look very ugly abroad just now, and we can't
afford to neglect anything when a crisis may be at the door.
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