Meg was silent. A furious rage was gnawing at her bowels; it was going to her brain.

"Michael made a fine show of surprise," Freddy continued. "But it did not deceive the natives. She doesn't seem to be very popular with them."

Meg was thinking and thinking. Was this the explanation why over and over again she had had presentiments that Michael was in trouble, that he needed her? She had so often tried to reach him. Suddenly a light broke on her darkness, her whirlwind of anger abated.

"Freddy," she said, more gently. "If Millicent was in the camp, their meeting in the desert _was_ unexpected by Michael. She trapped him, she planned it all. Don't you remember, that night when you found me on the balcony? I told you I had heard Michael calling to me. I can hear his voice now." She paused. "He woke me as surely as Mohammed Ali wakes me every morning. He wouldn't have wanted my help if he had been happy with Millicent, if he had arranged the meeting." Meg laughed, but there were tears in her voice. "That's the explanation, as clear as daylight. It's been sent to me, this light, to lighten my darkness."

"What is as clear as daylight, Meg? You put far too much faith in dreams and visions. I want to get you out of this. I wish you were more like your old practical self. What has this wonderful light made clear?"

"That Millicent tricked and trapped Michael, that she followed him."

"Do you mean that you think that she met Michael against his wish?"

Freddy's soul wondered at the faith of women.

"I do. I don't think she ever mentioned her plans to him. I can see it all as clear as a pikestaff." A sudden sob broke Meg's voice. Her thankfulness at the unexpected revelation of the mystery caused it.

"Of course, that's it. Millicent tempted Michael, after she had once met him. He thought he was proof against her woman's wiles, but while we're on earth we're only human, Freddy, and he was afraid of his own weakness. He called to me. We arranged to help each other--we were always to try our best to reach each other when we felt troubled. Love is not such a simple thing as it seems. I used to think that when once one was engaged to the man one loved, one would just be at anchor in a divine calm."

"You believe in dreams and all that sort of thing too much. Michael's led you off--he's to blame."

"There are some things one must believe in, Freddy. Our development is in other hands."

"What are they? Mere old wives' tales and charlatans' prophecies."

"Oh, Freddy!"

"Well, Michael's religion's got so mixed, he doesn't know what he is or what he believes in and doesn't believe in. He has a fine scorn for the old order of things. The beliefs of our forefathers have kept the Lampton men pretty straight and made splendid wives and mothers of their women, and I think that's good enough for this everyday, practical world!"

"Has it been their belief that has done it, Freddy, or their family traditions? I think we Lamptons are as true ancestor-worshippers as any Shintoists in j.a.pan. I was never taught anything about my higher self as a child, or made to see that religion was a vital part of our existence. It was the shades of our ancestors, nothing more or less--what would Uncle John have thought, or what would Aunt Anna think? It was never what would your own soul think--was it now? It was pure Shinto. Our G.o.d-shelf bore the family-portraits."

"A jolly good worship, too. You can't do anything very far wrong if you never disgrace the honour of your ancestors. I think it's as good a principle, and far more practical and restraining than Michael's mixture of Akhnaton's Aton worship and I don't know what else. I get lost when he expounds his idea of G.o.d."

"It annoys you that his G.o.d is too big for any church. The Lamptons have always been ardent upholders of the Established Church of England."

"Let him enlarge his church, build his G.o.d a bigger one."

"That's just what he has done, that's just what he says the Protestant church has failed to do. Their church has never expanded. People's minds have grown, while the Church of England--and, in fact, all churches--have stood still."

"Michael can't do things in moderation--he's just an enthusiast about his religion, as he has been about all his phases."

"The best of all things! What were your Luthers, your Cromwells, and St. Francis?" Meg paused. Her voice fell. "And Our Lord? Weren't they enthusiasts? Did they take things moderately? Does moderation ever achieve anything? Napoleon said no country was ever conquered by half methods."

"Mike's enthusiasm is only theoretical. If he has done this thing, his new religion allows him too much lat.i.tude. He'd much better have stuck to our plain ancestor-worship."

"But he hasn't done it! You know he hasn't. Don't go over it again.

That detestable woman met him and trapped him."

"And tempted him? The old, old story--the world's first romance--'the woman tempted me and I fell.'"

Meg's tears had dried very quickly. She was strong again. "I don't see how you can speak like that. You told me that Michael was straight as a die--you know you did."

"But I said he was weak--I told you that, too, didn't I?"

"If being human is weak, then I suppose he is. I never met a man who was a saint. And if believing that we are all more good than bad is weak, then I admit his lack of strength. It is his humility that makes it impossible for him to think evil of anyone. I have often proved it.

Almost any man is a better man than himself in his own eyes."

"Bosh!" Freddy said. "I do wish he was more ordinary, less of a crank about these things! How can he think he isn't as good a man as that fair-tongued, lying Mohammed Ali, for instance, or any of these lying sensualists? It's the ugliest of all prides, the one that apes humility, Meg. Lots of religious enthusiasts have it."

"No, not with Michael. He thinks he is less good than they are because he is perfectly conscious of G.o.d, as he expresses it. He enjoys all the privileges of a close connection with G.o.d; he doesn't only pray to Him, as we do. He lives with him; Mike is never alone. And yet, with all that sense of G.o.d, he is full of faults and failings. These men and women, who to us appear so bad, are simply further back in their evolution. They can't be bad, if it is not their fault. They have not had the same privileges, they are only gradually evolving. Spiritually they are like the dwellers in the slums as compared with the inmates of the beautifully-appointed hygienic house in the country. Michael is in the light; these poor souls are in darkness. It is all a part of the Great Law."

Freddy had finished his tea. It had afforded him little pleasure. He must come to some definite understanding with Meg. His thoughts had been all centred on the plan of sending her home, getting her away from the atmosphere which had so strong a hold over her imagination.

Perhaps if she was back in England, she might be able to put Michael and his ideas out of her thoughts. He had no wish to be disloyal to his friend, or to give him no chance to defend himself; but he had to admit that he was very thankful that it was Michael himself who had insisted that there was to be no recognized engagement between them.

Had he at the time had any motive for insisting on the fact? That was an idea; it had not occurred to him before.

He turned to Meg and said abruptly. "What about going home, Meg? It's getting too hot for this sort of thing--the Valley is stifling."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too hot--the year's advancing."

Meg tried to speak calmly.

"Don't treat me like a naughty child, Freddy. If it gets hotter than the Inferno I won't leave the place until I hear from Michael." She was not going to be a Lampton in one respect and not in another. A horse with the staggers was not in it with a mulish Lampton.

"If you hear from him, or find undeniable proofs that the story is true, will you go then?"

"Yes, when Michael tells me with his own lips, or I see it in his own handwriting, or I myself am convinced that Millicent was with him, I will meekly obey you. You can rely upon the Lampton pride. It won't fail me."

"Right you are, old girl! That's all I'll ask." Freddy bent down and pressed her head to his breast. "I hope to G.o.d that will never be, old lady, you know that."

Freddy's little touch of tenderness was the last straw. It was too much for Meg. She turned round and hid her face against his shoulder.

A very fountain of weeping welled up.

"You dear, blessed old thing! I've been a brute, a perfect brute, but I love him awfully! Oh, Freddy, you don't know how much I can love, and you hurt me dreadfully!" She had sobbed out the words. The fiery Lampton was now a sorrowing, heartsick girl, hungering for her lover's caresses. Freddy's gentleness had called up a thousand wants.

Freddy knew that affection was what she needed, but he was a bad hand at any show of brotherly emotion. The Lampton men were fine lovers; no woman had ever found them wanting in the art. But it was part of their tradition to suppress all outward signs of family affection. Instinct told him that some caresses and a petting were what his sister longed for. For weeks she had been robbed of a lover's devotion, a very fine lover, who had filled her days with romance and her heart with song.

"You weren't a bit a brute, Meg. You were just as usual, a bit more like a man than a girl. I'd have done and said just as you did if anyone had said things about the woman I loved--or, I hope I should."

Meg only hugged her brother. Words were beyond her. She knew by the way he was speaking that he was quite glad to help her, now that he had got over the disagreeable business of telling her and warning her, that his efforts would be turned now towards the finding of Michael's whereabouts and dotting to the bottom of the gossip. She looked up with cheerful eyes.

"Do you remember that day, Freddy, when Millicent Mervill lunched here?"

"Rather!"

"And you said she came for some object which she took care not to reveal?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, I never told you, because I thought you had good reason for thinking that I was too hard on her, that I was jealous of her, to the exclusion of all reason. . . ."