the big way, only in the small, contemptible way, according to our code.  We men are dishonourable in the big way where they are concerned.  You have neglected her, Byng, because you have not said, ’This way, Jasmine.  Come with me.  I want you; and you must came, and come now.’  She wanted your society, wanted you all the time; but while you did not have her on the leash she went playing—­playing.  That is it, and that is all.  And now, if you want to keep her, if you want her to live on with you, I warn you not to tell her you know of the insult this letter contains, nor ever say what would make her think you suspected her.  If you do, you will bid good-bye to her forever.  She has bold blood in her veins, rash blood.  Her grandfather—­”

“I know—­I know.”  The tone was credulous, understanding now.  Hope stole into the distorted face.

“She would resent your suspicion.  She, then, would do the mad thing, not you.  She would be as frenzied as you were a moment ago; and she would not listen to reason.  If you dared to hint outside in the world, that you believed her guilty, there are some of her old friends who would feel like doing to you what you want to do to that libertine in there, to Al’mah’s lover—­”

“Good God, Stafford—­wait!”

“I don’t mean Barry Whalen, Fleming, De Lancy Scovel, and the rest.  They are not her old friends, and they weren’t yours once—­that breed; but the others who are the best, of whom you come, over there in Herefordshire, in Dorset, in Westmorland, where your and her people lived, and mine.  You have been too long among the Outlanders, Byng.  Come back, and bring Jasmine with you.  And as for this letter—­”

Byng reached out his hand for it.

“No, it contains an insult to your wife.  If you get it into your hands, you will read it again, and then you will do some foolish thing, for you have lost grip of yourself.  Here is the only place for such stuff—­an outburst of sensuality!”

He threw the letter suddenly into the fire.  Rudyard sprang to his feet as though to reclaim it, but stood still bewildered, as he saw Stafford push it farther into the coals.

Silent, they watched shrivel such evidence as brings ruin upon men and women in courts of law.

“Leave the whole thing—­leave Fellowes to me,” Stafford said, after a slight pause.  “I will deal with him.  He shall leave the country to-night.  I will see to that.  He shall go for three years at least.  Do not see him.  You will not contain yourself, and for your own chance of happiness with the woman you love, you must do nothing, nothing at all now.”

“He has keys, papers—­”

“I will see to that; I will see to everything.  Now go, at once.  There is enough for you to do.  The war, Oom Paul’s war, will be on us to day.  Do you hear, Byng—­to-day!  And you have work to do for this your native country and for South Africa, your adopted country.  England and the Transvaal will be at each other’s throat before night.  You have work to do.  Do it.  You are needed.  Go, and leave this wretched business in my hands.  I will deal with Fellowes—­adequately.”