Naomi . . . coming back. And it was true. She had come back. She had returned in the strangest way to take possession of them all. She was there in the stupid, puzzled eyes of Swanson, in the confusion of Mary, in the tragic silence of Philip.
It was Philip who spoke suddenly. "Naomi is dead!" And Mary thought bitterly, "She isn't dead! She isn't dead! This place belongs to her. This strange man wishes that I were Naomi."
"We've missed you," said Swanson dully.
"I'll tell you about it . . . later, when we're settled. Let's be moving on now."
"I'm glad you've come back. I got no letter from you; I only knew from the Germans who came through a week ago." Swanson had suddenly the air of a child who has forgotten the poem that he was to recite before a whole audience of people. He was aware, in his dull way, that he had blundered.
Philip said quickly, "I'm not coming back to work . . . at least not as a missionary. That's all finished."
"We never get any news out here," said Swanson humbly. "I didn't know."
"Are you alone?"
"No . . . there's a new man. Murchison . . . he's a preacher. He's doing Naomi's work."
(Naomi! Naomi! Naomi!)
"Let's go on now," said Philip. He shouted at the bearers an order to march, and as they walked, Philip said, "We passed a train of bearers in the distance yesterday . . . over beyond the Rocks of Kami. Who was it?"
For a moment Swanson was silent. He scratched his head. "Oh, that . . . that . . . it must have been
