CHAPTER 12.
Who hath desired the Sea--the sight of salt-water unbounded?
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
The sleek-barrelled swell before storm--grey, foamless, enormous, and growing?
Stark calm on the lap of the Line--or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing?
His Sea in no showing the same--his Sea and the same 'neath all showing-- His Sea that his being fulfils?
So and no otherwise--so and no otherwise hill-men desire their Hills! The Sea and the Hills.
'I have found my heart again,' said E23, under cover of the platform's tumult.

'Hunger and fear make men dazed, or I might have thought of this escape before.

I was right.

They come to hunt for me.

Thou hast saved my head.' A group of yellow-trousered Punjab policemen, headed by a hot and perspiring young Englishman, parted the crowd about the carriages.
Behind them, inconspicuous as a cat, ambled a small fat person who looked like a lawyer's tout.
'See the young Sahib reading from a paper.