up to the post-cart in silence. Jeremy motioned to Apollo to pull up. He obeyed, and one of the men dismounted and seized the horse's head.
"Tricked, by Heaven!" said Ernest.
"You must come back with me, Ernest," said Jeremy quietly. "I have a warrant for your arrest as a deserter, signed by the Governor."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then my orders are to take you back."
Ernest drew his revolver.
"This is a trick," he said, "and I shall not go back."
"Then I must take you," was the reply; and Jeremy coolly dismounted.
Ernest's eyes flashed dangerously, and he lifted the pistol.
"O yes, you can shoot me if you like; but if you do, the others will take you;" and he continued to walk towards him.
Ernest cocked his revolver and pointed it.
"At your peril!" he said.
"So be it," said Jeremy, and he walked up to the cart.
Ernest dropped his weapon.
"It is mean of you, Jeremy," he said. "You know I can't fire at you."
"Of course you can't, old fellow. Come, skip out of that; you are keeping the mail. I have a horse ready for you, a slow one; you won't be able to run away on him."
Ernest obeyed, feeling rather small, and in half an hour was back at his own house.
Mr. Alston was waiting for him.
"Good-morning, Ernest," he said, cheerfully. "Went out driving and came back riding, eh?"
Ernest looked at him, and his brown cheek flushed.
"You have played me a dirty trick," he said.
"Look here, my boy," answered Mr. Alston, sternly, "I am slow at making a friend; but when once I take his hand I hold it till one of the two grows cold. I should have been no true friend to you if I had let you go on this fool's errand, this wicked errand. Will you give me your word that you will not attempt to escape, or must I put you under arrest?"
"I give you my word," answered Ernest, humbled; "and I ask your forgiveness."
Thus it was that, for the first time in his life, Ernest tried to run away.
That morning Jeremy, missing Ernest, went into his room to see what he was doing. The room was shuttered to keep out the glare of the sun; but when he got used to the light he discovered Ernest sitting at the table, and staring straight before him with a wild look in his eyes.
"Come in, old fellow, come in," he called out, with bitter jocularity, "and assist in this happy ceremony. Rather dark, isn't it? but lovers like the dark. Look!" he went on, pointing to his watch, which lay upon the table before him, "by English time it is now about twenty minutes past eleven. They are being married now, Jeremy, my boy, I can feel it. By Heaven, I have only to shut my eyes, and I can /see/ it!"
"Come, come, Ernest," said Jeremy, "don't go on like that. You are not yourself, man."
He laughed and answered:
"I am sure I wish I wasn't. I tell you I can see it all. I can see Kesterwick Church full of people, and before the altar, in her white dress, is Eva; but her face is whiter than her dress, Jeremy, and her eyes are very much afraid. And there is Florence, with her dark smile, and your friend Mr. Plowden, too, with his cold eyes and the cross upon his forehead. Oh, I assure you, I can see them all. It is a pretty wedding, very. There, it is over now, and I think I will go away before the kissing."
"O, hang it all, Ernest, wake up!" said Jeremy, shaking him by the shoulder. "You will drive yourself mad if you give your imagination too much rein."
"Wake up, my boy! I feel more inclined to sleep. Have some grog. Won't you? Well, I will."
He rose and went to the mantelpiece, on which stood a square bottle of hollands and a tumbler. Rapidly filling the tumbler with raw spirit, he drank it as fast as the contractions of his throat would allow. He filled it again, and drank that too. Then he fell insensible upon the bed.
It was a strange scene, and in some ways a coarse one, yet not without a pathos of its own.
"Ernest," said Mr. Alston, three weeks later, "you are strong enough to travel now; what do you say to six months or a year among the elephants? The oxen are in first-rate condition, and we ought to get to our ground in six or seven weeks."
Ernest, who was lying back in a low cane-chair, looking very thin and pale, thought for a moment before he answered:
"All right, I'm your man; only let's get off soon. I am tired of this place, and want something to think about."
"You have given up any idea of returning to England?"
"Yes, quite."
"And what do you say, Jeremy?"
"Where Ernest goes, there will I go also. Besides, to shoot an elephant is the one ambition of my life."
"Good! then we will consider that settled. We shall want to pick up another eight-bore; but I know of one a fellow wants to sell, a beauty, by Riley. I will begin to make arrangements at once."
CHAPTER XIII
MR. PLOWDEN ASSERTS HIS RIGHTS
When last we saw Eva she had just become privately engaged to the Reverend James Plowden. But the marriage was not to take place till the following spring, and the following spring was a long way off. Vaguely she hoped something might occur to prevent it, forgetting that, as a rule, in real life it is only happy things which accidents occur to prevent. Rare, indeed, is it that the Plowdens of this world are prevented from marrying the Evas; Fate has sufficient to do in thwarting the Ernests. And, meanwhile, her position was not altogether unendurable, for she had made a bargain with her lover that the usual amenities of courtship were to be dispensed with. There were to be no embracings or other tender passages; she was not even to be forced to call him James. "James!" how she detested the name! Thus did the wretched girl try to put off the evil day, much as the ostrich is supposed to hide her head in a bush and indulge in dreams of fancied security. Mr. Plowden did not object; he was too wary a hunter to do so. While his stately prey was there with her head in the thickest of the bush he was sure of her. She would never wake from her foolish dream till the ripe moment came to deliver the fatal blow, and all would be over. But if, on the contrary, he startled her now, she might take flight more swiftly than he could follow, and leave him alone in the desert.
So when Eva made her little stipulations he acquiesced in them, after only just so much hesitation as he thought would seem lover-like. "Life, Eva," he said, sententiously, "is a compromise. I yield to your wishes." But in his heart he thought that a time would come when she would have to yield to him, and his cold eye gleamed. Eva saw the gleam, and shuddered prophetically.
The Reverend Mr. Plowden did not suffer much distress at the coldness with which he was treated. He knew that his day would come, and was content to wait for it like a wise man. He was not in love with Eva. A nature like his is scarcely capable of any such feeling as that, for instance, which Eva and Ernest bore to each other. True love, crowned with immortality, veils his shining face from such men as Mr. Plowden. He was fascinated by her beauty, that was all. But his cunning was of a superior order, and he was quite content to wait. So he contrived to extract a letter from Eva, in which she talked of "our engagement," and alluded to "our forthcoming marriage," and waited.
And thus the time went on all too quickly for Eva. She was quietly miserable, but she was not acutely unhappy. That was yet to come, with other evil things. Christmas came and went, the spring came too, and with the daffodils and violets came Ernest's letter.
Eva was down the first one morning, and was engaged in making the tea in the Cottage dining-room, when that