that my heart should ache than Ernest's. I implore of you to help me."
"Dorothy, it has always been my dearest wish that you should marry Ernest. I told him so just before that unhappy duel. I love you both. All the fibres of my heart that are left alive have wound themselves around you. Jeremy I could never care for. Indeed, I fear that I used sometimes to treat the boy harshly. He reminds me so of his father. And do you know, my dear, I sometimes think that on that point I am not quite sane. But because you have asked me to do it, and because you have quoted your dear mother--may peace be with her!--I will do what I can. This girl Eva is of age, and I will write and offer her a home. She need fear no persecution here."
"You are kind and good, Reginald, and I thank you."
"The letter shall go by to-night's post. But run away, now; I see my friend De Talor coming to speak to me"; and the white eyebrows drew near together in a way that it would have been unpleasant for the great De Talor to behold. "That business is drawing towards its end."
"O Reginald," answered Dorothy, shaking her forefinger at him in her old childish way, "haven't you given up those ideas yet? They are very wrong."
"Never mind, Dorothy. I shall give them up soon, when I have squared accounts with De Talor. A year or two more--a stern chase is a long chase, you know--and the thing will be done, and then I shall become a good Christian again."
The letter was written. It offered Eva a home and protection.
In due course an answer, signed by Eva herself, came back. It thanked him for his kindness, and regretted that circumstances and "her sense of duty" prevented her from accepting the offer.
Then Dorothy felt that she had done all that in her lay, and gave the matter up.
It was about this time that Florence drew another picture. It represented Eva as Andromeda gazing hopelessly in the dim light of a ghastly dawn out across a glassy sea; and far away in the oily depths there was a ripple, and beneath the ripple a form travelling towards the chained maiden. The form had a human head and cold grey eyes, and its features were those of Mr. Plowden.
And so, day by day, Destiny, throned in space, shot her flaming shuttle from darkness into darkness, and the time passed on, as time must pass, till the inevitable end of all things is attained.
Eva existed and suffered, and that was all she did. She scarcely ate, or drank, or slept. But still she lived; she was not brave enough to die, and the chains were riveted too tight round her tender wrists to let her flee away. Poor nineteenth-century Andromeda! No Perseus shall come to save you.
The sun rose and set in his appointed course, the flowers bloomed and died, children were born, and the allotted portion of mankind passed onwards to its rest; but no godlike Perseus came flying out of the golden east.
Once more the sun rose. The dragon heaved his head above the quiet waters, and she was lost. By her own act, of her own folly and weakness, she was undone. Behold her! the wedding is over. The echoes of the loud mockery of the bells have scarcely died upon the noonday air, and in her chamber, the chamber of her free and happy maidenhood, the virgin martyr stands alone.
It is done. There lie the sickly scented flowers; there, too, the bride's white robe. It is done. Oh, that life were done too, that she might once more press her lips to /his/ and die!
The door opens, and Florence stands before her, pale, triumphant, awe-inspiring.
"I must congratulate you, my dear Eva. You really went through the ceremony very well; only you looked like a statue."
"Florence, why do you come to mock me?"
"Mock you, Eva, mock you! I come to wish you joy as Mr. Plowden's wife. I hope that you will be happy."
"Happy! I shall never be happy. I detest him!"
"You detest him, and you marry him; there must be some mistake."
"There is no mistake. O Ernest, my darling!"
Florence smiled.
"If Ernest is your darling, why did you not marry Ernest?"
"How could I marry him when you forced me into this?"
"Forced you! A free woman of full age cannot be forced. You married Mr. Plowden of your own will. You might have married Ernest Kershaw if you chose--he is in many ways a more desirable match than Mr. Plowden--but you did not choose."
"Florence, what do you mean? You always said it was impossible. Is this all some cruel plot of yours?"
"Impossible! there is nothing impossible to those who have courage. Yes," and she turned upon her sister fiercely, "it /was/ a plot, and you shall know it, you poor weak fool! /I/ loved Ernest Kershaw, and /you/ robbed me of him, although you promised to leave him alone; and so I have revenged myself upon you. I despise you, I tell you; you are quite contemptible, and yet he could prefer you to me. Well, he has got his reward. You have deserted him when he was absent and in trouble, and you have outraged his love and your own. You have fallen very low indeed, Eva, and presently you will fall lower yet. I know you well. You will sink till at last you even lose the sense of your own humiliation. Don't you wonder what Ernest must think of you now? There is Mr. Plowden calling you. Come, it is time for you to be going."
Eva listened aghast, and then sank against the wall, sobbing despairingly.
CHAPTER XV
HANS'S CITY OF REST
Mr. Alston, Ernest, and Jeremy had very good sport among the elephants, killing in all nineteen bulls. It was during this expedition that an incident occurred which in its effect endeared Ernest to Mr. Alston more than ever.
The boy Roger, who always went wherever Mr. Alston went, was the object of his father's most tender solicitude. He believed in the boy as he believed in little else in the world--for at heart Mr. Alston was a sad cynic--and to a certain extent the boy justified his belief. He was quick, intelligent, and plucky, much such a boy as you may pick up by the dozen out of any English public school, except that his knowledge of men and manners was more developed, as is usual among young colonists. At the age of twelve Master Roger Alston knew many things denied to most children of his age. On the subject of education Mr. Alston had queer ideas. "The best education for a boy," he would say, "is to mix with grown-up gentlemen. If you send him to school, he learns little except mischief; if you let him live with gentlemen, he learns, at any rate, to be a gentleman."
But whatever Master Roger knew, he did not know much about elephants, and on this point he was destined to gain some experience.
One day--it was just after they had got into the elephant country--they were all engaged in following the fresh spoor of a solitary bull. But though an elephant is a big beast, it is hard work catching him up because he never seems to get tired, and this was exactly what our party of hunters found. They followed that energetic elephant for hours, but they could not catch him, though the spoorers told them that he was certainly not more than a mile or so ahead. At last the sun began to get low, and their legs had already grown weary; so they gave it up for that day, determining to camp where they were.
This being so, after a rest, Ernest and the boy Roger started out of camp to see if they could
