intellect seemed to have brightened a little. It was, however, difficult to make him understand that Ernest was blind, because the latter's eyes looked all right. He retained some recollection of him, and brought him his notched stick to show him that, according to his ("Hard-riding Atterleigh's") calculation, his time of service with the devil, otherwise Mr. Cardus, would expire in a few months. Dorothy read what the old man wrote upon his slate, and repeated it to Ernest for, he being practically dumb and Ernest being blind, that was the only way in which they could communicate.
"And what will you do then?" asked Ernest. "You will be wretched without any writs to fill up. Who will look after the lost souls, I should like to know?"
The old man at once wrote vigorously on his slate:
"I shall go out hunting on the big black horse you brought with you; he will carry my weight."
"I should advise you not to try," said Ernest, laughing; "he does not like strange riders." But the old man, at the mere thought of hunting, was striding up and down the room, clanking his spurs and waving his hunting-crop with his uninjured arm.
"Is your grandfather as much afraid of your uncle as ever, Doll?"
"Oh yes, I think so; and do you know, Ernest, I don't quite like the way he looks at him sometimes."
Ernest laughed. "I should think that the old boy is harmless enough," he said.
"I hope so," said Dorothy.
When first they came back to Dum's Ness, Jeremy was at a great loss to know what to do with himself, and was haunted by the idea that Mr. Cardus would want him to resume that stool in his office which years before he had quitted to go in search of Ernest. A week or so after his arrival, however, his fears were set at rest very pleasantly. After breakfast, Mr. Cardus sent for him to come into his office.
"Well, Jeremy," he said, letting his soft black eyes wander round that young gentleman's gigantic form--for it was by now painfully large--not so much in height, for he was not six feet three--as in its great width, which made big men look like children beside him, and even dwarfed his old grandfather's enormous frame--"well, Jeremy, and what do you think of doing? You're too big for a lawyer; all your clients would be afraid of you."
"I don't know about being too big," said Jeremy, solemnly, "but I know that I am too great an ass. Besides, I can't afford several years to spend in being articled at my time of life."
"Quite so. Then what do you propose doing?"
"I don't know from Adam."
"Well, how would you like to turn your sword to a plough-share, and become a farmer?"
"I think that would suit me first-rate. I have some capital laid by. Ernest and I made a little money out there."
"No, I would not advise you to take a farm in that way; these are bad times. But I want a practical man to look after my land round here--salary 150. What do you say?"
"You are very kind; but I doubt if I can boss that coach; I don't know anything of the work."
"Oh, you will very soon learn; there is a capital bailiff; Stamp--you remember him--he will soon put you up to the ropes. So we will consider that settled."
Thus it was that our friend Jeremy entered on a new walk in life, and one which suited him very well. In less than a year's time he grew aggressively agricultural, and one never met him but what he had a handful of oats, or a carrot in his coat-tail pocket, which he was ready to swear were samples of the finest oats, carrot, or whatever the particular agricultural product might be, that ever had been, or were ever likely to be, grown.
CHAPTER VI
HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT
How did it all come about?
Let us try and discover. Dorothy and Ernest were together all day long. They only separated when Mazooku came to lead the latter off to bed. At breakfast-time he led him back again, and handed him over to Dorothy for the day. Not that our Zulu friend liked this; he did not like it at all. It was, he considered, his business to lead his master about, and not that of the "Rosebud," who was, as he discovered, after all nothing but a girl connected with his master neither by birth nor marriage. On this point there finally arose a difference of opinion between the Rosebud and Mazooku.
The latter was leading Ernest for his morning walk, when Dorothy, perceiving it, and being very jealous of what she considered her rights, sallied out and took his hand from the great Zulu's. Then did Mazooku's long-pent indignation break forth.
"O Rosebud, sweet and small Rosebud!" he commenced, addressing her in Zulu, of which, needless to say, she understood not one word, "why do you come and take my father's hand out of my hand? Is not Mazimba my father blind, and am I not his dog, his old dog, to lead him in his blindness? Why do you take his bone from a dog?"
"What is the man saying?" asked Dorothy.
"He is offended because you come to lead me; he says that he is my dog, and that you snatch his bone from him. A pretty sort of bone, indeed!" he added.
"Tell him," said Dorothy, "that here in this country I hold your hand. What does he want? Is he not always with you? Does he not sleep across your door? What more does he want?"
Ernest translated her reply.
"Ow!" said the Zulu, with a grunt of dissatisfaction.
"He is a faithful fellow, Doll, and has stood by me for many years; you must not vex him."
But Dorothy, after the manner of loving women, was tenacious of what she considered /her/ rights.
"Tell him that he can walk in front," she said, putting on an obstinate little look--and she could look obstinate when she liked. "Besides," she added, "he cannot be trusted to lead you. I am sure he was tipsy last night."
Ernest translated the first remark only--into the latter he did not care to inquire, for the Zulu vowed that he could never understand Dorothy's English, and Mazooku accepted the compromise. Thus for awhile the difference was patched up.
Sometimes Dorothy and Ernest would go out riding together; for, blind as he was, Ernest could not be persuaded to give up his riding. It was a pretty sight to see them; Ernest mounted on his towering black stallion, "The Devil," which in his hands was as gentle as a lamb, but with everybody else fully justified his appellation, and Dorothy on a cream-coloured cob Mr. Cardus had given her, holding in her right hand a steel guiding-rein linked to "The Devil's" bit. In this way they would wander all over the country-side, and sometimes, when a good piece of turf presented itself, even venture on a sharp canter. Behind them Mazooku rode as groom, mounted on a stout pony, with his feet stuck, Zulu fashion, well out at right angles to his animal's side.
They were a strange trio.
So from week's end to week's end Dorothy was ever by Ernest's side, reading to him, writing for him, walking and riding with him, weaving herself into the substance of his life.
At last there came one sunny August day, when they were sitting together in the shade of the chancel of Titheburgh Abbey. It was a favourite spot of theirs, for the grey old walls
