rhaps a general, and he (John Mortimer) rich beyond the
dreams of avarice.

"Or both of us may be dead, more likely!" suggested the latter, with
gloomy succinctness.

"Dead--nonsense!" cried Rollo. "See here, man, you believe in God, or at
any rate your father does. So, hang it, you must have at least a kind of
second-hand interest Above. Now, is there not a time appointed for you
to die? Here, look at this clock" (he took an ancient and very
bulbous-faced watch out of his pocket). "This minute hand has to push
that hour hand so many times round before the moment comes for your
ghost to mount and ride. Till that time comes, let your heart sit
care-free. You cannot hasten, or retard that event by one solitary
tick--can you? No? Well then, keep the ball rolling meantime, and if it
rolls to the camp of Cabrera, why, you will be just as safe there as in
your bed at Chorley with the curtains drawn and your prayers said!"

"I have a notion I could hasten the event in my own case by some few
ticks, with the assistance of this unaccustomed little plaything!" said
John Mortimer, who had been listening to this harangue of Rollo's with
manifest impatience. And as if to prove his words, he made a sweeping
motion with his pistol in the air. Instantly Rollo showed great
interest.

"Good heavens, man, do you know that weapon is fresh-primed, and the
trigger at full cock? If you are anxious to get a ball through your
head, I am not!"

John Mortimer laughed long and loud.

"What about the appointed ticks on the watch-dial now, Master Blair?
Have you forgotten you can neither hasten nor retard the day of your
death? When the minute hand approaches the inevitable moment, Fate's
full stop--did you not call it, you must mount and ride to Hades! Till
then, you know, you are perfectly safe."

Rollo looked disgusted.

"That is the worst of trying to argue with an Englishman," he said; "his
head is like a cannon ball, impervious to all logic. He does not attend
to your premisses, and he never has any of his own! Of course, _if_ it
were ordained by the powers Above that at this moment you should
suddenly go mad and shoot us all, _that_ would be our appointed time,
and you would no more hasten it by your tomfoolery than if a star fell
out of the firmament and knocked this round world to everlasting
potsherds!"

"_Umm!_" said John Mortimer, still unconvinced, "very likely--but--if I
saw my wine-barrels on the ship '_Good Intent_' of Li