ion;
finally, with his hand trembling a little bit, he sat down and wrote
this note:

"DEAR MOTHER: The horses and carriage will be at Launceston Station by
the first train on Saturday morning. Will you please send Jakes over for
them? And bid him take the horses up to Mr. ----'s stables, and have
them fed, watered and properly rested before he drives them over. Your
affectionate son, HARRY TRELYON."

Next morning, as Mabyn Rosewarne was coming briskly up the Trevenna
road, carrying in her arms a pretty big parcel, she was startled by the
appearance of a young man, who suddenly showed himself overhead, and
then scrambled down the rocky bank until he stood beside her.

"I've been watching for you all the morning, Mabyn," said Trelyon.
"I--I want to speak to you. Where are you going?"

"Up to Mr. Trewhella's. You know his granddaughter is very nearly quite
well again, and there is to be a great gathering of children there
to-night to celebrate her recovery. This is a cake I am carrying that
Wenna has made herself."

"Is Wenna to be there?" Trelyon said eagerly.

"Why, of course," said Mabyn petulantly. "What do you think the children
could do without her?"

"Look here, Mabyn," he said. "I want to speak to you very particularly.
Couldn't you just as well go round by the farm-road? Let me carry your
cake for you."

Mabyn guessed what he wanted to speak about, and willingly made the
circuit by a more private road leading by one of the upland farms. At a
certain point they came to a stile, and here they rested. So far,
Trelyon had said nothing of consequence.

"Oh, do you know, Mr. Trelyon," Mabyn remarked quite innocently, "I have
been reading such a nice book--all about Jamaica."

"So you're interested about Jamaica too?" said he rather bitterly.

"Yes, much. Do you know that it is the most fearful place for storms in
the whole world--the most awful hurricanes that come smashing down
everything and killing people? You can't escape if you're in the way of
the hurricane. It whirls the roofs off the houses and twists out the
plantain trees just like straws. The rivers wash away whole acres of
canes and swamp the farms. Sometimes the sea rages so that boats are
carried right up into the streets of Kingston. There!"

"But why does that please you?"

"Why," she said with proud indignation, "the notion of people talking as
if they could go out to Jamaica and live for ever, and come back just
when they please--it i