temptuously from his thoughts, but Eustace
Milne, keen-witted, imaginative, had set to work to puzzle it out. Did
the Gcaleka chief meditate some more subtle and hellish form of
vengeance than the ordinary and commonplace one of mere blood for blood,
and, if so, how did he purpose to carry it out? By striking at Carhayes
through the one who was dearest to him? Surely. The words seemed to
bear just this interpretation--and at the bare contemplation of a
frightful danger hanging over Eanswyth, cool, even-minded Eustace Milne,
felt the blood flow back to his heart. For he loved her.

Yes, he loved her. This keen-witted, philosophical man of the world was
madly in love with the beautiful wife of his middle-aged cousin. He
loved her with all the raging abandonment of a strong nature that does
nothing by halves; yet during nearly a year spent beneath the same
roof--nearly a year of easy, pleasant, social intercourse--never by word
or sign had he betrayed his secret--at least, so he imagined.

But that no such blow should fall while he was alive, he resolved at all
hazards. Why had he come there at all, was a question he had been
asking himself for some time past? Why had he stayed, why did he stay?
For the latter he hated and despised himself on account of his miserable
weakness. But now it seemed that both were answered--that he had been
brought there for a purpose--to protect _her_ from the fearful
consequences entailed by the blundering ferocity of him who should have
been her first protector--to save her from some impending and terrible
fate. Surely this was sufficient answer.

Then a wild thrill set his pulses tingling--a thrill of joy, of fierce
expectation set on foot by a single thought, the intense expectation of
the gambler who sees fortune brought within his reach by the potential
turn of chances already strong in his favour. They were on the eve of
war. What might the chances of war not entail? Blind, blundering Tom
Carhayes running his head, like a bull, at every stone wall--were not
the chances of war increased tenfold _against_ such a man as this? And
then--and then--?

No man could be more unfitted to hold possession of such a priceless
treasure as this--argued the man who did not hold it.

"Confess, Eanswyth, that you are very glad I didn't take you at your
word and go after Tom," said Eustace, as they were sitting cosily at
table.

"Perhaps I am. I have been getting so dreadfully nervou