der that the latter might take some
much-needed rest. A proceeding which lashed Eustace into a white heat
of silent fury, and in his own mind it is to be feared he defined the
other as a selfish, inconsiderate, and utterly irredeemable brute.
Which, after all, is mere human nature. It is always the other fellow
who is rather worse than a fiend. Were we in his shoes we should be
something a little higher than an angel. That of course.

Unable to endure the feverish heat of restlessness that was upon him,
with the first glimmer of dawn Eustace arose. One of his horses had
been kept up in the stable, and having saddled the animal he issued
forth. But the horse was a badly broken, vicious brute, and like the
human heart was deceitful and desperately wicked, and when to the
inherent villainy of his corrupt nature was superadded the tangible
grievance of having to exchange a comfortable stable for the fresh, not
to say raw, atmosphere of early dawn, he resolved to make himself as
disagreeable as possible. He began by trying all he knew to buck the
saddle off--but fruitlessly. He might, however, be more successful with
the rider. So almost before the latter had deftly swung himself into
his seat, down again went the perverse brute's head, and up went his
back. Plunging, rearing, kicking, squealing, the animal managed to
waste five minutes and a great deal of superfluous energy, and to incur
some roughish treatment into the bargain, for his rider was as firm in
the saddle as a bullet in a cartridge, and moreover owned a stout crop
and a pair of sharp spurs, and withal was little inclined to stand any
nonsense that morning from man or beast.

But the tussle did Eustace good, in that it acted with bracing effect
upon his nerves, and having reduced the refractory steed to order, he
headed for the open _veldt_, not much caring where he went as long as he
was moving. And now as the sun rose, flooding the air with a mellow
warmth, a great elation came upon him. He still seemed to feel the
pressure of those lips to his, the instinctive clinging to him in the
hour of fear. He had yielded to the weird enchantment of the moment,
when they two were alone in the hush of the soft, sensuous night--alone
almost in the very world itself. His better judgment had failed him at
the critical time--and for once his better judgment had been at fault
all along--for once passion was truer than judgment. _She had returned
his kiss_.