to have any one you care
for in the West Indies."

When Wenna got home again she told Mabyn. Strange to say, Mabyn did
not clap her hands for joy, as might have been expected.

"Wenna," said she, "what made him go into the army? Was it to show you
that he could pass an examination? or was it because he means to leave
England?"

"I do not know," said Wenna, looking down. "I hope he does not mean to
leave England." That was all she said.

Harry Trelyon was, however, about to leave England, though not because
he had been gazetted to a colonial regiment. He came down to inform
his mother that on the fifteenth of the month he would sail for
Jamaica; and then and there, for the first time, he told her the whole
story of his love for Wenna Rosewarne, of his determination to free
her somehow from the bonds that bound her, and, failing that, of the
revenge he meant to take. Mrs. Trelyon was amazed, angry and
beseeching in turns. At one moment she protested that it was madness
of her son to think of marrying Wenna Rosewarne; at another, she would
admit all that he said in praise of her, and would only implore him
not to leave England; or again she would hint that she would almost
herself go down to Wenna and beg her to marry him if only he gave up
this wild intention of his. He had never seen his mother so agitated,
but he reasoned gently with her, and remained firm to his purpose. Was
there half as much danger in taking a fortnight's trip in a
mail-steamer as in going from Southampton to Malta in a yacht, which
he had twice done with her consent?

"Why, if I had been ordered to join a regiment in China, you might
have some reason to complain," he said. "And I shall be as anxious as
you, mother, to get back again, for I mean to get up my drill
thoroughly as soon as I am attached. I have plenty of work before me."

"You're not looking well, Harry," said the mother.

"Of course not," said he cheerfully. "You don't catch one of those
geese at Strasburg looking specially lively when they tie it by the
leg and cram it; and that's what I've been going through of late. But
what better cure can there be than a sea-voyage?"

And so it came about that on a pleasant evening in October Mr.
Roscorla received a visit. He saw the young man come riding up the
acacia path, and he instantaneously guessed his mission. His own
resolve was taken as quickly.

"Bless my soul! is it you, Trelyon?" he cried with apparent delight.
"You mayn't