PA 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR4731.W81887 
 
 The witch's head; a novel. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013476845 
 
Vol. 1. AMERICAN SERIES. 
 
 THE WITCH'S head; 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 By 
 H. RIDER HAGGARD. 
 
 Issued Monthty, April, 1887. Subscription, $3.00 perya«r 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 M. J., IVER8 & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 86 Nassau Street. 
 Entered at Post OIRce, New York, as secoiid-class piattey. 
 
 ^ 
 
PR 
 
 ,rr7 
 
" Swell out ead harmonies, 
 From the slow cadence of the gathering yean, 
 For Life is bitter- sweet, yet bounds the flood 
 Of human fears. 
 
 A death-crowned queen, from her hid throne she scatters 
 Smiles and tears 
 
 " Until Time turn aside, 
 And we slip past him toward the wide increase 
 Of all things beautiful, then finding there 
 Our rest and peace; 
 
 The mournful strain is ended. Sorrow and song 
 Together ceasa." 
 
 A. U. Barbib. 
 
THE WITCH'S HEAD. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 behest's appearance. 
 
 " Come here, boy, let me look at you." 
 
 Ernest advanced a step or two and looked nfs uncle iu 
 the face. He was a noble-looking lad of about thirteen, 
 with large, dark eyes, black hair that curled over his head, 
 and the unmistakable air of breeding that marks English- 
 men of good race. 
 
 His uncle let his wandering glance stray round him, but, 
 wandering as it was, it seemed to take him in from top to 
 toe. Presently he spoke again: 
 
 "I like you, boy." 
 
 Ernest said nothing. 
 
 " Let me see — your second name is Beyton. I am glad 
 they called you Beyton; it was your grandmother's maiden 
 name, and a good old name too. Ernest Beyton Kershaw. 
 By the way, have you ever seen anything of your other 
 uncle, Sir Hugh Kershaw?" 
 
 The boy's cheek flashed. 
 
 " No, I have not; and I never wish to," he answered. 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " Because when my mother wrote to him before she 
 died " — and here the lad's voice choked — " just after the 
 bank broke and she lost all her money, he wrote back and 
 said that because his brother — I mean my father — had 
 made a low marriage, that was no reason why he should 
 support his child and widow; but he sent her five pounds 
 to go on with. She sent it back." 
 
 " That was like your mother, she always had a high 
 spirit. He must be a car, and he does not speak the truth. 
 Your mother comes of a better stock than the Kershaws. 
 The Carduses are one of the oldest families in the Eastern 
 
8 THE witch's head. 
 
 counties. Why, boy, our family lived down in the Fens by 
 Lynn there for centuries, until your grandfather, poor, 
 weak man, got involved in his great lawsuit and ruined us 
 all. There, there, it has all gone into the law, but it is 
 coming back, it is coming back fast. This Sir Hugh has 
 only one son, by the way. Do yon know that if anything 
 happened to him you would be next in the entail? — at any 
 rate you would get the baronetcy. " 
 
 " I don't want his baronetcy," said Ernest, sulkily; " I 
 will have nothing of his." 
 
 " A title, boy, is an incorporeal hereditament,_for which 
 the holder is indebted to nobody. It does not descend to 
 him, it vests in him. But, tell me, how long was this be- 
 fore your mother died — that he sent the five pounds, I 
 mean?" 
 
 " About three months. " 
 
 Mr. Cardus hesitated a little before he spoke again, tap- 
 ping his white fingers nervously on the table. 
 
 " I hope my sister was not in want, Ernest?" he said, 
 jerkily. 
 
 " For a fortnight before she died we had scarcely enough 
 to eat," was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Cardus turned himself to the window, and for a 
 minute the light of the dull December day shone and glis- 
 tened upon his brow and head, which was perfectly bald. 
 Then before he spoke he drew himself back into the shadow, 
 perhaps to hide something like a tear that shone in his soft, 
 black eyes. 
 
 " And why did she not appeal to me? I could have 
 helped her." 
 
 ' ' She said that when you quarreled with her about her 
 marrying my father, you told her never to write or speak 
 to you again, and that she never would. " 
 
 "Then why did you not do it, boy? you knew how 
 things were." 
 
 " Because we had begged once, and I would not beg 
 again. " 
 
 " Ah," muttered Mr. Cardus, " the old spirit cropping 
 up. Poor Rose, nearly starving, and dying too, and I with 
 so much which I do not want! Oh, boy, boy, when you 
 are a man never set up an idol, for it frightens good spirits 
 away. Nothing else can live in its temple; it is a place 
 where all other things are forgotten — duty, and the claims 
 
THE witch's head. 9 
 
 of blood, and sometimes those of honor too. Look now, I 
 have my idol, and it has made me forget my sister and 
 your mother. Had she not written at last wlien she was 
 dying, I should have forgotten you too." 
 
 The boy looked up puzzled. 
 
 "An idol!" 
 
 " Yes," went on his uncle in his dreamy way — " an 
 idol. Many people have them; they keep them in the cup- 
 board with their family skeleton; sometimes the two are 
 identical. And they call them by many names, too; fre- 
 quently it is a woman's name; sometimes that of a passion; 
 sometimes that of a vice, but a virtue's — not often. ' 
 
 " And what is the name of yours, uncle?" asked the 
 wondering boy. 
 
 " Mine; oh, never mind!" 
 
 At this moment a swing-door in the side of the room 
 was opened, and a tall, bony woman with beady eyes came 
 through. 
 
 •" Mr. de Talor, to see you, sir, in the office." 
 
 Mr. Cardus whistled softly. " Ah," he said, " tell him 
 I am coming. By the way, Grioe, this young gentleman 
 ihas come to live here; his room is ready, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir; Miss Dorothy has been seeing to it." 
 
 " Good; where is Miss Dorothy?" 
 
 " She has walked into Kesterwick, sir." 
 
 " Oh! and Master Jeremy?" 
 
 " He is about, sir; I saw him pass with a ferret awhile 
 back." 
 
 " Tell Sampson or the groom to find him and send him 
 to Master Ernest here. That will do, thank you. Now, 
 Ernest, I must be off. I hope that you will be pretty happy 
 here, my boy, when your trouble has worn off a bit. You 
 will have Jeremy for a companion; he is a lout, and an un- 
 .pleasant lout it is true, but I suppose that he is better than 
 nobody. And then there is Dorothy "—and his voice soft- 
 ened as he uttered her name — " but she is a girl." 
 
 " Who are Dorothy and Jeremy?" broke in his nephew; 
 " are they your children?" 
 
 Mr. Cardus started perceptibly, and his thick, white 
 eyebrows contracted over his dark eyes till they almost met. 
 
 " Children," he said, sharply; " I have no children. 
 They are my wards. Their name is Jones " — and he left 
 the room. 
 
1© THE witch's head. 
 
 " Well, he is a rum sort," reflected Ernest to himself, 
 " and I don't think I ever saw such a shiny head before. I 
 wonder if be oils it? But, at any rate, he is kind to me. 
 Perhaps it would have been better if mottier had written to 
 him before. She might have gone on living, then." 
 
 Eubbing his hand across his face to clear away the water 
 gathering in his eyes at the thought of his dead mother, 
 Ernest made his way to the wide fire-place at the top end 
 of the room, peeped into the ancient ingle-nooks on each 
 side, and at the old Dutch tiles with which it was lined, 
 and then lifting up his coat after a grown-up fashion pro- 
 ceeded to warm himself and inspect his surroundings. It 
 was a curious room in which he stood, and its leading feat- 
 ure was old oak paneling. All down its considerable length 
 the walls were oak-clad to the low ceiling, which was sup- 
 ported by enormous beams of the same material; the shut- 
 ters of the narrow windows which looked out on the sea 
 were oak, and so were the doors and the table, and even 
 the mantel-shelf. The general idea given by the display of 
 so much timber was certainly one of solidity, but it could 
 scarcely be called cheerful — not even the numerous suits of 
 armor and shining weapons which were placed about upon 
 the walls could make it that. It was a remarkable room, 
 but its efEect upon the observer was undoubtedly depress- 
 ing. 
 
 Just as IJrnest was beginning to realize this fact, things 
 were made more lively by the sudden appearance through 
 the swing-door of a large, savage-looking bull-terrier, which 
 begun to steer for the fire-place, where it was evidently ac- 
 customed to lie. On seeing Ernest it stopped and sniffed. 
 
 " Halloo, good dog!" said Ernest. 
 
 The dog growled, and showed his teeth. 
 
 Ernest put out his leg toward it as a caution to it to keep 
 off. It acknowledged the compliment by sending its teeth 
 through his trousers. Then the lad, growing wroth, and 
 being not free from fear, seized the poker and hit the dog 
 over the head so shrewdly that the blood streamed from the 
 blow, and the brute, losing his grip, turned and fled howl- 
 ing. 
 
 While Ernest was yet warm with the glow of victory, the 
 door once more swung open, violently this time, and 
 through it there came a boy of about his own age, a dirty, 
 deep-chested boy, with uncut hair, and a slow heavy face m 
 
THB witch's head. 11 
 
 Which were set great gray eyes, just now ablaze witli indig- 
 nation. On seeing Bruest he pulled up much as the dog 
 had done and regarded him angrily. 
 
 " Did you hit my dog?" he asked. 
 
 " I hit a dog," replied Ernest politely, " but—" 
 
 " I don't want your ' huts.' Can you fight?" 
 
 Ernest inq[iured whether this question was put with a 
 view of gaining general information or for any particular 
 purpose. 
 
 " Can you fight?" was the only rejoinder. 
 
 Slightly nettled, Ernest replied that under certain cir- 
 cumstances he could fight like a tom-cat. 
 
 "Then lookout; I'm going to make your head as you 
 have made my dog's." 
 
 Ernest, in the polite language of youth, opined that 
 there would be hair and toe-nails flying first. 
 
 To this sally Jeremy Jones, for it was he, replied only by 
 springing at him, his hair flying out behind like a Eed In- 
 dian's, and smiting him severely in the left eye, caused him 
 to measure his length upon the floor. Arising quickly, 
 Ernest returned, the coniphment with interest; but this 
 time they both went down together, pummeling each other 
 heartily. With whom the victory would ultimately have 
 remained could scarcely be doubtful, for Jeremy, who even 
 at that age gave promise of the enormous physical strength 
 which afterward made him such a noted character, must 
 have crushed his antagonist in the end. But while his 
 strength still endured Ernest was fighting with such ungov- 
 ernable fury and such a complete disregard of personal con- 
 sequences, that he was for awhile, at any rate, getting the 
 best of it. And luckily for him, while matters were yet 
 in the balanced scales of Fate an interruption occurred. 
 For at that moment there rose before the blurred sight of 
 the struggling boys a vision of a little woman; at least she 
 looked hke a woman, with an indignant little face and an 
 uplifted forefinger. 
 
 " Oh, you wicked boys! — what will Eeginald say, I 
 should like to know? Oh, you bad Jeremy! — I am ashamed 
 to have such a brother. Get up!" 
 
 " My eye!" said Jeremy, thickly, for his lip was cut, 
 "it's Dolly." 
 
13 THE witch's head. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EEGIKALD CAEDUS, ESQ., MISAKTHEOPE. 
 
 Whek Mr. Card US left the sitting room where he had 
 beea talking to Ernest, he passed down a passage in the 
 rambling old house which led him into a court-yard. On 
 the further side of the yard, which was walled in, stood a 
 neat red-brick building one story high, consisting of two 
 rooms and a passage. On to this building were attached a 
 series of low green-houses, and against the wall at the fur- 
 ther end of these houses was a lean-to in which stood the 
 boiler that supplied the pipes with hot water. The little 
 red-brick building was Mr. Cardus's office, for he was a 
 lawyer by profession ; tlie long tail of glass behind it were 
 his orchid-houses, for orchid-growing was his sole amuse- 
 ment. The tout ensemble, offi[ce and orchid-houses, seemedi 
 curiously out of place in the gray and ancient court-yard 
 where they stood, looking as they did on to the old, old! 
 one-storied house scarred by the passage of centuries of 
 tempestuous weather. Some such idea seemed to strike 
 Mr. Cardus as he closed the door behind him preparatory 
 to crossing the court-yard. 
 
 " Queer contrast," he muttered to himself; " very queer. 
 Something like that between Reginald Cardus, Esquire, 
 Misanthrope of Dum's Ness, and Mr. Reginald Cardus, 
 Solicitor, Chairman of the Stokesly Board of Guardians, 
 Bailifi of Kesterwick, etc. And yet in both cases they are 
 part of the same establishment. Case of old and new style!" 
 Mr. Cardus did not make his way straight to the office. 
 Ho struck off to the right and entered the long line of 
 glass-houses, walking up from house to house till he reached 
 the partition where the temperate sorts were placed to 
 bloom, and which was connected with his office by a glass 
 door. Through this last he walked softly with a cat-like 
 step till he reached the door, Avhere he paused to observe a 
 large coarse man who was standing at the far end of the 
 room, looking out intently on the court-yard. 
 
 " Ah, my friend," he said to himself, " so the shoe is 
 beginning to pinch. Well, it is time." Then he pushed 
 the door softly open, passed into the room with the same 
 
THE witch's head. 13 
 
 cat-like step, closed it, and, seating himself at his writing- 
 table, took up a pen. Apparently, the coarse-looking man 
 at the window was too much absorbed in his own thoughts 
 to hear him, for he still stood staring into space. 
 
 " Well, Mr. de Talor," said the lawyer, presently, in his 
 soft, jerky voice, " I am at your service." 
 
 The person addressed started violently, and turned 
 sharply round. " Good 'eavens, Cardus, how did you get 
 in?" 
 
 " Through the door, of course; do you suppose I came 
 down the chimney?" 
 
 " It's very strange, Cardus, but I never "card you come. 
 You've given me quite a start. " 
 
 Mr. Cardus laughed, a hard, little Jaugh. " You were 
 too much occupied with your own thoughts, Mr. de Talor. 
 I fear that they are not pleasant ones* Can I help you?" 
 
 " How doyou know that my thoughts are not pleasant, 
 Cardus? I never said so." 
 
 " If we lawyers waited for our clients to tell us all their 
 thoughts, Mr. de Talor, it would often take us a long time 
 to reach the truth. We have to read their faces, or even 
 their backs sometimes. You have no idea of how much ex- 
 pression a back is capable, if you make such things your 
 study; yours, for instance, looks very uncomfortable to- 
 day — nothing gone wrong, I hope?" 
 
 "No, Cardus, no," answered Mr. de Talor, dropping 
 the subject of backs, which was, he felt, beyond him; 
 " 'tis nothing much, merely a question of business, on 
 which I have come to ask your advice as a shrewd man." 
 
 " My best advice is at your service, Mr. de Talor — what 
 £S it?" 
 
 "Well, Cardus, it's this." And Mr. de Talor seated 
 his portly frame in an easy-chair, and turned his broad, 
 vulgar face toward the lawyer. " It's about the railway- 
 grease business — " 
 
 " Which you own up in Manchester?" 
 
 "Yes, that's it." 
 
 " Well, then, it ought to be a satisfactory subject to talk 
 of. It pays hand over fist, does it not?" 
 
 " No, Cardus, that is just the point; it did pay, it don't 
 now. " 
 
 " How's that?" 
 
 " Well, you see, when my father took out the patent. 
 
14 THE witch's HBAD. 
 
 and started the business, liis 'ouse was the only ^ouse in 
 the market, and ho made a pot, and I don't miud telling you 
 I've made a pot too; but now, ^hat do you think? — there's 
 a beggarly firm called Eastrick & Codley that took out a 
 new patent last year, and is under-selling us with a better 
 stufE at a cheaper price than we can turn it out at." 
 " Well?" 
 
 " Well. We've lowered our price to theirs, but we are 
 doing business at a loss. We hoped to burst them, but 
 they don't burst; there's somebody backing them, con- 
 found them, for Kastrick & Oodley ain't worth a sixpence; 
 but who it is the Lord only knows. I don't believe they 
 know themselves. " 
 
 " That is unfortunate, but what about it?" 
 " Just this, Cardus. I want to ask your advice about 
 selling out. Our credit is still good, and we could sell up 
 for a large pile, not so large as we could have done, but still 
 large, and I don't know whether to sell or hold." 
 
 Mr. Gardus looked thoughtful. "It is a difficult point, 
 Mr. de Talor, but for myself I am always against caving 
 in. The other firm may smash after all, and then you 
 would be sorry. If you were to sell now you would prob- 
 ably make their fortunes, which I suppose you don't want 
 to do. " 
 "No, indeed." 
 
 "Then you are a very wealthy man; you are not de- 
 pendent on this grease business. Even if things were to go 
 wrong you have all your landed property here at Ceswick's 
 Ness to fall back on. I should hold, if I were you, even if 
 it was at a loss for a time, and trust to the fortune of war." 
 Mr. de Talor gave a sigh of relief. " That's my view, 
 too, Cardus. You're a slarewd man, and I am glad you 
 jump with me. Damn Rastrick.& Codley, say I." 
 
 " Oh, yes, damn them by all means," answered the law- 
 yer with a smile, as he rose to show his client to the door. 
 
 On the further side of the passage was another door with 
 a glass top to it, which gave on to a room furnished after 
 the ordinary fashion of a clerk's office. Opposite this door 
 Mr. de Talor stopped to look at a man who was within sit- 
 ting at a table writing. The man was old, of large size, 
 and very powerfully built, and dressed with extreme neat-- 
 ness in hunting costume — boots, breeches, spurs, and all. 
 Over his large head grew f ufts of coarse gray hair, which 
 
THE witch's head. 15 
 
 hung down in disheveled loots about his face, giving him a 
 wild appearance, that was added to by a curious distortion 
 of the mouth. His left arm, too, hung almost helpless by 
 his side. 
 
 Mr. Cardus laughed as he followed his visitor's gaze. 
 " A curious sort of clerk, eh?" he said. " Mad, dumb, 
 and half paralyzed — not many lawyers could show such an- 
 other." 
 
 Mr. de Talor glanced at the object of their observation 
 uneasily. 
 
 " If he's so mad how can he do clerk's work?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh, he's only mad in a way; he copies beautifully." 
 
 " He has quite lost his memory, I suppose," said De Ta- 
 lor, with another uneasy glance. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mr. Cardus with a smile; "he has. 
 Perhaps it is as well. He remembers nothing now but his 
 delusions. " 
 
 Mr. de Talor looked relieved. " He has been with you 
 many years now, hasn't he, Cardus?" 
 
 " Yes, a great many. " 
 
 "Why did you bring him 'ere at all?" 
 
 " Did I never tell you the story? Then if you care to 
 step back into my office I will. It is not a long one. You 
 remember when our friend " — he nodded toward the office 
 — " kept the hounds, and they used to call him ' Hard-rid- 
 ing Atterleigh '?" 
 
 " Yes, I remember, and ruined himself over them, like 
 a fool." 
 
 " And of course you remember Mary Atterleigh, his 
 daughter, whom we were all in love with when we were 
 young?" 
 
 Mr. de Talor's broad cheek took a deeper shade of crim- 
 son as he nodded assent. 
 
 "Then," went on Mr. Cardus, in a voice meant to be 
 indifferent, but which now and again gave traces of emotion, 
 " you will also remember that I was the fortunate man, 
 and was, with her father's consent, engaged to be married 
 to Mary Atterleigh so soon as I could show him that my in- 
 come reached a certain sum. " Here Mr. Cardus paused a 
 moment, and then continued: " But I had to go to Amer- 
 ica about the great Norwich divorce case, and it was a 
 long job, and traveling was slow then. When I got back, 
 Mary was — married to a man called Jones — a friend of 
 
l6 THE witch's head. ■ 
 
 yours, Mr. de Talor. He was staying at your house, Ces- 
 "wiok's Ness, when he met her. But, perhaps you are bet- 
 ter acquainted with that part of the story than J am. " 
 Mr. de Talor was looking very uneasy again now. 
 " No, I know nothing about it. Jones fell in love with 
 her like the rest, and the next I heard of it was that they 
 wej:e to be married. It was rather rough on you, eh, Oar- 
 dus? but. Lord, you shouldn't have been fool enough to 
 trust her. " 
 
 Mr. Cardus smiled, a bitter smile — " Yes, it was a little 
 ' rough,' but that has nothing to do with my story. The 
 marriage did not turn out well; a curious fatality pursued 
 all who had had any hand in it. Mary had two children; 
 and then did the best thing she could do— died of shame 
 and sorrow. Jones, who was rich, went fraudulently bank- 
 rupt, and ended by committing suicide. Hard- riding At- 
 terleigh flourished for awhile, and then lost his money in 
 horses and ship-building speculation, and got a paralytic 
 stroke that took away all his speech and most of his reason. 
 Then i brought him here to save him from the mad- 
 house." 
 
 " That was kind of you, Cardus." 
 " Oh, no, he is worth his keep, and besides, he is poor 
 Mary's father. He is under the fixed impression that I am 
 the devil; but that does not matter." 
 " You've got her children 'ere too, eh?" 
 "Yes, I have adopted them. The girl reminds me of 
 her mother, though she will never have her mother's looks. 
 The boy is like old Atterleigh. I do not care about the 
 boy. But, thank God, they are neither of them like their 
 father!" 
 
 " So you knew Jones?" said De Talor, sharply. 
 " Yes, I mot him after his marriage. Oddly enough, I 
 was with him a few minutes before he destroyed himself. 
 Therfi,'Mr. de Talor, I will not .^ietain you any longer. I 
 thought that you could perhaps tell me something of the 
 detauaof Mary's marriage. The story has a fascination for 
 me, its results upon my own life have been so far-reaching. 
 I am sure that I am not at the bottom of it yet. Mary 
 wrote to me when she was dying, and hinted at something 
 that lean not understand. There was somebody behind 
 who arranged the matter, who assisted Jones's suit. Well, 
 ▼ell, I ishall find it all out in time, and whoever it is will 
 
THE witch's head. 17 
 
 no doubt pay the price of his wickedness like the others. 
 Providence has strange ways, Mr. de Talor, but in the end 
 it is a terrible avenger. "What! are you going? Queer talk 
 for a lawyer's oflBce, isn't it?" 
 
 Here Mr. de Talor rose, looking pale, and merely nod- 
 ding to Mr. Cardus, left the room. 
 
 The lawyer watched him till the door had closed, and 
 then suddenly his whole face changed. The white eyebrows 
 drew close together, the delicate features worked, and in 
 the soft eyes there shone a- -look of hate. He clinched his 
 fists, and shook them toward the door. 
 
 " You liar, you hound!" he said aloud. " God grant 
 that I may live long enough to do to you as I have done to 
 them! One a suicide, and one a paralytic madman; you, 
 you shall be a beggar if it takes me twenty years to make 
 you so. Yes, that will hit you hardest. Oh, Mary! Mary! 
 dead and dishonored through you, yoii scoundrel! Oh, my 
 darling, shall I ever find you again?" 
 
 And this strange man dropped his head upon the desk 
 before him and groaned. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 OLD DUM'S 1TES8. 
 
 Whek Mr. Cardus came half an hour or so later to take 
 his place at the diuner-table, for in those days they dined in 
 the middle of the day at Dum's Ness, he was not in a good 
 mood. The pool into which the records of our individual 
 existence are ever gathering, and which we call our past, 
 will not often bear much stirring, even when its waters are 
 not bitter. Certainly Mr. Cardus's would not. And yet 
 that morning he had stirred it violently enough. 
 
 In the long, oak-paneled room, used indifferently as a sit- 
 ting and dining-room, Mr. Cardus found " Hard-riding At- 
 terleigh " and his granddaughter, little Dorothy Jones. 
 The old man was already seated at table, and Dorothy was 
 busying herself cutting bread, looking as composed and 
 grown-up as though she had been four-and-twenty instead 
 of fourteen. She was a strange child with her assured air 
 and woman's ways and dress, her curious thoughtful face, 
 and her large blue eyes that shone steady as the light of a 
 lamp. , But just now the little face was more anxious than 
 nsnali 
 
18 THE -witch's HBAD. 
 
 " Eeginald," she began as soon as he was in the room 
 ffor by Mr. Cardas's wish she always called him by his 
 Christian name), " I am sorry to tell you that there has 
 been a sad disturbance. " 
 
 " What is it?" he asked with a frown; " Jeremy again?" 
 Mr. Cardus could be very stern where Jeremy was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid it is. The two boys—" but it was 
 ilnneeessary for her to carry her explanations further, for 
 at that moment the swing-door opened, and through it ap- 
 peared the young gentlemen in question, driven in like 
 sheep by the beady-eyed Grice. Ernest was leading, at- 
 tempting the impossible feat of looking jaunty with a lump 
 of raw beefsteak tied over one eye, and presenting a general 
 appearance that suggested the idea of the colors of the rain- 
 bow in a state of decomposition. 
 
 Behind him shuffled Jeremy, his matted locks still wet 
 from being pumped on. But his wounds were either un- 
 saited to the dreadful remedy of raw beefsteak, or he had 
 adopted in preference an heroic one of his own, of which 
 grease plentifully sprinkled with flour formed the basis. 
 
 For a moment there was silence, then Mr. Cardus with 
 awful politeness asked Jeremy what was the meaning of 
 this. 
 
 " We've been fighting," answered the boy, sulkily. " He 
 hit—" 
 
 " Thank you, Jeremy, I don't want the particulars, but 
 I will take this opportunity to tell you before your sister 
 and my nephew what I think of you. You are a boor and 
 a lout, and, what is more, you are a coward." 
 
 At this unjust taunt the lad colored to his eyes. 
 
 " Yes, you may color, but let me tell you that it is cow- 
 ardly to pick a quarrel with a boy the moment he sets foot 
 inside my doors — " 
 
 " I say, uncle," broke in Ernest, who was unable to see 
 anything cowardly about fighting, an amusement to which 
 he was rather partial himself, and who thought that his late 
 antagonist was getting more than his due, " I began it, you 
 know." 
 
 It was not true, except in the sense that he had begun it 
 by striking the dog; nor did this statement produce any 
 great effect upon Mr. Cardus, who was evidently seriously 
 angry with Jeremy on more points than this. But at least 
 
THE witch's head. 19 
 
 it was one of those well-meant fibs at which the recording 
 angel should not be offended. 
 
 " I do not care who began it," went on Mr. Cardus, 
 angrily, " nor is it about this only that I am angry. You 
 arc a discredit to me, Jeremy, and a discredit to your sis- 
 ter. You are dirty, you are idle; your ways are not those 
 of a gentleman. I sent you to school — ^you ran away. I 
 give you good clothes — you will not wear them. I tell you, 
 boy, that I will not stand it any longer. Now listen. I 
 am going to^make arrangements with Mr. Halford, the 
 clergyman at Kesterwick, to undertake Ernest's education. 
 You shall go with him; and if I see no improvement in 
 your ways in the course of the next few months, I shall 
 wash my hands of you. Do yon understand me now?" 
 
 The boy Jeremy had, during this oration, been standing 
 in the middle of the room, first on one leg, then on the 
 other. At its conclusion he brought the leg that was at 
 the moment in the air down to the ground and stood firm. 
 
 " Well," went on Mr. Cardus, " what have you to say?" 
 
 "I have to say," blurted out Jeremy, " that I don't 
 want your education. You care nothing about me," he 
 went on, his gray eyes flashing, and his heavy face lighting 
 up; " nobody cares about me except my dog Nails. Yes, 
 you make a dog of me myself; you throw things to me as I 
 throw Nails a bone. T don't want your education, and I 
 won't have it. I don't want the fine clothes you buy for 
 me, and I won't wear them. I don't want to be a burden 
 on you, either. Let me go away and be a fisher-lad and 
 earn my bread. If it hadn't been for her," pointing to his 
 sister, who was sitting aghast at his outburst, " and for 
 Nails, I'd have gone long ago, I can tell you. At any rate 
 I should not be a dog, then. I should be earning my liv- 
 ing, and have no one to thank for it. Let me go, I say, 
 where I sha'n't be mocked at if I do my fair day's work. 
 I'm strong enough; let me go. There! I've spoken my 
 mind now;" and the lad broke out into a storm of tears, 
 and, turning, tramped out of the room. 
 
 As he went, Mr. Oardus's wrath seemed to leave him. 
 
 " I did not think he had so much spirit in him," he sai^ 
 aloud. '' Well, let us have our dinner." 
 
 At dinner the conversation flagged, the scene that pre- 
 ceded it having presumably left a painful impression; and 
 Ernest, who was an observant youth, fell to watching little 
 
30 THE witch's head. 
 
 Dorothy doing the honors of the table: cutting up hei* 
 crazed old grandfather's food for him, seeing that every- 
 body had what they wanted, and generally making herself 
 unobtrusively useful. In due course the meal came to an 
 end, and Mr. Cardus and old Atterleigh departed back to 
 the oflace, leaving Dorothy alone with Ernest. Presently 
 the former began to talk. 
 
 " I hope that your eye is not painful/' she said. " Jer- 
 emy hits very hard. " 
 
 " Oh, no, it's all right. I'm used to it. When I was at 
 school in London I often used to fight. I'm sorry for him, 
 ihough — ^your brother, I mean." 
 
 " Jeremy! oh, yes, he is always in trouble, and now I 
 suppose that it will be worse than ever. I do all I can to 
 ikeep things smooth, but it is no good. If he won't go to 
 Mr. Halford's, I am sure I don't know what will happen," 
 and the little lady sighed deeply. 
 
 " Oh, I dare say that he will go. Let's go and look for 
 him, and try and persuade him." 
 
 " We might try," she said, doubtfully. " Stop a min- 
 ute, and I will put on my hat, and then if you will take 
 that nasty thing off your eye we might walk on to Kester- 
 wick. I want to take a book, out of which I have been 
 teaching myself French, back to the cottage, where old 
 Miss Ceswick lives, you know." 
 
 " All right," said Ernest. 
 
 Presently Dorothy returned, and they went out by the 
 back way to a little room near the coach-house, where Jer- 
 emy stuffed birds and kept his collections of eggs and but- 
 terflies; but he was not there. On inquiring of Sampson, 
 the old Scotch gardener who looked after Mr. Cardus's 
 orchid -houses, she discovered that Jeremy had gone out to 
 shoot snipe, having borrowed Sampson's gun for that pur- 
 pose. 
 
 " That is just like Jeremy," she sighed. " He is always 
 going out shooting instead of attending to things." 
 
 " Can he hit birds flying, then?" asked Ernest. 
 
 "Hit them!" she answered, with a touch of pride; "I 
 don't think he ever misses them. I wish he could do other 
 things as well." 
 
 Jeremy at once went up at least fifty per cent, in Ernest's 
 estimation. 
 
 On their way hack to th» "house they peeped in through 
 
THE witch's head. 21 
 
 the office- window, and Ernest saw " Hard-riding Atter- 
 leigh " at his work, copying deeds. 
 He's your grandfather, isn't he?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Does he know you?" 
 
 " In a sort of a way; bat he is quite mad. He thinks 
 that Eeginald is the devil, whom he must serve for a cer- 
 tain number of years. He has got a stick with numbers of 
 notches on it, and he cuts out a notch every month. It is 
 all very sad. I think it is a very sad world," and she 
 sighed again. 
 
 " Why does he wear hunting-clothes?" asked Ernest. 
 
 " Because he always used to ride a great deal. He loves 
 a horse now. Sometimes you will see him get up from his 
 writing-table and the tears come into his eyes if anybody 
 comes into the yard on horseback. Once he came out and 
 tried to get on to a horse and ride off, but they stopped 
 him." 
 
 " Why don't they let him ride?" 
 
 " Oh, he would soon kill himself. Old Jack Tares, who 
 lives at Kesterwick, and gets his living by rats and ferrets, 
 and used to be whip to grandfather's hounds when he had 
 them, says that he always was a little mad about riding. 
 One'moonlight night he and grandfather went out to hunt 
 a stag that had strayed here out of some park. They put 
 the stag out of a little grove at a place called ClafEton, five 
 miles away, and he took them round by Starton and Ash- 
 leigh, and then came down the flats to the sea, about a mile 
 and a half below here, just this side of the quicksand. The 
 moon was so bright that it was almost like day, and for the 
 last mile the stag was in view not more than a hundred 
 yards in front of the hounds, and the pace was racing. 
 When he came to the beach he went right through the 
 waves out to sea, and the hounds after him, and grand- 
 father after them. They caught him a hundred yards out 
 and killed him, and then grandfather turned his horse's 
 head and swam back with the hounds." 
 
 " My eye!" was Ernest's comment on this story. " And 
 what did Jack Tares do?" 
 
 " Oh, he stopped on the beach and said his prayers; he 
 thought that they would all be drowned. " 
 
 Then they passed through the old house which was built^ 
 on a little ness or headland that'jutted beyond the level oF 
 
23 THE witch's head. 
 
 the shore-line, and across which the wind swept and raved 
 all the winter long, driving the great waves in ceaseless 
 thunder against the sandy cliffs. It was a desolate spot, 
 nude of vegetation, save for rank, rusli-like grass and plants 
 of sea-holly, tiaat the gray and massive house, of which the 
 roof was secured by huge blocks of rock, looked out upon. 
 In front was the great ocean, rushing in continually upon 
 the sandy bulwarks, and with but few ships to break its 
 loneliness. To the left as far as the eye could reach ran a 
 line of cliflf, out of which the waves had taken huge mouth- 
 f uls, till it was as full of gaps as an old crone's jaw. Be- 
 hind this stretched mile upon mile of desolate-looking land, 
 covered for the most part with ling and heath, and cut up 
 with dikes, whence the water was pumped by means of 
 windmills, that gave a Dutch appearance to the landscape. 
 
 " Look," said Dorothy, pointing to a small, white house 
 about a mile and a half away up the shore-line, " that is 
 the lock-house where the great sluice-gates are, and beyond 
 that is the dreadful quicksand in which a whole army was 
 once swallowed up, like the Egyptians in the Red Sea. " 
 
 " My word!" said Ernest, much interested; " and, I say, 
 did my uncle build this house?" 
 
 " You silly boy; why, it has been built for hundreds of 
 years. Homebody of the name of Dum built it, and that is 
 why it is called Dum's Ness; at least, I suppose so. There 
 is an old chart that Reginald has, which was made in the 
 time of Henry VJI., and it is marked as Dum's Ness there, 
 so Dum must have lived before them. Look," she went 
 on, as turning to the right they rounded the old house and 
 got on to the road which ran along the top of the cliflf, 
 " there are the ruins of Titheburgh Abbey," and she 
 pointed to the remains of an enormous church with a stiU 
 perfect tower, that stood within a few hundred yards of 
 them, almost upon the edge of the cliflf. 
 
 " Why don't they build it up again?" asked Ernest. 
 
 Dorothy shook her head. " Because in a few years the 
 sea will swallow it. Nearly all the grave-yard has gone 
 already. It is the same with Kesterwick, where we are 
 going. Kesterwick was a great town once. The kings of 
 East Anglia made it their capital, and a bishop lived there. 
 And after that it was a great port, with thousands upon 
 thousands of inhabitants. But the sea came on and on and 
 choked up the harbor, and washed away the cliffs, and they 
 
THB witch's head. 23 
 
 could not keep it out, and now Kesterwick is nothing but a 
 little village with one fine old church left. The real Kes- 
 terwick lies there, under the sea. If you walk along the 
 beach after a great gale, you will find hundreds of bricks 
 and tiles washed from the houses that are going to pieces 
 down in tlie deep water. Just fancy, on one Sunday after- 
 noon, in the reign of Queen Blizabpth, three of the parish 
 churches were washed over the cliff into the sea!" 
 
 And so she went on telling the listening Ernest tale after 
 tale of the old town than which Babylon had not fallen 
 more completely, till thSy came to a pretty little modern 
 house bowered up in trees— that is, in summer, for there 
 were no leaves upon them now — with which Ernest was 
 destined to become very well acquainted in after years. 
 
 Dorotliy left her companion at the gate while she went 
 in to leave her book, remarking that she would be ashamed 
 to introduce a boy with so black an eye. Presently she 
 came back again, saying that Miss Ceswick was out. 
 
 " Who is Miss Ceswick?" asked Ernest, who at this 
 period of his existence had a burning thirst for information 
 of every sort. 
 
 " She is a very beautiful old lady," was Dorothy's an- 
 swer. " Her family lived for many years at a place called 
 Ceswick's Ness; but her brother lost all his money gam- 
 bling, and the place was sold, and Mr. de Talor, that horrid 
 fat man whom you saw drive away this morning, bought 
 it." 
 
 " Does she live alone?" 
 
 " Yes; but she has some nieces, the daughters of her 
 brother who is dead, and whose mother is very ill; and if 
 she dies one of them is coming to live with her. She is just 
 my age, so I hope she will come." 
 _ After this there was silence for awhile. 
 
 " Ernest," said the little woman presently, "you look 
 kind, so 1 will ask you. I want you to help me about 
 Jeremy." 
 
 Ernest, feeling much puffed up at the compliment im- 
 plied, expressed his willingness to do anything he could. 
 
 " You see, Ernest," she went on, fixiiig her sweet blue 
 eyes on his face, " Jeremy is a great trouble to me. He 
 will go his own way. And he does not like Eeginald, and 
 Eeginald does not like him. If Eeginald comes in at one 
 door Jeremy goes out at the other. And besides he always 
 
34 THE witch's head. 
 
 flies in Reginald's face. And, you see, it is not rigW of 
 Jeremy, because after all Reginald is very kind to us, and 
 there is no reason lie should be, except that I believe he 
 was fond of our mother; and if it was not for Reginald, 
 whom I love very much, though he is curious sometimes, I 
 don't know what would become of grandfather or us. And 
 so, you see, I think that Jeremy ought to behave better to 
 him, and I want to ask you to bear with his rough ways and 
 try and be friends with him and get him to behave better. 
 It is not much for him to do in return for all your uncle's 
 kindness. You see, I can do a little something, because I 
 look after the housekeeping; but he does nothing. And 
 first I want you to get him to make no more trouble about 
 going to Mr. Halford's. " 
 
 " All right, I'll try; but, I say, how do you learn? you 
 seem to know an awful lot." 
 
 " Oh, I teach myself in the evening. Reginald wanted 
 to get me a governess, but I would not. How should I 
 ever get Grice and the servants to obey me if they saw that 
 I had to do what a strange woman told me? It would not 
 do at all." 
 
 Just then they were passing the ruins of Titheburgh 
 Abbey. It was almost dark, for the winter's evening was 
 closing in rapidly, when suddenly Dorothy gave a little 
 shriek, for from behind a ruined wall there rose up an 
 armed mysterious figure with something white behind it. 
 Next second she saw that it was Jeremy, who had returned 
 from shooting, and was apparently waiting for them. 
 
 " Oh, Jeremy, how you frightened mel What is it?" 
 
 " I wauit to speak to him," was the laconic answer. 
 
 Ernest stood still, wondering what was coming. 
 
 "Look here! You told a lie to try to save me from 
 catching it this morning. You said that ynu began it. 
 You didn't. I began it. I'd have told him too," and he 
 jerked his thumb in the direction of Dnm's Ness, " only 
 my mouth was so full of words I could not get it out. But 
 I want to say I thank you, and here, take the dog. He's 
 a nasty-tempered devil, but he'll grow very fond of you if 
 you are kind to him," and seizing the astonished Nails by 
 the collar, he thrust him toward Ernest. 
 
 Eor a moment there was a struggle in Ernest's mind, for 
 he greatly longed to possess a bull-terrier dog; but his gen- 
 tleman-like feeling prevailed. 
 
tfiB WITOH^S riBAD. 25 
 
 " I don't want the dog, and I didn't do anytting in par- 
 ticular." 
 
 "Yes, you did though," replied Jeremy, greatly re- 
 lieved that Ernest did not accept his dog, which he loved; 
 or at least you did more than anybody ever did before; 
 but I tell you what, I'll do as much for you one day, I'll do 
 anything you like." 
 
 '* Will you though?" answered Ernest, who was a sharp 
 youth, and opportunely remembered Dorothy's request. 
 
 " Yes, I will." 
 
 " Well, then, come to this fellow Halford with me, I 
 don't want to go alone." 
 
 Jeremy slowly rubbed his face with the back of an ex- 
 ceedingly dirty hand. This was more than he had bar- 
 gained for, but his word was his word. 
 
 "All right," he answered, "I'll come." And then 
 whistling to his dog he vanished into the shadows. And 
 thus began a friendship between these two that endured all 
 their lives. 
 
 CHAPTBE IV. 
 
 BOTS'TOGETHEE. 
 
 Jeeemt kept his word. On the appointed day he ap- 
 peared ready, as he expresed it, to " tackle that bloke Hal- 
 ford. " What is more, he appeared with his hair cut, a de- 
 cent suit of clothes on, and, wonder of wonders, his hands 
 properly washed, for all of which he was rewarded by find- 
 ing that the " tackling " was not such a fearful business as 
 he had anticipated. It was, moreover, of an intermittent 
 nature, for the lads found plenty of time to indulge in 
 •every sort of manly exercise together. In winter they would 
 roam all over the wide marsh-lands in search of snipe and 
 wild ducks, which Ernest missed and-Jeremy brought down 
 with unerring aim, and in summer they would swim, or 
 fish and bird-nest to their hearts' content. In this way 
 they contrived to combine the absorption of a little learn- 
 ing with that of a really extended knowledge of animal life 
 and a large quantity of health and spirits. 
 
 They were happy years those, for both the lads, and to 
 Jeremy, when he compared them to his life as it had been 
 before Ernest came, they seemed perfectly heavenly. For 
 
36 THE witch's head. 
 
 whether it was that he had improved in his manners since 
 then, or that Ernest stood as a buffer between him and Mr. 
 Cardus, it certainly happened that he came into collision 
 ■with him far less often. 'Indeed, it seemed to Jeremy that 
 the old gentleman (it was the fashion to call Mr. Cardus 
 old, though he was ia reality only middle-aged) was more 
 tolerant of him than formerly, though he knew that he 
 would never be a favorite. As for Ernest, everybody loved 
 the boy, and then as afterward he was a great favorite with 
 women, who would one and all do anything he asked. It 
 was a wonder that he did not get spoiled by it all; but he 
 did not. It was not possible to know Ernest Kershaw at 
 any period of his life without taking a fancy to him, he was 
 so eminently and unaffectedly a gentleman, and so com- 
 pletely free from any sort of swagger. Always ready to do 
 a kindness, and never forgetting one done, generous with 
 his possessions to such an extent that he seemed to have a 
 vague idea that they were the common property of his 
 friends and himself, possessing that greatest of gifts, a 
 sympathetic mind, and true as steel, no wonder that he was 
 always popular both with men and women. 
 
 He grew into a handsome lad too, did Ernest, as soon as 
 he began to get his height, with a shapely form, a beautiful 
 pair of eyes, and an indescribable appearance of manliness 
 and spirit. But the greatest charm of his face was always 
 its quick intelligence and unvarying kindliness. 
 
 As for Jeremy, he did not change much; he simply ex- 
 panded, and to tell the truth expanded very largely. Year 
 by year his form assumed more and more enormous pro- 
 portions, and his strength grew more and more abnormal. 
 As for his mind, it did not grow with the same rapidity; 
 and was loath to admit a new idea. But once it was ad- 
 mitted, it never came out again. 
 
 And he had a ruling passion too, this dull giant, and that 
 was his intense affection and admiration for Ernest. It 
 was an affection that grew with his growth till it became a 
 part of himself, increasing with the increasing years, till 
 at last it became nearly pathetic in its entirety. It was 
 but rarely that he was away from Ernest, except indeed on 
 those occasions when Ernest chose to go abroad to pursue 
 his study of foreign languages, of which he was rather 
 fond. Then and~tlien only Jeremy would strike. He dis- 
 liked parting with Ernest much, but he disliked — being in- 
 
THE witch's head. 37 
 
 tensely insular — to cohabit with foreigners more, so on 
 these occasions, and these only, for awhile they parted. 
 
 So the years wore on till, when they were eighteen, Mr. 
 Oardas, after his sadden fashion, announced ms intention 
 of sending them both to Cambridge. Ernest always re- 
 membered it, for it was on that very day that he first made 
 the acq^uaintance of Florence Ceswick. He had just issued 
 from his uncle's presence, a^d was seeking Dolly, to com- 
 municate the intelligence to "her, when he suddenly blun- 
 dered in upon old Miss Ceswick, and with her a young 
 lady. This young lady to whom Miss Ceswick introduced 
 him as her niece at once attracted his attention. On be- 
 ing introduced, the girl, who was about his own age, 
 touched his outstretched palm with her slender fingers, 
 throwing on him at the same moment so sharp a look from 
 her brown eyes that he afterward declareil to Jeremy that 
 it seemed to go right through him. She was a remarkable- 
 looking girl. The hair, which curled profusely over a 
 shapely head, was, like the eyes, brown: the complexion 
 olive, the features small, and the lips full, curving over a 
 beautiful set of teeth. In person she was rather short, but 
 squarely built, and at her early age her figure was perfectly 
 formed. Indeed, she might to ail appearance have been 
 much older than she was. There was little of the typical 
 girl about her. While he was still observing her, his uncle 
 came into the room and was duly introduced by the old 
 lady to her niece, who had, she said, come to share her 
 loneliness. 
 
 " And how do you like Kesterwick, Miss Florence?'' 
 asked Mr. Cardus, with his usual courtly smile. 
 
 " It is much what I expected — a little duller, perhaps," 
 she answered, composedly. 
 
 " Ah, perhaps you have been accustomed to a gayer 
 spot." 
 
 " Yes, till my mother died we lived at Brighton; there is 
 plenty of life there. Not that we could mix in it, we were 
 too poor; but at any rate we could watch it." 
 
 " Do you like life. Miss Florence?" 
 
 " Yes, we only live such a short time. I should like," 
 she went on, throwing her head back, and half closing her 
 eyes, " to see as much as I can, and to exhaust every emo- 
 tion." 
 
28 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Florence, you would find some of them 
 rather unpleasant," answered Mr. Card us with a smile. 
 
 " Possibly, but it is better to travel through a bad coun- 
 try than to grow in a good one." 
 
 Mr. Oardus smiled again, the girl interested him rather. 
 
 "Do you know. Miss Oeswick," he said, changing the 
 subject, and addressing the stately old lady who was sitting 
 smoothing her laces, and looking rather agha,st at her 
 niece's utterances, " that this young gentleman is going to 
 college, and Jeremy, too?" 
 
 " Indeed," said Miss Ceswiek; " I hope that you will do 
 great things there, Ernest." 
 
 While Ernest was disclaiming any intentions of the sort. 
 Miss Florence cut in again, raising her eyes from a deep 
 contemplation of that young gentleman's long shanks, 
 which were writhing under her keen glance, and twisting 
 themselves serpent-wise round the legs of the chair. 
 
 "I did not know," she said, "that they took boys at 
 college. " 
 
 Then they took their leave, and Ernest stigmatized her 
 to Dorothy as a " beast. " 
 
 But she was at least attractive in her own peculiar 
 fashion, and during the next year or two he got pretty inti- 
 mate with her. 
 
 And so Ernest and Jeremy went up to Cambridge, but 
 did not set the place on fire, nor were the voices of tutors 
 loud in their praise. Jeremy, it is true, rowed one year in 
 the ' Varsity race, and performed prodigies of strength, and 
 so covered himself with a sort of glory, which, personally 
 being of a modest mind, he did not particularly appreciate. 
 Ernest did not even do that. But somehow, by hook or by 
 crook, they, at the termination of their collegiate career, 
 took some sort of degree, and then departed from the 
 shores of the Cam, on which they had spent many a jovial 
 day —Jeremy to return to Kesterwick, and Ernest to pay 
 several visits to college friends in town and elsewhere. 
 
 And so ended the first little round of their days. 
 
THE witch's HEiJD. 99 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 EVA' S PEOMISB. 
 
 When oq leaving Cambridge Jeremy got back to Dtim's 
 Ness, Mr. Cardus received him witb his usual semi-contempt- 
 uous coldness, a mental attitude that often nearly drove 
 the young fellow wild with mortification. Not that Mr. 
 Cardus really felt any contempt for him now, he had lost 
 all that years ago when the boy had been so anxious to go 
 and " earn his bread," but he could never forgive him for 
 being the son of his father, or conquer his inherent dislike 
 to him. On the other hand, he certainly did not allow this 
 to interfere with his treatment of the lad ; if anything in- 
 deed it made him more careful. What he spent upon 
 Ernest, that same sum he spent on Jeremy, pound for 
 pound; but there was this difference about it, the -money 
 he spent on Ernest he gave from love, and that on Jeremy 
 from a sense of duty. 
 
 Now Jeremy knew all this well enough, and it made him 
 very anxious to earn his own living, and become independ- 
 ent of Mr. Cardus. But it is one thing to be anxious tO' 
 earn your own living and quite another to do it, as many a. 
 -poor wretch knows to his cost, and when Jeremy set his 
 slow brain to consider how he should go about the task it. 
 quite failed to supply him with any feasible idea. And yet 
 he did not want much; Jeremy was not of an ambitious 
 temperament. If he could earn enough to keep a cottage: 
 over his head, and find himself in food and clothes, and 
 powder and shot, he would be perfectly content. Indeed,, 
 there were to be only two sine qua nons in his ideal occu- 
 pation; it must admit of a considerable amount of out-door 
 exercise, and be of such a nature as would permit him to 
 see plenty of Ernest. Without more or less of Ernest's 
 company, life would not, he considered, be worth living. 
 
 For a week or more after his arrival home these perplex- 
 ing reflections simmered incessantly inside Jeremy's head, 
 till at length, feeling that they were getting too much for 
 him, he determined to consult his sister, which, as she had 
 threw times his brains, he would have done well to think of 
 before. 
 
30 THE witch's head. 
 
 Dolly fixed her steady blue eyes upon liim, and listened 
 to his tale in silence. 
 
 " And so yoa see, Doll "—he always called her Doll— he 
 ended up, " I'm in a regular fix. I don't know what I'm 
 fit for unless it's to row a boat, or let myself out to bad 
 shots to kill their game for them. You see I must stick 
 on to Ernest; I don't feel somehow as though I could get 
 along without him; if it wasn't for that I'd emigrate. I 
 should be just the ctap to cut down big trees in Van- 
 couver's Island or brand bullocks," he added, meditatively. 
 
 " You are a great goose, Jeremy," was his sister's com- 
 ment. He looised up, not as in any way disputing her 
 statement, but merely for further information. 
 
 " You are a great goose, I say. What do you suppose 
 that I have been doing all these three years and more that 
 you have been rowing boats and wasting time up at col- 
 lege? /have been thinking, Jeremy." 
 
 " Yes, and so have I, but there is no good in thinking." 
 
 " Np, not if you stop there; but I've been acting too. 
 I've spoken to Eeginald, and made a plan, and he has 
 accepted my plan." 
 
 "You always were clever, Doll; you've got all the brains 
 and I've got all the size," and he surveyed as much as he 
 could see of himself ruefully. 
 
 " You don't ask what I have arranged," she said, sharp- 
 ly, for in alluding to her want of stature Jeremy had 
 touched a sore point. 
 
 " I am waiting for you to tell me. " 
 
 " Well, you are to be articled to Eeginald." 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" groaaed Jeremy, "I don't like that at 
 all." 
 
 " Be quiet till I have told you. You are to be articled 
 to Eeginald, and he is to pay you an allowance of a hun- 
 dred a year while you are articled, so that if you don't like 
 it you needn't live here." 
 
 " But I don't like the business, Doll; I hate it; it is a 
 beastly business; it's a devil's business." 
 
 " I should like to know what right you have to talk like 
 that, Mr. Knowalll Let me tell ;fOu that many better 
 men than you are content to earn their living by lawyer's 
 work. I suppose that a man can be honest as a lawyer as 
 well as in any other trade. " 
 
IHB WITCH*8 HEAD. 3l 
 
 Jeremy shook his head doubtfully. " It's blood-suck- 
 ing," he said, energetically. 
 
 Thea you must suck blood," she answered, with de- 
 cision. " Look here, Jeremy, don't be pig-headed and up- 
 set all my plans. If you fall out with Reginald over this, 
 he won't do anything else for you. He doesn't like you, 
 you know, and would be only too glad to pick a quarrel 
 with you if he could do it with a clear conscience, and then 
 where would you be, I should like to know?" 
 
 Jeremy was unable to form an opinion as to where he 
 would be, so she went on: 
 
 " You must take to it for the present, at any rate. And 
 .then there is another thing to think of. Ernest is to go to 
 the bar, and unless you become a lawyer, if anything hap- 
 pened to Reginald, there will be nobody to give him a start, 
 and I'm told that is everything at the bar. " 
 
 This last Jeremy admitted to be a weighty argument. 
 
 " It is a precious rum sort of lawyer I shall make," he 
 said, sadly, " about as good as grandfather yonder; I'm 
 thinking. By the way, how has he been getting on?" 
 
 " Oh, just as usual, write, write, write all day. He 
 thinks that he is working out his time. He has got a new 
 stick now, on which he has nicked all the months and 
 years that have to run before he has done, little nicks for 
 the months and big ones for the years. There are eight 
 or ten big ones left now. Every month he cuts out a nick. 
 It is very dreadful. You know he thinks that Reginald is 
 the devil, stnd he hates him, too. The other day, when he 
 had no writing to do in the office, I found him drawing 
 pictures of him with horns and a tail, such awful pictures, 
 and I think Reginald always looks like that to him. " And 
 then sometimes he wants to go out riding, especially at 
 night. Only last week they found him putting a bridle on 
 to the gray mare, the one that Reginald sometimes rides, 
 you know." 
 
 " When did you say that Ernest was coming back?" she 
 said, after a pause. 
 
 " Why, Doll, I told you — next Monday week." 
 
 Her face fell a Uttle. " Oh, I thought you said Satur- 
 day." 
 
 " Why do you want to know?" 
 
 " Oh, only about getting his room ready." 
 
 " Why, it" is ready j I looked in yesterday." 
 
82 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Nonsense! you know nothing about it," she answered, 
 coloring. "Come, I wish you would go out; I want to 
 count the linen, and you are in the way." 
 
 Thus adjured, Jeremy removed his large form from the 
 table on which he had been sitting, and whisfcUng to Nails, 
 now a very ancient and preternaturally wise dog, set off 
 for a walk. He had moved along some little way with his 
 hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ground, reflecting 
 on the unpleasant fate in store for him as an articled clerk, 
 continually under the glance of Mr. Cardus's roving eye, 
 when suddenly he became aware that two ladies were stand- 
 ing on the e'dge of the cliff within a dozen yards of him. 
 He would have turned and fled, for Jeremy had a marked 
 dislike to ladies' society, and a strong opinion, which, how- 
 ever, he never expressed, that women were the root of all 
 evil; but, thinking that he had been seen, he feared that 
 retreat would appear rude. In one of the young ladies, for 
 they were young, he recognized Miss Florence Ceswick, 
 who to all appearance had not changed in the least since, 
 some years ago, she came with her aunt to call on Dorothy. 
 There was the same brown hair, curling as profusely as 
 ever, the same keen brown eyes and ripe lips, the same 
 small features and resolute expression of face. Her 
 square figure had indeed developed a little. In her tight- 
 fitting dress it looked almost handsome, and somehow its 
 very squareness, that most women would have considered 
 a defect, contributed to that air of power and unchanging 
 purpose that would have made Florence Ceswick remarka- 
 ble among a hundred handsomer women. 
 
 " How do you do?" said Florence, in her sharp manner. 
 " You looked as though you were walking in your sleep." 
 
 Before Jeremy could find a reply to this remark, the 
 other young lady, who had been looking intently over the 
 edge of the cliff, turned round and struck him dumb. In 
 his limited experience he had never seen such a beautiful 
 woman before. 
 
 She was a head and shoulders taller than her sister, so 
 tall indeed that only her own natural grace could save her 
 from looking awkward. Like her sister she was a brunette, 
 only of a much more pronounced type. Her waving hair 
 was black, and so were her beautiful eyes and the long lashes 
 that curled over them. The complexion was a clear olive, 
 the lips like coral, and the teeth small and regular. Every 
 
THE witch's head. 33 
 
 advantage that Nature can lavish on a woman she had en- 
 dowed her with in abundance, including radiant health and 
 spirits. To these charms must be added that sweet and 
 kindly look which sometimes finds a home on the faces of 
 good women, a soft voice, a quick intelligence, and an utter 
 absence of conceit or self-consciousness, and the reader will 
 get some idea of what Eva Ceswick was like in the first 
 flush of her beauty. 
 
 " Let me introduce my sister Eva, Mr. Jones." 
 
 But Mr. Jones was for the moment paralyzed; he could 
 not even take off his hat. 
 
 " Well," said Florence, presently, " she is not Medusaj 
 there is no need for you to turn into stone. " 
 
 This woke him up — indeed, Florence had an ugly trick 
 of wakin'g people up occasionally — and he took off his hat, 
 which was as usual a dirty one, and muttered something 
 inaudible. As for Eva, she blushed, and with ready wit 
 said that Mr. Jones was no doubt astonished at the filthy 
 state of her dress (as a matter of fact, Jeremy could not 
 have sworn that she had one on at all, much less its con- 
 dition). " The fact is," she went on, " I have been lying 
 flat on the grass and looking over the edge of the cliff.'* 
 
 " What at?" asked Jeremy. 
 
 "Why, the bones." 
 
 The spot on which they were standing was part of the 
 ancient grave-yard of Titheburgh Abbey, and as the sea en- 
 croached year by year, multitudes of the bones of the long- 
 dead inhabitants of Kesterwick were washed out of their 
 quiet graves and strewed upon the beach and unequal sur- 
 faces of the cliff. 
 
 " Look," she said, kneeling down, an example that he 
 followed. About six feet below them, which was the depth 
 at which the corpses had originally been laid, could be seen 
 ; fragments of lead and rotting wood projecting from the 
 surface of the cliff, and, what was a more ghastly sight, 
 eight inches or more of the leg-bones of a man, off which 
 the feet had been washed away. On a ledge in the sandy 
 chff, about twenty-five feet from the top and sixty or so 
 from the bottom, there lay quite a collection of human re- 
 mains of all sorts and sizes, conspicuous among them being 
 the bones that had composed the feet that belonged to the 
 projecting shanks. 
 
 "Isn't it dreadful?" said Eva, gazing down with » 
 
34 THE TTITCH'S head. 
 
 species of fascination; " just fancy coming to that! Look 
 at that little baby's skull just by the big one. Perhaps 
 that is the mother's. And oh, what is that buried in the 
 sand?" 
 
 As much of the object to which she pointed as was visi- 
 ble looked like an old' cannon-ball, but Jeremy soon came 
 to a different conclusion. 
 
 " It is a bit of a lead coffin," he said. 
 
 " Oh, I should like to get down there and find out what 
 is in it. Can't you get down?" 
 
 Jeremy shook his head. "I've done it as a boy," he 
 said, " when I was very light; but it is no good my trying 
 now, the sand would give with me, and I should go to the 
 bottom. " 
 
 He was willing to do most things to oblige this lovely 
 creature, but Jeremy was above all things practical, and 
 did not see the use of breaking his neck for nothing. 
 
 " Well," she said, " you certainly are rather heavy." 
 
 " Fifteen stone," he said, mournfully. 
 
 " But I am not ten; I think I could get down." 
 
 " You'd better not try without a rope." 
 
 Just then their conversation was interrupted by Flor- 
 ence's clear voice. 
 
 " When you two people have quite finished staring at 
 those disgusting bones, perhaps, Eva, you will come home 
 to lunch. If you only knew how silly you look, sprawling 
 there like two Turks going to be bastinadoed, perhaps you 
 would get up." 
 
 This was too much for Eva; she got up at once, and 
 Jeremy followed suit. 
 
 " Why could you not let us examine our bones in peace, 
 Florence?" said her sister, jokingly. 
 
 " Because you are really too idiotic. You see, Mr. 
 Jones, anything that is old and fusty, and lias to do with 
 old fogies who are dead and gone centuries ago, has the 
 greatest charms for my sister. She would like to go home 
 and make stories about those bones, whose they were, and 
 what they did, and all the rest of it. She calls it imagina- 
 tion; I call it furige." 
 
 Eva flushed up, but said nothing; evidently she was not 
 accustomed to answer her elder sister, and presently they 
 parted to go their separate ways, 
 
THE witch's head. 35 
 
 , " What a great oaf that Jeremy is!" said Florence to her 
 sister on their homeward way. 
 
 " I did not think him an oaf at all," she replied, warm- 
 ly; " I thought him very nice." 
 
 Moretice shrugged iier square shoulders. "Well, of 
 course, if you like a giant with as much brain as an owl, 
 there is nothing more to be said. You should see Ernest; 
 he is nice, if you like." 
 
 " You seem to be very fond of Ernest." 
 
 " Yes, I am," was the reply; " and I hope that when he 
 comes you won't poach on my manor." 
 
 " You need not be afraid," answered Eva, smiling; " I 
 promise to leave your Ernest alone." * 
 
 " Tlien that is a bargain," said Florence, sharply. 
 " Mind that you keep to your word. " 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JEREMY FALLS IK LOVE. 
 
 Jeeemy for the first time for some years had no appetite 
 for his dinner that day, a piienomeuon that filled Dorothy 
 with alarm. 
 
 " My dear Jeremy," she said afterward, " what can be 
 the matter with you; you had only one helping of beef and 
 no pudding?" 
 
 " Nothing at all," he replied, sulkily, and the subject 
 dropped. 
 
 "Doll," said Jeremy presentlj , "do you know Miss 
 Eva Ceswick?" 
 
 " Yes, I have seen her twice." 
 
 " What do you think of her, Doll? ' 
 
 " What do you think of her?" replied that cautious young 
 person. 
 
 " I think she is beautiful as — as an angel." 
 
 " Quite poetical, J declare! what next? Have you seen 
 her?" 
 
 " Of course, else how should I know that she was beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 " Ah, no wonder you had only once of beef!" 
 
 Jeremy colored. 
 
 " I am going to call there this afternoon; would you like 
 to come?" went on his sister. 
 
36 THE witch's head. 
 
 "Yes, I'll come." 
 
 " Better and better; it will be the first call 1 ever re- 
 member your having paid." 
 
 "You don't think elie will mind, Dollr" 
 
 " Wliy should she mind? Most people don't mind being 
 called on, even if they liave a pretty I'ace. " 
 
 " Pretty face! She is pretty all over. " 
 
 " Well, then, a pretty all over. I start at three; don't 
 be late." 
 
 Thereupon Jeremy went off to beautify himself for the 
 occasion, and his sister gazed at his departing form with 
 tlie puzzled expression that had distinguished her as a 
 cliild. 
 
 " He's going to '^all in love with her," she said to her- 
 self, " and no wonder; any man would, she is ' pretty all 
 over,' as he said, and what more does a man look at? I 
 wish that she would fall in love with him before Ernest 
 comes home," and she sighed. 
 
 At a quarter to three Jeremy reappeared, looking par- 
 ticularly huge in a black coat and his Sunday trousers. 
 "When they reached the cottage where Miss Ceswick lived 
 with her nieces, they were destined to meet with a disap- 
 pointment, for neither of the young ladies was at home. 
 Miss Ceswick, however, was there, and received them very 
 cordially. 
 
 " I suppose that you have come to see my newly im- 
 ported niece," she said; " in fact, I am sure that you have, 
 Mr. Jeremy, because you never came to call upon me in 
 yonr life. Ah, it is wonderful how young men will change 
 their habits to please a pair of bright eyes!" 
 
 Jeremy blushed painfully at this sally, but Dorothy came 
 to his rescue. 
 
 " Has Miss Eva come to live with yon for good?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, I think so. You see, my dear, between yon and 
 me, her aunt in London, with whom she was living, has got 
 ib family of daughters, v.ho have recently come out. Eva 
 h;i3 been kept buck as long as possible, hut now that she is 
 twenty it was impossible to keep her back any more. But 
 then, on the other hand, it was felt, at least I think that it 
 Wiis felt, that to continue to bring Eva out with her cous- 
 ins would be to quite ruin their chance of settling in life, 
 because when she was in the room, no man could be got to 
 
THE witch's head. 37 
 
 look at them. And so you see Eva has beea sent down 
 here as a penalty for being so handsome." 
 
 " Most of us would be glad to undergo heavier penalties 
 than that if we could only be guilty of the crime," said 
 Dorothy, & little sai^ly. 
 
 " Ah, my dear, I dare say you think so," answered the 
 old lady. " Every young woman longs to be beautiful and 
 get the admiration of men, but are they any the happier 
 for it? I doubt it. Very often that admiration brings 
 endless troubles in its train, and perhaps in the end wrecks 
 the happiness of the woman herself and of others who are 
 mixed up with her. I was once a bsautiful woman, my 
 dear — I am old enough to say it now — and I can tell you 
 that I believe that Providence can not do a moie unkind 
 tiling to a woman than to- give her striking beauty, unless 
 it gives with it great strength of mind. A weak-minded 
 beauty is the most unfortunate of her sex. Her very at- 
 tractions, which are sure to draw the secret enmity of other 
 women on to her, are a source of difficulty to herself, be- 
 cause they bring her lovers with whom she can not deal. 
 Sometimes the end of such a woman is sad enough. I have 
 seen it happen several times, my dear." 
 
 Often in after-life, and in circumstances that had not 
 then arisen, did Dorothy think of old Miss Ceswick's 
 words, and acknowledge their truth; but at this time they 
 did not convince her. 
 
 " I would give anything to be like your niece," she said, 
 bluntly, " and so would any other girl. Ask Florence^ foi- 
 instance." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, you think so now. "Wait till another 
 twenty years have passed over your heads, and then if you 
 are both alive see which of you is the happiest. As for 
 Florence, of course she would wish to be like Eva; of 
 coarse it is painful for her to have to go about with a girl 
 beside whom she looks like a little dowdy. I dare sny that; 
 .she would have been as glad if Eva had stopped in London 
 as her cousins were that she left it. Dear, dear, 1 hope 
 they won't quarrel. Florence's temper is dreadful when 
 she quarrels." 
 
 This was a remark that Dorothy could not gainsay. She 
 knew very well what Florence's temp«r was like. 
 
 "But, Mr. Jeremy," went on ttie old lady, "all this 
 
38 THE witch's head. 
 
 must be stupid talk for you to listen to; tell me, have you 
 been rowing any more races lately?" 
 
 " No," said Jeremy; " I strained a muscle in my arm 
 in the 'Varsity race, and it is not quite well yet." 
 
 " And where is my dear Ernest?" Like most women, 
 of whatever age they might be. Miss Ceswiek adored 
 Ernest. 
 
 " He is coming back on Monday week." 
 
 " Oh, then he will be in time for the Sniythes' lawn-ten- 
 nis party. I hear that they are going to give a dance 
 after it. Do you dance, Mr. Jeremy?" 
 
 Jeremy had to confess that he did not; indeed, as a mat- 
 ter of fact, no earthly power had ever been able to drag 
 him inside a ball-room in his life. 
 
 " That is a pity; there are so few men in these parts. 
 Florence counted them up the other day, and the propor- 
 tion is one unmarried man, between the ages of twenty and 
 forty-five, to every nine women between eighteen and 
 thirty." 
 
 " Then only one girl in every nine can get married," 
 put in Dorothy, whose mind had a trick of following things 
 to their conclusions. 
 
 " And what becomes of the other eight?" asked Jeremy. 
 
 " I suppose that they all grow into old maids like my- 
 Belf," answered Miss Ceswiek. 
 
 Dorothy, again following the matter to its conclusion, 
 reflected that in fifteen years or so there would, at the pres- 
 ent rate of progression, be at least twenty-five old maids 
 "within a radius of three miles round Kesterwick. And 
 much oppressed by this thought, she rose to take her leave. 
 
 " I know who won't be left without a husband, unless 
 men are greater stupids than I take them for — eh, 
 Jeremy?" said the kindly old lady, giving Dorothy a kiss. 
 
 " If you mean me," answered Dorothy, bluutly, with a 
 slightly heiglitened color, " I am not so vain as to think 
 that anybody would care for an undersized creature whose 
 only accomplishment is hDusekeeping; and I am sure it is 
 not for anybody that I should cai-e either." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, there are still a few men of sense in the 
 world, who would rather get a good woman as companion 
 than a pretty face. Good-bye, my dear." 
 
 Though Jeremy was on this occasion disappointed of 
 seeing Eva, on the following morning he was so fortunate 
 
THE witch's head. 39 
 
 as to meet her and her sister walking on the beach. But 
 when he got into her granious presence, he found somehow 
 that he had very little to say; and the walk would, to tell 
 the truth, have been rather dull, if it had not occsionally 
 been enlivened by flashes of Florence's caustic wit. 
 
 On the next day, however, he returned to the charge 
 with several hundred weight of the roots of a certain flower 
 which Eva had expressed a desire to possess. And so it 
 went on till at. last his shyness wore oS a little, ani they 
 grew very good friends. 
 
 Of course all this did not escape Florence's sharp eyes, 
 and one day, just after Jeremy had paid her sister a lum- 
 bering compliment and departed, she summarized her ob- 
 servations thus: 
 
 " That moon-calf is falling in love with you, Eva." 
 
 "' Nonsense, Florencel and why should you call him a 
 moon-calE? It is not nice to talk of people so." 
 
 " Well, if you can find a better definition, I am willing 
 to adopt it." 
 
 " I think that he is an honest, gentlemanlike boy; and 
 even if he were falling in love with me, I do not think that 
 there would be anything to be ashamed of — there I" 
 
 " Dear me, what a fuss we are in! Do you know I 
 shall soon begin to think that you are falling iii love wilh 
 the ' honest, gentleman-like boy '? yes, that is a better title 
 than moon-calf, though not so nervous." 
 
 Here Eva marched off in a huff. 
 
 " Well, Jeremy, and how are you getting on with the 
 beautiful Eva?" asked Dorothy that same day. 
 
 "I say, Doll," replied Jeremy, whdse general appear- 
 ance was' that of a man plunged into the depths of misery, 
 " don't laugh at a fellow; if you only knew what I feel, in- 
 side, you know, you wouldn't — " 
 
 " What! are you not well? have some brandy?" sug- 
 gested his sister, in genuine alarm. 
 
 " Don't be an idiot, Doll; it isn't my stomach, it's 
 here," and hs knocked his right lung with his great fist 
 under the impression that he was indicating tlie position of 
 his heart. 
 
 " And what do you feel, Jeremy?" 
 
 " Feel!" he answered with a groan, " what don't I feel? 
 When I am away from her, I feel a sort of linking, just 
 like one does when one has to go without one's dmuer, only 
 
40 THE witch's head. 
 
 it's always there. When she looks at me I go hot and cold, 
 all over, and when she smiles it's just as though one had 
 killed a couple of woodcocks right and left." 
 
 "Good gracious, Jeremy!" interposed his sister, who 
 was beginning to think he had gone ofE his head; "and 
 what happens if she doesn't smile?" 
 
 " Ah, then," he replied, sadly, " it's as though one had 
 missed them both. " 
 
 Though his similes were peculiar, it was clear to his sis- 
 ter that the feeling he meant to convey was genuine 
 enough. 
 
 "Are you really fond of this girl, Jeremy dear?" she 
 said, gently. 
 
 " Well, Doll, you know, I suppose I am." 
 
 " Then why don't you ask her to marry you?" 
 
 " To marry vie! VVhy, I am not fit to clean her shoes." 
 
 " An honest gentleman is fit for any woman, Jeremy." 
 
 " And I haven't got anything to support her on even if 
 she said yes, which shn wouldn't." 
 
 " Yon may get that in time. Remember, Jeremy, she 
 is a very lovely woman, and soon she is sure to find other 
 lovers." 
 
 Jeremy groaned. 
 
 " But if once you had secured her affection, and she is a 
 good woman, as I think she is, that would not matter, 
 though you might not be able to marry for some years." 
 
 " Then what am I to do?" 
 
 " I should tell her that you loved her, and ask her, if she 
 could care for you^to wait for you awhile." 
 
 Jeremy whistled meditatively. 
 
 " I'll ask Ernest about it when he comes back on Mon- 
 day." 
 
 " If I were you, I should act for myself in the matter," 
 she said, quickly. 
 
 " Xo good being in a hurry; I haven't known her a fort- 
 night—I'll ask Ernest." 
 
 " Tlien you will regret it," Dorothy answered, almost 
 passionately, and rising, left the room. 
 
 " Now, what did she mean by that?" reflected her broth- 
 er aloud; " she always is so deuced queer when Ernest is 
 concerned." But his inner consciousness returned no sat- 
 isfactory answer, so with a sigh the love-lorn Jeremy took 
 up his hat and walked. 
 
THE WITCH S HEAD. 41, 
 
 Oa Sunday, that was the day following his talk with 
 Dorothy, he saw Eva again in churcli, where she looked, he 
 thought, more like an angel than ever, and was quite as in- 
 accessible. In the church-yard he did, it is true, manage 
 to get a word or two with her, but nothing more, for the 
 sermon had been long, and Florence was hungry, and hur- 
 ried her sister home to lunch. 
 
 And then, at last, came Monday, the long-expected day 
 of Ernest's arriva,!. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EKNEST IS INDISCEEET. 
 
 . Kesteewick was a primitive place, and had no railway- 
 station nearer than Rafiham, four miles off. Ernest was 
 expected by the midday train, and Dorothy and her broth- 
 er went to meet him. 
 
 When they reached the station the train was just in 
 sight, and Dorothy got down to go and await its arrival. 
 Presently it snorted composedly up — trains do not hurry 
 themselves on the single lines in the Eastern counties — and. 
 in due course deposited Ernest and his portmanteau. 
 
 "Halloo, Doll! so you have come to meet me. How 
 are you, old girl?" and he proceeded to embrace her on the 
 platform. 
 
 " You shouldn't, Ernest; I am too big to be kissed like 
 a little girl, and in public too." 
 
 " Big, li'm! Miss five feet nothing, and as for the pub- 
 lic, I don't see any." The train had gone on, and the sol- 
 itary porter had vanished with the portmanteau. 
 
 " Well, there is no need for you to laugh at me for being 
 small; it is not everybody who can be a May-pole, like you, 
 or as broad as he is long, like Jeremy." 
 
 An unearthly view halloo from this last-named personage, 
 who had caught sight of Ernest through the door of the 
 booking-office, put a stop to further controversy, and pres- 
 ently all three were driving back, each talking at the top 
 of his or her voice. 
 
 At tho door of D urn's Ness they found Mr. Card us ap- 
 parently gazing abstractedly at the ocean, but in reality 
 waiting to greet Ernest, to whom of late years he had 
 
42 THE witch's head. 
 
 gvowii greatly attached, though his reserve seldom allowed 
 him to show it. 
 
 "Halloo, uncle, how are jrour you look pretty fresh, " 
 sung out that young gentleman before the cart had fairly 
 come to a standstill. 
 
 " Very well, thank you, Ernest. I need not ask how 
 you are. I am glad to see you back. You have come at a 
 lucky moment too, for the ' Batemania "Wallisii' is in 
 flower, and the ' Grammatophyllum s25eeiosum ' too. The 
 last is splendid." 
 
 " Ah!" said Ernest, deeply interested, for he had much 
 of his uncle's love for orchids, " let's go and see them." 
 
 " Better have some dinner first; you must be hungry. 
 The orchids will keep, but the dinner won't." 
 
 It was curious to see what a ray of light this lad brought 
 with him into this rather gloomy household. Everybody 
 began to laugh as soon as he was inside the doors. Even 
 Grice of the beady eyes laughed when he feigned to be 
 thunder-strucii at the newly developed beauty of his person, 
 and mad old Atterleigli's contorted features lighted up 
 with something liite a smile of recognition when Ernest 
 seized his hand and worked it like a pump-handle, roaring 
 out his congratulation^on the jollity of his looks. He was 
 a bonny lad, the sight of whom was good for sore eyes. 
 
 After dinner he went with his uncle, and spent half an 
 hour in going round the orchid-houses with him and Samp- 
 son the gardener. The latter was not behind the rest of 
 the household in his appreciation of " Meester " Ernest. 
 " 'Twasn't many lads," he would say, " that knew an 
 ' Odontoglossum ' from a ' Sobralia,' " but Ernest did, 
 and, what was more, knew whether it was well-grown or 
 not. Sampson appreciated a man who could discriminate 
 orchids, and set his preference for Ernest down to that 
 cause. The dour-visaged old Scotchman did not like to 
 nwn that what really charmed him was the lad's open- 
 handed, open-hearted manner, to say nothing of his ready 
 ymp:ithy and honest eyes. 
 
 While they were still engaged in admiring the lovely 
 », loom of the Granimatophylhim, Mr. Cardus sau' Mr. do 
 Talor come into his office, which was, as the reader may 
 remember, connected with the orchid-blooming house by a 
 glass dcor. Ernest was much interested in observing the 
 curioorf ihange that this man's appearance produced in 
 
THE witch's head. 43 
 
 his nncle. As a peacefal cat, dozing on a warm stone in 
 summer, becomes suddenly changed into a thing of brist- 
 ling wickedness and fury by the vision of the most inoffen- 
 sive dog, so did the placid, bald-headed old gentleman, 
 glowing with innocent pleasure at his horticultural master- 
 piece, commence to glow with -very different emotions at 
 the sight of the pompous De Talor. The riiling passion of 
 his life asserted its sway in a moment, and his whole face 
 changed; the upper lip began to quiver, the rovmg eyes 
 glittered with adaugerous light; and then a mask seemed 
 to gather over the features, which grew hard and almost 
 inscrutable. It was an interesting transformation. 
 
 Although they could see De Talor, he could not see 
 them, so for a minute they enjoyed an undisturbed period 
 of observation. 
 
 The visitor walked round the room, and, casting a look 
 of contempt at the flowers in the blooming-house, stopped 
 at Mr. CarJus's desk, and glanced at the pnpers lying on 
 it. Finding apparently nothing to interest him he retired 
 to the window, and, putting his thumbs in the arm-holes of 
 his waistcoat, amused himself by staring out of it. There 
 was something so intensely vulgar and insolent in his ap- 
 pearance as he stood thus, that Ernest could not help 
 laughing. 
 
 Ah \" said Mr. Cardus with a look of suppressed ma- 
 lignity, half to himself and half to Ernest, " 1 have really 
 got a hold of you at last, and you may look out, my 
 friend." Then he went in, and as he left the blooming- 
 house Ernest heard him greet his visitor in tRat suave man- 
 ner,, with just a touch of deference in it, that he knew so 
 well* how to assume, and De Talor's reply of " 'ow do, 
 Cardus? 'ow's the business getting on?" 
 
 Outside the glass houses Ernest found Jeremy waiting 
 for him. It had for years been an understood thing that 
 the latter was not to enter them. There was no particular 
 reason why he should not; it was merely one of those signs 
 of Mr. Cardus's disfavor that caused Jeremy's pride such 
 bitter injury. 
 
 " What are you going to do, old fellow?" he asked of 
 Ernest. 
 
 " Well, I want to go down and see Florence Ceswick, 
 but I suppose you won't care to come." 
 
 " Oh, yes, ril eome." 
 
44 THE witch's dead. 
 
 " The deuce you will! well, I never!— I say, Doll," he 
 eun.^ out to that youug lady as she appeared upon the 
 scene, " what has happened to Jeremy— he's commg out 
 calling?" 
 
 " I fancy he's got an attraction." said Miss Dorothy. 
 " I say, old fellow, you haven't been cutting me out with 
 Florence, have you?" 
 
 " I am sure it would be no great loss if he had," put in 
 Dorothy, with an impatient little stamp of the foot. 
 
 " You be quiet, Doll. I'm very fond of Florence, she's 
 so clever, and nice-looking, too. " 
 
 " If being clever means being able to say spiteful things, 
 and having a temper like — like a fiend, she is certainly 
 clever enough; and, as for her looks, they are a matter of 
 taste, not that it is for me to talk about gond looks." 
 
 " Oh, how humble we are, Doll; dust on our head and 
 sackcloth on our back, and how our bine eyes flash!" 
 " Be quiet, Ernest, or I shall get angry. " 
 " Oh, no. don't do that; leave that to people with a 
 temper ' like— like a fiend,' you know. Tiiere, there, don't 
 get cross, Dolly; let's kiss and be friends." 
 
 " I won't kiss yon, and I won't be friends, and you may 
 walk by yourselves," and before anybody could stop her 
 she was gone. Ernest whistled softly, reflecting that Dor- 
 othy was not good at standing chaff. Then, after waiting 
 awhile, he and Jeremy starter! to pay their call. 
 
 But they were destined to be unfortunate. Eva, whom 
 Ernest had never seen, and of whom he had heard noth- 
 ing, beyond that she was " good-looking," for Jeremy, 
 notwithstanding his expressed mtentioa of consulting him, 
 could not make up his mind to broach the subject, was in 
 bed with a bad headache, and Florence had gone out to 
 spend the afternoon with a friend. The old lady was at 
 home, however, and received them both warmly, more 
 especially her favorite Ernest, whom she kissed affeetion- 
 atel}'. 
 
 " I am lucky," she said, "in having two nieces, or I 
 should never see anything of young gentlemen like you." 
 "I think," said Ernest, audaciously, "that old ladies 
 are much pleasanter to talk to than young ones." 
 
 " Indeed, Master Ernest, then why did you look so blank 
 when I told you that my young ladies were not visible?" 
 "Because I regretted," replied that young gentleman. 
 
THE witch's head. 45 
 
 who was not often at a loss, " having lost an opportunity 
 of confirining my views." 
 
 " I will put the question agaiu whnn they are present to 
 take their own part/' was the answer. 
 
 Whea their call was over, Ernest and Jeremy separated, 
 Jeremy to return home, and Ernest to go and see his old 
 master, Mr. Halford, with whom he stopped to tea. It 
 was past seven on one of the most beautiful evenings in 
 July when he set out on his homeward path. There were 
 two ways of reaching Dum's Ness, either by the road that 
 ran along the cliff, or by walking on the shingle of the 
 beach. He chose the latter, and had reached the spot 
 whore Titheburgh Abbey frowned at its enemy, the ad- 
 vancing sea, when he suddenly became aware of a young 
 lady in a shady hat and swinging a walking-stick, in whom 
 he recognized Florence Ceswick.. 
 
 " How do you do, Ernest?" she said, coolly, but with a 
 slight flush upon her olive skin, that betrayed that she was 
 not quite so cool as she looked; " what are you dreaming 
 about? I have seen you coming for the last two hundred 
 yards, but you never saw me." 
 
 " I was dreaming of you, of course, Florence." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," she answered, dryly; " I thought per- 
 haps that Eva had got over her headache — her headaches 
 do go in the most wonderful way— and that you had seen 
 her, and were dreaming of her." 
 
 " And why should I dream of her, even if I had seen 
 her?" 
 
 " For the reason that men do dreanvof women — because 
 she is handsome. " • 
 
 " Is she better-looking than you, then, Florence?" 
 
 " Better-looking, indeed! I am not good-looking. " 
 
 "Nonsense, Florence! you are very good-looking." 
 
 She stopped, for he had turned and was walking with 
 her, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. 
 
 " Do you really think so?" she said, gazing full into his 
 dark eyes. " I am glad you think so. " 
 
 They were quite alone in the summer twilight; there was 
 not a single soul to be seen on the beach, or on the cliffs 
 above- it. Her touch and the earnestness of her manner 
 thrilled him; the beauty and the quiet of the evening, the 
 sweet freshness of the air, the murmur of the falling 
 waves, the fading purples in the sky, all these things 
 
46 THE witch's head. 
 
 thrilled him, too. Her face looked very handsome ia its 
 own stern way, as she gazed at him so earnestly; and, re- 
 member, he was only twenty-one. He bent his dark head 
 toward her very slowly, to give her an opportunity of escap- 
 ing if she wished, but she made no sign, and in another 
 moment he had kissed her trembling hps. 
 
 It was a foolish act, for he was not in lovo with Flor- 
 ence, and he had scarcely done it before his better sense 
 told him that it was foolish. Bnt it was done, and who 
 can recall a kiss? 
 
 He saw the olive face grow pale, and for a moment, she 
 raised her arm as though to fling it about his neck, but 
 next second she started back from him. 
 
 "Did you mean that," she said, wildly, " or are you 
 playing with me?" 
 
 Ernest looked alarined, as well he might; the young 
 lady's aspect at the moment was not reassuring. 
 
 " Mean it?" he said, " oh, yes, I meant it." 
 
 " I mean, Ernest," and again she laid her hand upon his 
 arm and looked into his eyes, "did you mean that you 
 loved me, as — for now I am not ashamed to tell you — I 
 Jove you?" 
 
 Ernest felt that this was getting awful. To kiss a young 
 woman was one thing — he had done that before — but such 
 an outburst as this was more than he had bargained for. 
 Gratifying as it was to him to learn that he possessed Flor- 
 ence's aftection, he would at that moment have given some- 
 thing to be without it. He hesitated a little. 
 
 " How serious you are!" he said at last. 
 
 " Yes,'^ she answered, " I am. I have been serious for 
 some time. Probably you know enough of me to be aware 
 that I am not a woman to be played with. I hope that 
 you are serious too; if you are nob, it may be the worse for , 
 us both, " and she flung his arm from her as though it had 
 stung her. 
 
 Ernest turned cold all over, and realized that the posi- 
 tion WHS positively grewsome. What to say or do he did 
 not know; so he stood silent, and, as it happened, silence 
 served his turn better than speech. 
 
 " There, Ernest, I have startled you. It is — it is be- 
 cause I love you. When you kissed me just now, every- 
 thing that is beautiful in the world seemed to pass before 
 my eyes, and for a moment I heard such music as they play 
 
THE witch's head. 47 
 
 in heaven. You don't understand me yet, Ernest — I ain 
 fierce, I know — but sometimes I think that my huart is 
 deep as the sea, and I can love with ten times the strength 
 of the shallow women round me; and as I cau lore, Sj I 
 can hate." 
 
 This was not reassuring intelligence to Ernest. 
 
 " You are a strange girl," he said, feebly. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, with a smile. " I know I aia 
 strange; but while I am with you I feel so gpod, and when 
 you are away all my life is a void, in which bitter thoughts 
 flit about like bats. But there, good-uight. I shall see 
 you at the Smythes' dance to-morrow, shall I not? You 
 will dance with me, will you not.'' And you must not 
 dance with Eva, remember, at least not too much, or I 
 shall get jealous, and that will be bad for us both. And 
 now good-night, my dear, good-night," and again she put 
 up her face to be kissed. 
 
 He kissed it; he had no alternative; and she left him 
 swiftly. He watched her retreating form till it vanished 
 in the shadows, and then he sat down upon a stone, wiped 
 his forehead, and whistled. 
 
 Well might he whistle. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A GARDEBT IDYL. 
 
 Ernest did not sleep well that night, the scene of the 
 evening haunted his dreams, and he awoke with that sense 
 of oppression that impartially follows on the heels of mis- 
 fortune, folly, and lobster-salad. iN^or did the broad light 
 of the summer day disperse his sorrows; indeed, it only 
 served to define them more clearly. Ernest was a very 
 inexperienced youth, but, inexperienced as he was, he could 
 not but recognize that he had let himself in for an awk- 
 ward business. He was not in the smallest degree in love 
 with Florence Ceswick; indeed, his pTedominaut feehiig 
 toward her was one of fear. She was, as he had said, so 
 terribly in earnest. In short, though she was barely a year 
 older than himself, she was a woman possessed of a strength 
 of purpose and a rigidity of will that few of her sex ever 
 attain to at any period of their lives. This he had guessed 
 long ago; but what he had not guessed, was that all the 
 
48 THE witch's head." 
 
 tide of her life set so strongly toward himself. That un- 
 lucky kiss had, as it were, shot the bolt of the sluice-gates, 
 and now he was in a fair way to be overwhelmed by the 
 rush of the waters. 'What course of action he had best 
 take with her now it was beyond his powers to decide. He 
 thought of taking Dorothy into his conDdence and asking 
 her advice, but instinctively he shrunk from doing so. 
 Then he thought of Jeremy, only, however, to reject the 
 idea. What would Jeremy know of such things? Belittle 
 guessed that Jeremy was swelling with a secret of his own, 
 of which he was too shy to deliver himself. It seemed to 
 Ernest, the more he considered (he matter, thai there was 
 only one safe course for him to follow, and that was to rua 
 away. It would be ignominous, it is true, but at any rate 
 Florence could not run after him. He had made arrange- 
 ments to meet a friend, and go for a tour with him in 
 France toward the end of the month of August, or about 
 live weeks from the present date. These arrangements he 
 now determined to modify; he would go for his tour at once. 
 
 Partially comforted by these reflections, he dressed him- 
 self that evening for the dance at the Smythes', where he 
 was to meet Florence, who, however, he gratefully reflect- 
 ed, could not expect him to kiss her there. The dance was 
 to follow a lawn-tennis j^arty, to which Dorothy, accom- 
 panied by Jeremy, hail already gone, Ernest iiaving, for 
 reasons best known to himself, declined to go to the lawn- 
 teunis, preferring tn follow thsm to the dance. 
 
 Wiien he entered the ball-room at the Smythes', the first 
 quadrille was in progress. Making his way up the room, 
 Ernest soon came upon Florence Cetwick, who was sitting 
 with Dorothy, while in the background loomed Jeremy's 
 gigantic form. Both the girls appeared to be waiting for 
 him, for on his approach Florence, by a movement of her 
 dres^, and an almost imperceptible motion of her hand, at 
 once mp.de room for hini on the bench beside her, and in- 
 vited him to sit down. He did so. 
 
 "You are late," she said; "why did you not come to 
 the I'lwn-tennis?" 
 
 " I thought that our party wassuflRciently represented," 
 he answered, lamely, nodding toward Jeremy and his sis- 
 tor. " Why are you not dancing?" 
 
 "Because nobody asked me," she said, sharply; "and 
 besides, I was waiting for you." 
 
Tine witch's head. 49 
 
 " " Jeremy," sairl Ernest, " here is Florence says that you 
 didn't ask her to dance." 
 
 " Don't tidk humbug, Ernest; you know I don't dance. " 
 " No, indeed," put in Dorothy; " it is easy to see that; 
 I never saw anybody look so miserable as you do." 
 
 " Or so big," said Florence, consolingly. 
 Jeremy shrunk back into his corner and tried to look 
 smaller. His sister was right, a dance was untold misery 
 to him. The quadrille had ceased by now, and presently 
 the band struck up a waltz, which Ernest danced with 
 Florence. They both waltzed well, and Ernest kept going 
 as much as possible, perhaps in order to give no opportu- 
 nity for conversation. At any rate no allusion was made to 
 the events of the previous evening. 
 
 " Where are your aunt and sister, Florence?" he asked, 
 as he led her back to her seat. 
 
 " They are coming presently," she answered, shortly. 
 
 The next dance was a galo^, and this he danced with 
 Dorothy, whose slim figure looked, in the white muslin 
 dress she wore, more like that of a child than a grown 
 woman. But child or woman, her general appearance was 
 singularly pleasing and attractive. Ernest thought that he 
 had never seen the quaint, puckered -little face, with the 
 two steady blue eyes in it, look so attractive. Not that it 
 was pretty — it, was not, but it was a face with a great deal 
 of thought in it, and moreover it was a face through which 
 the goodness of its owner seemed to shine like the light 
 through a lamp. 
 
 " You look so nice to-night, Doll," said Ernest. 
 
 She flushed with pleasure, and answered, simply, " I am 
 glad you think so." 
 
 " Yes, I do think so; you are really pretty." 
 
 " Nonsense, Ernest! Can't you find some other butt to 
 practice your compliments on? What is the good of wast- 
 ing them on me? I am going to sit down." 
 
 " Really, Dolly, I don't know what has come to you 
 lately, you have grown so cross." 
 
 She sighed as she answered gently: " No more do I, 
 Ernest. I did not mean to speak crossly, but you should 
 not make fun of me. Ah, here come Miss Ceswick and 
 Eva." 
 
 They had rejoined Florence and Jeremy. The two la- 
 dies were seated, while Ernest and Jeremy were standing. 
 
50 THE witch's head. 
 
 the former ia front of them, the latter against the wall be- 
 hind, for they were gathered at the topmost end of the long 
 room. At Dorothy's announcement both the lads bent 
 forward to look down the room, and both the women i3xed 
 their eyes on Ernest's face anxiously, expectantly, some- 
 thing as a criminal fixes his eyes on the foreman of a jury 
 who is about to pronounce words that will one way or an- 
 other affect all his life. 
 
 " I don't see them," said Ernest, carelessly. " Oh, here 
 they come. By George !' ' 
 
 Whatever these two women were looking for in his face, 
 they had found it, and, to all appearance, it pleased them 
 verj,little. Dorothy turned pale, and leaned back with a 
 faifd smile of resignation; she had expected it, that smile 
 seemed to say; but the blood flamed like a danger-flag into 
 Florence's haughty features — there was no resignation 
 there. And meanwhile Ernest was staring down the room, 
 quite unaware of the little comedy that was going on round 
 him : so was Jeremy, and so was every other man who was 
 there to stare. 
 
 And this was what they were staring at. Up the center 
 of the long room walked, or rather swept. Miss Oeswick, 
 for even at her advanced age she moved like a queen, and 
 at any other time her appearance would in itself have been 
 sufficient to excite remark. But people were not looking 
 at Miss Ceswick, but rather at the radiant creature who 
 accompanied her, and whose stature dwarfed her, tall as she 
 was. Eva Ceswick, for it was she, was dressed in whit;e 
 Sdie de Chine, in the bosom of which was fixed a single rose. 
 The dress was cut low, and her splendid neck and arms 
 were entirely without ornament. In the masses of dark 
 hair, which was coiled like a coronet round her head, there 
 glistened a diamond star. Simple as was her costume, 
 there was a grandeur about it that struck the whole room; 
 but in truth it sprung from the almost perfect beauty of 
 the woman who wore it. Any dress would have looked 
 beautiful upon that noble form, that towered so high, and 
 yet seemed to float up the room with the grace of a swan 
 and sway like a willow in the wind. But her loveliness did 
 not end there. From those dark eyes there shone a light 
 that few m<?n could look upon and forget, and yet there 
 was nothing bold about it. It was like the light of a star. 
 
 On she aims, her lips half parted, seemingly uuconseious 
 
THE witch's head. 51 
 
 of the admiration she was attracting, eclipsing all other 
 woineu as she passed, and making their beauty, that before 
 had seemed bright enough, look poor and mean beside her 
 own. It took but a few seconds, ton perhaps, for her to 
 walk up the room, and yet to Ernest it seemed long before 
 her e3'es met his own, and something passed from them into 
 his heart that remained there all his life. 
 
 His gaze made her blush a little, it was so unmistakable. 
 She guessed who he was, and passed him with a little in- 
 clination of her head. 
 
 " Well, here we are at last," she said, addressing her sis- 
 ter in her musical pure voice. " What do you think, some- 
 thing went wrong with the wheel of the fly, and we had to 
 stop to get it mended." 
 
 Indeed!" answered Florence; "I thought that perhaps 
 you came late in order to make a more eifective entry." 
 
 " Florence, " said her aunt, reprovingly, "you should 
 not say such things." 
 
 Florence did not answer; but put her lace handkerchief 
 to her lip. She had bitten it till the blood ran. 
 
 By this time Ernest had recovered himself. He saw sev- 
 eral young fellows bearing down upon them, and knew 
 what they were after. 
 
 " Miss Ceswick," he said, " will you introduce me?" 
 
 No sooner said than done, and at that moment the band 
 began to play a waltz. In five seconds more she was float- 
 ing down the room upon his arm, and the advaricing young 
 gentlemen were left lamenting, and, if the triith must be 
 told, anathematizing " that puppy Kershaw " beneath their 
 breath. 
 
 There was a spirit in her feet; she danced divinely. 
 Lightly leaning on his arm, they swept round the room, 
 the incarnation of youthful strength and beauty, and, as 
 they passed, even sour old Lady Asteigh lowered her an- 
 cient nose an inch or more, and deigned to ask who that 
 handsome young man dancing with the " tall girl " was? 
 Presently they halted, and Ernest observed a more than 
 usually intrepid man coming toward them, with the design, 
 uo doubt, of obtaining an introduction and the promise of 
 dances. But again he was equal to the occasion. 
 
 " Have you & c»rd?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes." '"" 
 
53 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Will you allow me to put my name down for another 
 dancer I think that our steps suit. " 
 
 ' ' Yes, we get on nicely. Here it is. " 
 
 Ernest took it. The young man had arrived now, and 
 was hovering around and glowering. Ernest norlded to 
 him cheerfully, and " put his name " very much down, in- 
 deed for no less than three dances and an extra. 
 
 Eva opened her eyes a little, but she said nothing; their 
 steps suited so very well. 
 
 ' May I ask you, Kershaw — " began his would-be rival. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," answered Ernest, benignly, " I will be 
 with you presently," and they floated oil again on the ris- 
 ing wave of tlie music. 
 
 When the dance ended, they stopped just by the spot 
 where Miss Ceswick was sitting. Florence and Dorothy 
 were both dancing, but Jeremy, who did not dance, was 
 standing by her, looking as sulky as a bear with a sore 
 head. Eva stretched out her hand to him with a smile. 
 
 " I hope that you are going to dance with me, Mr. 
 Jones," she said. 
 
 " I don't dance," he answered, cnrtly, and walked away. 
 
 She gazed after him wonderingly: his manner was decid- 
 edly rude. 
 
 " I do not think that Mr. Jones is in a good temper," 
 she said to Ernest with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, he is a queer fellow, going out always makes him 
 cross," he answered, carelessly. 
 
 Then the gathering phalanx of would-be partners marched 
 in and took possession, and Ernest had to retire. 
 
 The ball was drawing to its close. The dancing-room, 
 notwithstanding its open windows, was intensely hot, and 
 many of the dancers were strolling in the gardens, among 
 them Ernest and Eva. They had just danced their third 
 waltz, in wiiich they had discovered that their steps suited 
 better than ever. 
 
 Florence, Dorothy, and her brother were also walking, all 
 three together. It is curious how people in misfortune 
 cling to one another. They walked in silence; they had 
 nothing to say. Presently they caught sight of two tall 
 figures standing by a bush, on which was fixed a dying 
 Chinese lantern. It is sometimes unfortunate to be tall, it 
 betrays one's identity; there was no mistaking the two fig- 
 
THE witch's head. 63 
 
 nres though it was so dark. Instinctively the three halted. 
 And just theu the expiring Chinese lantern did an unkind 
 thing; it caught fire and threw .a lurid light upou a very 
 pretty little scene. Ernest was bending forward toward 
 Eva with all his soul in his expressive eyes, and begging for 
 something. She was blushing sweetly and looking down at 
 the rose in her bosom; one hand too was raised, as though 
 to unfasten it. The light was for a moment so strong that 
 Dorothy afterward remembered noticing how long Eva's 
 curling black eyelashes looked against her cheek. la 
 another moment it had flared out, and the darkness hid the 
 sequel; but it may here be stated that when Eva reap- 
 peared in the ball-room she had lost her rose. 
 
 Charming and idyllic as this tableau Ires vivant of yoiith 
 and beauty, obeying the primary law of nature, and mak- 
 ing love to one another in a Garden of Edeu illumined by 
 Chinese lanterns, uridouhtedly was, it did not seem to please 
 any of the three spectators. 
 
 Jeremy actually forgot the presence of ladies, and went 
 so far as to swear aloud. Nor did they reprove him; proba- 
 bly it gave their feelings some vicarious relief. 
 
 " I think that we had better be going home; it is late," 
 said Dorothy, after a pause. " Jeremy, will you go and 
 order the carriage?" 
 
 Jeremy went. 
 
 Florence said nothing, hut she took her fan in both her 
 hands and bent it slowly, so that the ivory sticks snapped 
 one by one with a succession of sharp reports. Then she 
 threw it down, and set her heel upon it and ground it into 
 the path. There was something inexpressibly cruel about 
 the way in which she crushed the pretty toy, the action 
 seemed to be the appropriate and unconscious outcome of 
 some mental process, and it is an odd proof of the excite- 
 ment under which they were both laboring, that at the time 
 the gentle-minded Dorothy saw nothing strange about it. 
 At that moment the two girls were nearer each other than 
 they ever had been before, or ever would be again; the 
 common stroke of a misfortune for a moment welded their 
 opposite natures into one. At that moment, too, they 
 kuew that they both loved the same man: before they had 
 guessed it, and had not liked each other the better for it, 
 but now that was forgotten. 
 
 " I think, Florence," said Dorothy, with a little tremor 
 
54 :fHE witch's head. 
 
 iu her voice, " that we are ' out of the running,' as Jeremy 
 says. Your sister is too beautiful for any woman to stand 
 against her. He has fallen in love with her." 
 
 " Yes," said Florence, with a bitter laugh and a flash of 
 her brown eyes; " his highness has thrown a handkerchief 
 to a new favorite, and she has lost no time in picking it up. 
 "We always used to call her ' the sultana/ " and she laughed 
 again. 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Dorothy, " she only means to flirt 
 with him a little; I hoped that Jeremy—" 
 
 "Jeremy! what chance has Jeremy against him? Ernest 
 would malie more way with a woman in two hours than 
 Jeremy would in two years. We all love to be taken by 
 storm, my dear. Do not deceive yourself. Flirt with him! 
 she will love him wildly in a week. Who could help lov- 
 ing him'"' she added, with a thrill of her rich voice. 
 
 Dorothv said nothing; she knew that it was true, and 
 they walked for a few steps in silence. 
 
 " Dorotliy, do you know what generally happens to 
 favorites and sultanas?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 ' ' 1'hey come to a bad end; the other ladies of the harem 
 murder them, you know." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " Don't be frighteued; I don't mean that we should 
 murder my dear sister. What I do mean is, that I think 
 we might manage to depose her. Would you help me if I 
 fiiiil a plan?" 
 
 Dorothy's better self had had time to assert itself by 
 now; the influence of the blow was over, and their natures 
 were wide apart again. 
 
 " No, certainly not," she answered. " Ernest has a 
 right to choose for himself, and if your sister gets the better 
 of us, it is the fortune of war, that is all — though certainly 
 the fight is not quite fair," she added, as she thought of 
 Eva's radiant loveliness. 
 
 Florence glanced at her companion contemptuously. 
 
 " You have no spirit," she said. 
 
 " What do you mean to do?" 
 
 " Mean to do!" she answered, swinging round and facing 
 her; " I mean to have my revenge." 
 
 " Oil, Florence, it is wicked to talk so! Who are vou 
 
THE witch's head. 55 
 
 going to be revenged on— Ernest? It is not his fault if — 
 if jou are fond of him. " 
 
 "Yes, it is his fault; but whether it is his fault or not, 
 he shall suffer. Eeniember what I say, for it will come 
 true; he shall suffer. Why should I bear it all alone? 
 But he shall not suffer so much as she. I told her that I 
 was fond of him, and she promised to leave him alone — do 
 you hear that? — and yet she is taking him away from me 
 to gratify her vanity — she, who can have anybody she 
 lilies." 
 
 " Hush, Florence! don't give way to your temper so, or 
 you will be overheard. Besides, I dare say that we are 
 making a great deal out of nothing; after all, she only gave 
 him a rose. " 
 
 " I don't care if we are overheard, and it is not nothing. 
 I guessed that it would be so, I knew that it would be so, 
 and I know what is coming now. Mark my words, within 
 a month Ernest and my sweet sister will be sitting about 
 on the cliff with their arms round each other's necks. I 
 have only to shut my eyes and I can see it. Oh, here is 
 Jeremy! — Is the carriage there, Jeremy? That's right; 
 come on, Dorothy, let us go and say good-night and be off. 
 You will drop me at the cottage, won't you?" 
 
 Half an hour later the fly that had brought Miss Ceswick 
 and Eva came round, and with it Ernest's dog-cart. But 
 as Miss Ceswick was rather anxious about the injured 
 wheel, Ernest, as in duty bound, offered to see them safe 
 home, and, ordering the cart to follow, got into the fly 
 without waiting for an answer. 
 
 Of course Miss Ceswick went to sleep, but it is not proba- 
 ble that either Ernest or Eva followed her example. Per- 
 haps they were too tired to talk; perhaps they were begin- 
 ning to find out what a delightful conipanionship is to be 
 found in silence; perhaps his gentle pressure of the little 
 white-gloved hand, that lay unresisting in his own, was 
 more eloquent than any speech. 
 
 Don't be shocked, my reader; you or I would have done 
 the same, and thought ourselves very lucky fellows! 
 
 At any rate, that drive was over all too soon. 
 
 Florence opened the door for them; she had told the 
 servant to go to bed. 
 
 When Eva reaqljed the door of her room she turned 
 round to say good-hight to her sister; but the latter, in- 
 
56 THE witch's head. 
 
 stead of contenting herself with a nod, as was her custom, 
 came and kissed her on the face. 
 
 "I congratulate you on your dress and on your con- 
 quest," and again she kissed her and was gone. 
 
 "It is not like Florence to be so kind," reflected her 
 younger sister. "I can't remember when she kissed me 
 last." 
 
 Eva did -not know that as there are some kisses that de- 
 clare peace, and set the seul on love, there are others that 
 announce war, and proclaim the hour of vengeance or 
 treachery. Judas kissed his Master when he betrayed Him. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ETA FINDS SOMETHING. 
 
 When Ernest woke on the morning after the ball it was 
 ten o'clock, and he had a severe headache. This — the 
 headache — was his first impression, but presently his eye 
 fell upon a withering red rose that lay upon the dressing- 
 table, and he smiled. Then followed reflections, those 
 confounded reflections that always dog the heels of every- 
 thing pleasant in life, and he ceased to smile. 
 
 In the end he yawned and got up. When he reached the 
 sitting-room, which looked cool and pleasant in contrast to 
 the hot .July sunshine that beat upon the little patch of 
 bai'e turf in front of the house, and the glittering sea be- 
 yond, he found that the others had done their breakfast. 
 Jeremy had gone out, but his sister was there, looking a 
 little pale, no doubt from the late hours of the previous 
 night. 
 
 " Halloo, Doll! good-morning." 
 
 "Good-morning, Ernest," she answered, rather coldly. 
 " I have been keeping your tea as warm as I can, but I'm 
 afraid it is getting cold." 
 
 " You are a good Samaritan, Doll. I've got such a 
 head! perhaps the tea will make it better." 
 
 She smiled as she gave it to him; had she spoken what 
 was in her mind, she would have answered that she had 
 " SLich a heart." 
 
 He drank the tea, and apparently felt better for it, for 
 
 Eresently he asked her, in comparatively cheerful tones, 
 ow she liked the dance. 
 
THE witch's head. 57 
 
 " Oh, very well, thank you, Ernest; how did you like 
 it?" 
 
 " Oh, awfully. I say, Doll!" 
 
 "Yes, Ernest." 
 
 " Isn't she lovely?" 
 
 " Who, Ernest?" 
 
 " Who! why, Eva Ceswick, of course." 
 
 " Yes, Ernest, she is very lovely." 
 
 There was something about her tone that was not en- 
 couraging; at any rate he did not pursue the subject. 
 
 " Where is Jeremy?" he asked next. 
 
 " He has gone out." 
 
 Presently, Ernest, having finished his second cup of tea, 
 went out too, and came across Jeremy mooning about the 
 yard. 
 
 " Halloo, my hearty! and how are you after your dissipa- 
 tion?" 
 
 " All right, tha,nk you," answered Jeremy, sulkily. 
 
 Ernest glanced up quickly. The voice was the voice of 
 Jeremy, but the tones were not his tones. 
 
 " What is up, old chap?" he said, slipping his arm 
 through his friend's. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is, though. What is it? Out with it. 
 I am a splendid father confessor." 
 
 Jeremy freed his arm, and remained sulkier than ever. 
 Eriiest looked hurt, and the look softened the other. 
 
 " Well, of course, if you won't tell me, there is nothing 
 more to be said," and he prepared to move off. 
 
 " As though you didn't know!" 
 
 " Upon my honor I don't." 
 
 " Then if you'll come in here I will tell you," and Jer- 
 emy opened the door of the little outhouse, where he stufied 
 his birds and kept his gun and collections of eggs and but- 
 terflies, and (notioned Ernest majestically in. 
 
 He entered and seated himself upon the stuffing-table, 
 gazing abstractedly at a bittern that Jeremy had shot about 
 the time that this story opened, and which was now very 
 moth-eaten, and waved one melancholy leg in the air in a 
 way meant to be imposing, but only succeeding in being 
 grotesque. 
 
 " Well, what is it?" he interrogated of the glassy eye of 
 the deeaying bittern. 
 
58 THE witch's HSAD. 
 
 Jeremy turned his broad back upon liim; he felt that he 
 could speak better on such a subject with his back turned, 
 and, addressing empty space before him, said: 
 
 " 1 think it was precious unkind of you." 
 
 " What was precious unkind?" 
 
 " To go and cut me out of the only girl — " 
 
 " I ever loved," suggested Ernest, for be was hesitating. 
 
 " I ever loved," chimed in Jeremy; the phrase expressed 
 his sentiments exactly. 
 
 " Well, old chap, if yon would come to the point a little 
 more, and tell me who the deuce you are talking about — " 
 
 " Why, who should I be talking about? there is only one 
 girl—" 
 
 " You ever loved?" 
 
 " I ever loved." 
 
 " Well, in the name of the Holy Eoman Empire, who is 
 she?" 
 
 "Why, EvaCeswick." 
 
 Ernest whistled. " I say, old chap," he said, after a 
 pause, " why didn't you tell me? I didn't even know that 
 you knew her. Are you engaged to her, then?" 
 
 " Engaged! no." 
 
 " Well, then, have you an understanding with her?" 
 
 " No, of course not." 
 
 " Look here, old fellow, if you would just slew round a 
 bit and tell me how the matter stands, we might get on a 
 little." 
 
 " It doesn't stand at all, but — I worship the ground she 
 treads on; there!" 
 
 - " Ah," said Ernest, " that's awkward, for so do I — at 
 least I think I do." 
 
 Jeremy groaned, and Ernest groaned too by way of com- 
 pany. 
 
 " Look here, old chap," said the latter, " what is to be 
 done? You should have told me, but you didn't, you see. 
 If you had, I would have kept clear. Eact is, she bowled 
 me over altogether, bowled me clean." 
 
 " So she did me." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Jeremy; I'll go away and leave you 
 to make the running. Not that I see that there is much 
 good in either of us making the running, for we have noth- 
 ing to marry on, and no more has she." 
 
 " And we are only twenty-one. One ean't marry at 
 
THE witch's head. 59 
 
 twenty-one,". put in Jeremy, "or one would have a large 
 family by the time one's thirty. Fellows who marry at 
 twenty-one always do. " 
 
 " She's twenty-one; she told me so." 
 
 "She told me too," said Jeremy, determined to show 
 that Ernest was not the only person favored with this excit- 
 ing fact. 
 ; " Well, shall I clear? we can't jaw about it forever." 
 
 *^ " No," said Jeremy, slowly, and in a way that showed 
 ( that it cost him an effort to say it, " that would not be fair; 
 I besides, I expect that the mischief is done; everybody gets 
 1 fond of you, old chap, men or women. No, you sha'n't 
 \ go, and we won't get to loggerheads over it either. I'll 
 \tell you what we will do — we will toss up." 
 ^ This struck Ernest as a brilliant suggestion. 
 \ " Eight you are," he said, at once producing a shilling; 
 "jingles or threes?" 
 
 'Smigles, of course; it's sooner over." 
 
 Ern^slSf»Qised_the coin on his thumb. " You call. But, 
 I say! what are wS~-udSS'i'ifg~-/ua"i^ We can't draw lots for 
 the girl like the fellows in Homer.~~ W^ haven't captured 
 her yet." ^\^ 
 
 This was obviously a point that require J>Sonsideration. 
 Jeremy scratched his head. 
 
 " How will this do?" he said. " The winner "feyliave a 
 mouth to make the running in, the loser not to intSscfere. 
 If she won't have anything to say to him after a moiffiij 
 then the loser to have his fling. If she will, loser to keep^N,,^ 
 clear." 
 
 " That will do. Stand clear; up you go." 
 
 The shilling spun into the air. 
 
 "Tails!" howled Jeremy. 
 
 It alighted on the beak of the astonished bittern and 
 bounded ofE on to the floor, finally rolling under a box full 
 of choice specimens of the petrified bones of antediluvian 
 animals that had been washed out of the clifl's. The box 
 was lugged out of the way with difficulty, and the shilling 
 disclosed. 
 
 " Heads it is!" said Ernest, exultingly. 
 
 "I expected as much; just my luck. Well, shake 
 hands, Ernest. Wo won't quarrel about the girl, please 
 God." 
 
 They shook hands heartily enough and parted; but from 
 
60 
 
 iteE witch's head. 
 
 that time for many a long day there -s^n j^visMe scme^ 
 thing between them that had not J^en e^e b^ °^«^^ ^„ J^ 
 indeed must be the friendship of ^^' "^ fa s npon it. 
 slacke. when the shadow of ''^.^^^''TZZJ^t ogo nito 
 That afternoon Dorothy ^^'^ 'hat she w.^tol to g ^^ 
 Kesterwick to make some P"^--,l^''^ses and Jiuiesw 
 accompanv lier. They walked in ^'l^^f, ^ .J,^; fen ious 
 burgh "^Abbey: indeed they li°5,,!;|f;'',J/,khei' usual 
 
 ^^^?^lSt£?^^^^^"^SSVh3some- 
 '"T^he/UBtened, and presently both heard a w^s -ice j 
 
 As the reader may remember, some twenty ^«^t t^m ,e 
 fr,n of the cUff, and fifty or more from the bottom, uv.^^ 
 iTs at this spot a sand'y ledge, on -hicbj^ep^ed 
 many of tl)e remains washed ou^t a_d«Wft!T5^rd by the 
 se'i Now this particular-'- ^pot was almost mai^cessible with- 
 out ladders, because ralthough it was easy enough to get 
 down to its level"' the ehft bulged out on e.iher siile of it, 
 
 1 „„„a+-^n "the space of some yards little or no hold for 
 and gave lor^' , i .. t ■ ■' 
 the Irnnd? ^' ^^et of Ihe chmber. 
 
 rpi f.iirst thing that caught Ernest's eye when he looked 
 
 -was a lady's foot and ankle, which appeared to be rest- 
 
 ^^ng on a tiny piece of rock that projected from the surface 
 
 "^ of the clilT; the next was the imploring fate of Eva Ces- 
 
 wick, who was sprawling in a most undignified position on 
 
 the bulge of sandstone, with nothing more between her and 
 
 eternity than that very unsatisfactory and insufficient knob 
 
 of rock. It was evident that she could move neither one 
 
 way nor the other witliout being precipitated to the bottom 
 
 of the chtf, to which she was apparently clinging by suction, 
 
 like a fly. 
 
 "Great God!" exclaimed Ernest. "Hold on, I will 
 come to you." 
 
 " I can'i hold much longer." 
 
 It was one thing to say that he would come, and another 
 to do it. The sand gave scarcely any foothold; how was he 
 to get enough purchase to pull Eva round the bulge? He 
 
THE witch's head. 61 
 
 looked at DqYothy in despair. Her quick mind had taken 
 in the situation at a glance. 
 
 " You must get down there above her, Ernest, and lie 
 flat and stretcli out your hand to her." 
 
 " But there is nothing to hold to. When she puts her 
 weight on to my hand we shall both go tdgether. " 
 
 " No, I will hold your legs. Be quick, she is getting 
 exhausted. " 
 
 It took Ernest but two seconds to reach the spot that 
 Dorothy had pointed to, and to lay himself flat, or rather 
 slanting, for his heels were a great deal higher than his 
 head. Fortunately, he discovered a hard knob of sandstone 
 against which he could rest his left hand. Meanwhile, 
 Dorothy, seating herself as securely as she could above, 
 seized him by the ankles., Then Eniest stretched his hand 
 downward, and, gripping Eva by the wrist, began to put 
 out his strength. Had the three had any time to indulge 
 their sense of humor, they might have found the appear- 
 ance they presented hitensely ludicrous; but they had not, 
 for the very good reason that for thirty seconds or so their 
 lives were not worth a farthing's purchase. Ernest 
 strained and strained, but Eva was a large woman, although 
 she_danced so lightly, and the bulge over which he had to 
 pull her was almost perpendicular. Presently he felt that 
 Dorothy was beginning to slip above him. 
 
 " She must make an effort or we shall all go," she said, 
 in a quiet voice. 
 
 " Drive your knees into the sand, and throw yourself for- 
 ward, it is your only chance!" gasped Ernest to the ex- 
 hausted woman beneath him. 
 
 She realized the meaning of his words, and gave a des- 
 perate struggle. 
 
 " Pull, Doll, for God's sake, pull!, she's coming." 
 
 Then followed a second of despairing effort, and she was 
 beside him on the spot where he lay; another struggle, and 
 the three sunk exhausted on the top of the cliif, rescued 
 from a most imminent death. 
 
 " By Jove!" ejaculated Ernest, " that was a near thing." 
 
 Dorothy nodded, she was too exhausted to speak. Eva 
 smiled and fainted. 
 
 He turned to her with a little cry, and began to chafe 
 her cold hands. 
 
 " Oh, she's dead, Doll!" he said. 
 
62 THE witch's head. 
 
 "■ No, she has fainted. Give me your hat." 
 
 Before he could do so she had seized it, and was running 
 as quickly as her exhaustion would allow toward a spring 
 that bubbled up a hundred yards away, and which once had 
 been the water supply of the old abbey. 
 
 Ernest went on rubbing for a minute or more, but with- 
 out producing the slightest effect. He was in despair. 
 The beautifid face beneath him looked so wan and death- 
 like; all the red had left the lips. In his distress, and 
 scarcely knowing what he dii^, he bent over them and kissed 
 them, once, twice, thrice. This mode of restoration is not 
 recommended in the medicine-chest " guide," but in this 
 instance it was not without its effect. Presently a faint 
 and tremulous glow diffused itself over the pale cheek; iu 
 another moment it deepened to a most unmistakable blush. 
 (Was it a half-consciousness of Ernest's new method of 
 treatment, or merely tbe returning blood, that produced 
 that blush? Let us not inquire. ) Next she sighed, opened 
 her eyes, and sat up. 
 
 " Oh, you are not dead. " 
 
 " No, I don't think so, but I can't quite remember. 
 What was it? Ah, I know," and she shut her ej^es, as 
 though to keep out some liorrid sight. Presently she 
 opened them again. " You have saved my life," she said. 
 " If it had not been for you, I should have now been lying 
 crushed at the foot of iliat dreadful cliff. I am so grate- 
 ful." 
 
 At that moment Dorothy came back with a little water 
 in Ernest's black hat, fur iu her hurry she had spilled most 
 of it. 
 
 " Here, drink some of this," she said. 
 
 Eva tried to do so; but a billycock hat is not a veiy con- 
 venient driuking-vessel till you get used to it, and she up- 
 set tnore than she swallowed. But what she got down did 
 her good. She put down the hat, and they all three 
 laughed a little; it was so funny drinking out of an old 
 hat. 
 
 " Yfere you long down there before we came?" asked 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " No, not long, only about half a minute on that dread- 
 ful bulge." 
 
 " What on earth did you go there for?" said Ernest, put- 
 ting his dripping hat on to liis head, for the sun was hot. 
 
THE witch's head. " 63 
 
 " I wanted to see the bones. I am very active, and 
 thought that I could get up quite safely; but sand is so 
 slippery. Oh, I forgot; look here," and she pointed to a 
 thin cord that was tied to her wrist. 
 " What is that?" 
 
 " Why, it is tied to such an odd lead box that I found in 
 the sand. Mr. Jones said the other day that he thought it 
 was a bit of an old coffin; but it is not, it is a lead box 
 with a rusty iron handle. I could not move it much ; but 
 I had this bit of coFd with me— I thought I might want it 
 getting down, you know — so I tied one end of it to the 
 handte." 
 
 " Let us pull it up," said Ernest, unfastening the cord 
 from Eva's wrist, and beginning to tug. 
 
 But the case was too heavy for liim to lift alone; indeed, 
 it proved as much as they could all three manage to drag it 
 to the top. However, up it came at last. Ernest ex- 
 amined it carefully, and came to the conclusion that it was 
 very ancient. The massive iron handle at the top of the 
 oblong case was almost eaten through with rust, and the 
 lead itself was much corroded, although, from fragments 
 that still clung to it, it was evident that it had once been 
 protected by an outer case of oak. Evidently the case had 
 been washed out of the church-yard where it had lain for 
 centuries. 
 
 " This is quite exciting," said Eva, who was now suffi- 
 ciently interested to forget all about her escape. " What 
 can be in it? — treasure or papers, I should think." 
 
 "I don't know," answered Ernest; "I should hardly 
 think that they would bury such things in a church-yard. 
 Perhaps it is a small baby." 
 
 "Ernest," broke in Dorothy, in an agitated way, "I 
 don't like that thing. I can't tell you why, but I am sure 
 it is 'unlucky. I wish that you would throw it back to 
 where it came from, or into the sea. It is a horrid thing, 
 and we nearly lost our lives over it already." 
 
 " Nonsense, Doll! whoever thought that you were so 
 superstitious? Why, perhaps it is full of money or jewels. 
 Let's take it home and open it." 
 
 " I am not superstitious, and you can take it home if yon 
 like. I will not touch it; I tell you it is a horrid thing." 
 
 " All right, Doll, then you sha'n't have a share of the 
 spoil. Miss Ceswick and I will divide it. WUl you help 
 
64 THE witch's head. 
 
 me to carry it to the house, Miss Ceswick? that is, unless 
 you are afraid of it, like Doll." 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered, " I am not afraid; I am dying 
 of curiosity to see what is inside." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHAT EVA BOUND. 
 
 " Yotr are sure you are not too tired?" said Ernest, after 
 a moment's consideration. * 
 
 " No, indeed, I have quite recovered," she answered, 
 with a blush. 
 
 Ernest blushed, too, from sympathy probably, and went 
 to pick up a bougli that lay beneath a stunted oak-tree 
 which grew in the ruins of the abbey, on the spot where 
 once the altar had stood. This he ran through the iron 
 handle, and, directing Eva to catch hold of one end. he 
 took the other himself, and they started for the house, 
 Dorotliy marching solemnly in front. 
 
 As it happened, Jeremy and Mr. Cardus were strolling 
 along together smoking, when suddenly they caught sight 
 of the cavalcade advancing, and hurried to meet it. 
 
 " What is all this?" asked Mr. Cardus of Dorothy, who 
 was now nearly iifty yards ahead of the other two. 
 
 " Well, Reginald, it is a long story. First we found Eva 
 Ceswick slipping down the cliiJ, and pulled her up just in 
 time." 
 
 " My luck again," thought Jeremy, groaning in spirit. 
 " I might have sat on the edge of that cliff for ten years, 
 and never got a chance of pulling her up." 
 
 " Then we pulled up that horrid box, which she found 
 down in the sand, and tied a cord to." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Ernest, who was now arriving, " and 
 would you believe it — Dorothy wanted us to throw it back 
 again!" 
 
 '■ I know I did; I said that it was unlucky, and it is un- 
 lucky. " 
 
 " Nonsense, Dorothy! it is very interesting. I expect 
 that it will be found to contain deeds buried in the church- 
 yard for safety and never dug up again," broke in Mr. 
 Cardus, much interested. " Let me catch hold of that 
 stick. Miss Ceswick, and I dare say that Jeremy will go oa 
 
THE witch's head. 65 
 
 and get a hammer and a cold chisel, and we will soon solve 
 the mystery. " 
 
 " Oh, very well, Reginald; you will see." 
 
 Mr. Cardus glanced at her. It was curious her taking 
 such an idea. Then they proceeded to the house. On 
 reaching the sitting-room they found Jeremy already there 
 ■with his hammer and chisel. He was an admirable 
 amateur blacksmith; indeed, there were few manual trades 
 of which he did not know a little, and, placing the case on 
 the table, he set about ih.e task of opening it in a most work- 
 man-like manner. 
 
 The lead, though it was in places eaten quite away, was 
 still thick and sound near the edges, and it took him a 
 good quarter of an hour's hard chopping to remove what 
 appeared to be the front of the case. Excitement was at 
 its height as it fell forward with a bang on the table; but 
 it was then found that what had been removed was merely 
 a portion of an outer case, there being beneath it an inner 
 chest, also of lead. 
 
 " Well," said Jeremy, " they fastened it up pretty well," 
 and then he set to work again. 
 
 This inner skin of lead vfas thinner and easier to cut than 
 the first had been, and he got through the job more quick- 
 ly, though not nearly quickly enough for the impatience of 
 the by-standers. At last the front fell out, and disclosed a 
 small cabinet made of sohd pieces of black oak and having 
 a hinged door, which was fastened by a tiny latch and hasp 
 of the common pattern, that is probably as old as doors 
 are. From this cabinet there came a strong odor of spires. 
 
 The excitement was now intense, and seemed to be shared 
 by everybody in the house. Grice had come in through 
 the . swing-door and stationed herself in the backgi-ound; 
 Sampson and the groom were peeping through the window, 
 and even old Atterleigh, attracted by the sound of the 
 hammering, had strolled aimlessly in. 
 
 " What can it be?" said Eva, with a gasp. 
 
 Slowly Jeremy extracted the cabinet from its leaden 
 coverings and set it on the table. 
 
 " Shall I open it?" ho said, and, suiting the action-to 
 the word, he lifted the latch, and placing his chisel be- 
 tween the edge of the litcit' door and its frame prized the 
 cabinet open. 
 
 The smell of spices became more pronounced than ever. 
 
66 THE witch's head. 
 
 and for a moment the cloud of dust that came from them 
 as their fragments rolled out of the cabinet on to the table, 
 prevented the spectators who, all but Dorothy, were crowd- 
 ing up to the case, from seeing what it contained. Present- 
 ly, however, a large, whitish bundle became visible. 
 Jeremy put in his hand, pulled it out, and laid it on the 
 top of the box. It v/as heavj^ But when he had done 
 this he did not seem inclined to go any further in the mat- 
 ter. The bundle had, he considered, an uncanny look. 
 
 At that moment an interruption took place, for Florence 
 Ceswick entered through the open door. She had come up 
 to see Dorothy, and was astonished to find such a gather- 
 ing. 
 
 " Why, what is it all about?" she asked. 
 
 Somebody told her in as few words as possible, for every- 
 body's attention was concentrated on the bundle, which no- 
 body seemed inclined to touch. 
 
 Well, why don't yon open it?" asked Florence. 
 
 " I think that they are all afraid," said Mr. Cardus, with^ 
 a laugh. 
 
 He was watching the various expressions on the faces 
 with an amused air. 
 
 " Well, I am not afraid, at any rate," said Florence. 
 " Now, ladies and gentlemen, the Gorgon's head is about 
 to be unveiled. Look the other way, or you will all be 
 turned to stone." 
 
 " This is getting delightfully ghastly," said Eva to 
 Ernest. 
 
 " I know that it will be something horrid," added 
 Dorothy. 
 
 Meanwhile Florence had drawn out a heavy pin of ancient 
 make, with which the wrapping of the bundle was fastened, 
 and begun to unwind a long i^iece of discolored linen. At 
 the very first turn another shower of spices fell out. As 
 soon as these had been swept aside, Florence proceeded 
 slowly with her task, and as she removed fold after fold of 
 the linen the bundle began to take shape and form, and the 
 shape it took was that of a human head. 
 
 Eva saw it, and drew closer to Ernest; Jeremy saw it, 
 and felt inclined to bolt; Dorothy saw it, and knew that 
 her presentiments as to the disagreeable nature of the con- 
 tents of that unlucky case were coming true; Mr. Cardus 
 Eaw it, and was more interested than ever. Only Florence 
 
THB witch's head. 67 
 
 and Hard-riding Afcterleigh saw nothing. Another turn or 
 two of the long winding-sheet, and it slipped suddenly away 
 from whatever it inclosed. 
 
 There was a moment's dead silence as the company re- 
 garded the object thus left open to their gaze. Then one 
 of the women gave a low cry of fear, and, actuated by some 
 common impulse, they all turned and broke from the room 
 in terror, and calling, " It is alive!" No, not all. Flor- 
 ence turned pale, but she stood there by the object, the 
 winding-sheet in her hand; and old Atterleigh also re- 
 mained staring at it, either paralyzed or fascinated. 
 
 It, too, seemed to stare at him from its point of vantage 
 on the oak chest, in which it had rested for so many cen- 
 turies. 
 
 And this was what he saw there upon the box. Let the 
 reader imagine the face and head of a lovely woman of 
 some thirty years of age, the latter covered with rippling 
 brown locks of great length, above which was set a roughly 
 fashioned coronet studded with uncut gems. Let him im- 
 agine this face, all but the lips, which were colored red, 
 pale with the bloodless pallor of death, and the flesh so 
 firm and fresh-looking that it might have been that of a 
 corpse not a day old; so firm, indeed, that the head and all 
 its pendant weight of beautiful hair could stand on the un- 
 shrunken base of the neck which, in some far-past age, 
 cold steel had made so smooth. Then let him imagine the 
 crowning horror of this weird sight. The eyes of a corpse 
 are shut, but the eyes in this head were wide open, and the 
 long, black lashes, as perfect now as on the day of death, 
 hung over what appeared, when the light struck them, to 
 be two balls of trembling fire, that glittered and rolled 
 and fixed themselves upon the face of the observer like 
 living human eyes. It was these awful eyes that carried 
 such terror to the hearts of the on-lookers when they cast 
 their first glance around, and* made them not unnaturally 
 cry out that it was alive. 
 
 It was not until he had made a very careful examination 
 of these fiery orbs, that Mr. Cardus was afterward able to 
 discover what they were; and as the reader may as well 
 understand at once that this head had nothing about it 
 different from any other skillfully preserved head, he shall 
 be taken into confidence without delay. There were balls 
 of crystal fitted, probably with the aid of slender springs^ 
 
68 THE witch's head. 
 
 into the eye-sockets with such infernal art that they shook 
 and trembled to the slightest sound, and even on occasion 
 rolled about. The head itself, he also discovered, had not 
 been embalmed in the ordinary fashion, by extracting the 
 brain and filling the cavity with spices or bitumen, but had 
 been preserved by means of the injection of silica, or some 
 kindred substance, into the brain, veins, and arteries, 
 which, after permeating all the flesh, had solidified and 
 made it like marble. Some brilliant pigment had been 
 used to give the lips their natural color, and the hair had 
 been preserved by means of the spices. But perhaps the 
 most dreadful thing about this relic of forgotten ages was 
 the mocking smile that the artist who " set it up ^' had 
 managed to preserve upon the face, a smile that just drew 
 the lips up enough to show the white teeth beneath, and 
 gave the idea that its wearer had died in the full enjoyment 
 of some malicious jest or triumph. It was a terrible thing 
 to look on, that long-dead, beautiful face, with its abun- 
 dant hair, its crowning coronet, its moving crystal eyes, and 
 its smile; and yet there was something awfully fascinating 
 about it; those who had seen it once would always long to 
 see it again. 
 
 Mr. Cardus had fled with the rest, but as soon as he got 
 outside the swing-door his common sense reasserted itself, 
 and he stopped. 
 
 " Come, come," he called to the others, " don't be so 
 silly; you are not going to run away from a dead woman's 
 head, are you?" 
 
 " You ran too," said Dorothy, pulling up and gasping. 
 
 "Yes, I know I did; those eyes startled me; but, of 
 course, they are glass. I am going back; it is a great 
 curiosity." 
 
 " It is an accursed thing," muttered Dorothy. 
 
 Mr. Cardus turned and re-entered the room, and the 
 others, comforting themselves with the reflection that it 
 was broad daylight, and drawn by their devouring curiosity, 
 followed him. That is, they all followed him except Grice, 
 who was ill for two days afterward. As for Sampson and 
 the groom, who had seen the sight through the window, 
 they ran for a mile or more along the cliff before they 
 stopped. 
 
 W hen they got back into the room, they found old Atter- 
 leigh still standing and staring at the crystal eyes, that 
 
THE witch's HEAD- 69 
 
 seemed to be returning his gaze with compound interest, 
 while Florence was there with the long linen wrapper in her 
 hand, gazing down at the beautiful hair that flowed from the 
 head on to the oak box, from the oak box to the table, and 
 from the table nearly to the ground. It was, oddly enough, of 
 the same color and texture as her own. She had taken off 
 her hat when she began to undo the wrappings, and they 
 all noticed the fact. Nor did the resemblance stop there. 
 The sharp fine features of the mummied head were very 
 like Florence's; so were the beautiful teeth and the fixed, 
 hard smile. The dead face was more lovely indeed, but 
 otherwise the woman of the Saxon era — for, to judge from 
 the rude tiara on her brow, it was probable that she was 
 Saxon — and the living girl of the nineteenth century might 
 have been sisters, or mother and daughter. The resem- 
 blance startled them all as they entered the room, but they 
 said nothing. 
 
 They drew near, and gazed again without a word. Doro- 
 thy was the first to break the silence. 
 
 "I think she must have been a witch," she said. "I 
 hope that you will have it thrown away, Eeginald, for she 
 will bring us bad luck. The place where she was buried 
 has been unlucky; it was a great abbey once, now ib is a 
 deserted ruin. When we tried to get the case up, we were 
 all very nearly killed. She will bring us bad luck. I am. 
 sure of it. Throw it away, Eeginald, throw her into the 
 sea. Look, she is just like Florence there. " 
 
 Florence had smiled at Dorothy's words, and the resem- 
 blance became more striking than ever. Eva shuddered as 
 she noticed it. 
 
 " Nonsense, Dorothy!" said Mr. Cardus, who was a bit 
 of an antiquarian, and had now forgotten his start in his 
 collector's zeal, " it is a splendid find. But I forgot," he 
 added, in a tone of disappointment, " it does not belong 
 to me, it belongs to Miss Oeswick." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure you are welcome to it, so far as I am 
 concerned," said Eva, hastily. " I would not have it near 
 me on any account." 
 
 " Oh, very well. I am much obliged to you. I shall 
 value the relic very much." 
 
 Florence had meanwhile moved round the table, and was 
 gazing earnestly into the crystal eyes. 
 
yO THE witch's HBADi. 
 
 " What are you doing, Florence?" asked Ernest, sharp- 
 ly, for the scene was uncanny, and jarred upon him. 
 
 " I?" she answered with a little laugh, I am seeking 
 an inspiration. That face looks wise, it may teach me 
 sometliing. Besides, it is so like my own, I think she must 
 be some far-distant ancestress." 
 
 " So she has noticed it too," thought Ernest. 
 
 " Put her back in the box, Jeremy," said Mr. Oardus. 
 " I must have an air-tight case made." 
 
 " I can do that," said Jeremy, " by lining the old one 
 with lead, and putting a glass front to it." 
 
 Jeremy set about putting the head away, touching it 
 Tery gingerly. When he had got it back into the oak case, 
 he dusted it and place i it upon a bracket that jutted from 
 the oak paneling at the end of the room. 
 
 " Well," said Florence, "now that you have put your 
 guardian angel on her pedestal, I think that we must be 
 going home. Will any of you walk a little way with us?" 
 
 Dorothy said that they would all come, that is, all except 
 Mr. Cardus, who had gone back to his office. Accordingly 
 they started, and as they did so, Florence intimated to 
 Ernest that she wished to speak to him. He was alarmed 
 and disappointed, for he was afraid of Florence, and wished 
 to walk with Eva, and presumably his face betrayed what 
 was in his mind to her. 
 
 " Do not be frightened," she said, with a slight smile; 
 " I am not going to say anything disagreeable." 
 
 Of course he replied that he knew that she never could 
 say anything disagreeable at any time, at which she smiled 
 again the same faint smile, and they dropped behind. 
 
 " Ernest," she said presently, " I want to speak to you. 
 You remember what happened between us two evenings 
 ago on this very beach," for they were walking home by 
 the beach. 
 
 " Yes, Florence, I remember," answered Ernest. 
 
 " Well, Ernest, the words I have to say are hai-d for a 
 woman's hps, but I must say them. I made a mistake, 
 Ernest, in telling you that I loved you as I did, and in 
 talking all the wild nonsense that I talked. I dou't know 
 what made me do it, some foolish imi:)ulse, no doubt. 
 Women are very curious, you know, Ernest, and I think I 
 am more curious than most. I suppose I thought I loved 
 you, Ernest — I know I thought it when you kissed me; but 
 
THE witch's head. 71 
 
 last night, whRti I saw you at the Sm-ythes' dance, I knew 
 that it was all a mistake, and that I cared for you — no 
 more than you care for me, Ernest. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 He .did not understand her in the least, but he nodded 
 his head, feeling vaguely that things were turning out very 
 well for him. 
 
 " That is right; and so here, in the same place where I 
 said them, T renounce them. "We will forget all that 
 foolish scene, Ernest. I made a little mistake when I told 
 you that my heart was as deep as the sea; I find that it is 
 shallow as a brook. But will you answer me one question, 
 Ernest, before we close this conversation?" 
 
 " Yes, Florence, if I can." 
 
 " Well, when you — ^you kissed me the other night, you 
 did not really mean it, did you? I mean you only did so 
 for a freak, or from the impulse of the moment, not because 
 you loved me? Don't be afraid to tell me, because if it 
 was so, I shall not be angry; you see you have so much to 
 forgive me for. I am breaking faith, am I not?" and she 
 looked him straight in the face with her piercing eyes. 
 
 Ernest's glance fell under that searching gaze, and the 
 lie that men are apt to think it no shame to use where 
 women are concerned, rose to his lips. But he could not 
 get it out; he could not bring himself to say that he did 
 love her — so he compromised matters. 
 
 " I think you wei-e more in earnest than I was, Flor- 
 ence. " 
 
 She laughed, a cold little laugh, that somehow made his 
 flesh creep. 
 
 " Thank you for being candid: it makes matters so much 
 easier, does it not? But, do you know, I suspected as 
 much, when I was standing there by that head to-day, just 
 at the time that you took Eva's hand. " 
 
 Ernest started visibly. " Why, your back was turned," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes, but I saw what you did reflected in the crystal 
 eyes. Well, do you know, as I stood there, it seemed to 
 me as though I could consider the whole matter as dispas- 
 sionately and with as clear a brain as though I had been 
 that dead woman. All of a sudden I grew wise. But 
 there are the others waiting for us." 
 
72 THE witch's head. 
 
 " We shall part friends, I hope, Florence," said Ernest, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Ernest, a woman always follows the career of 
 her old admirer with the deepest interest, and for above 
 five seconds you were my admirer, when you kissed me, you 
 know. I shall watch all your life, and my thoughts shall 
 follow your footsteps like a shadow. Good-night, Ernest, 
 good-night^' — and again she smiled that mocking smile 
 that was so like that on the features of the dead woman, 
 and fixed her piercing eyes upon his face. He bade her 
 good-night, and made his way homeward with the others, 
 feeling an undefinable dread heavy on his heart. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 DEEP WATEBS. 
 
 In due course Jeremy duly fitted up " the witch," as the 
 mysterious head came to be called at Bum's Ness, in her 
 air-tight cabinet, which he lengthened till it looked like a 
 clock-case, in order to allow the beautiful hair to hang 
 down at full length; retaining, however, the original door 
 and ancient latch and hasp. His next step was to fit the 
 plate-glass front, and exhaust the air as well as was feasi- 
 ble from the interior of the case. Then he screwed on the 
 outside door, and stood it back on its bracket in the oak- 
 paneled sitting-room, where, as has been said, it looked for 
 all the world like an eight-day clock-case. 
 
 Just as he had finished the Job, a visitor — it was Mr. de 
 Talor — came in, and remarked that he had made a precious 
 ugly clock. Jeremy, who disliked tJie De Talor, as he 
 called him, excessively, said that he would not say so when 
 he had seen the works, and at the same time unhasped the 
 oak-door of the cabinet, and turned the full glare of the 
 dreadful crystal eyes on to his face. The results were 
 startling. For a moment De Talor stared and gasped; 
 then all the rich hues faded from his features, and he sunk 
 back in a sort of fit. Jeremy shut up the door in a hurry, 
 and his visitor soon recovered; but foryears nothing would 
 induce him" to enter that room again. 
 
 As for Jeremy himself, at first he was dreadfully afraid 
 of " the witch," but as time went on, for his job took him 
 several days, he seemed to lose his awe of her, and even to 
 
THE witch's head. 73 
 
 find a fearful joy ia her society. He spent whole hours, aa 
 he sat in his work-shop in the yard, tinkering at the air- 
 tight case, in weaving histories in which this beautiful 
 creature, whose head had been thus marvelously recovered, 
 played the leading part. It was so strange to look at her 
 lovely, scornful face, and think that, long ages since, men 
 had loved it, and kissed it, and played with the waving hair. 
 
 There it was, this relic of the dead, preserved by the con- 
 summate skill of some old monk or chemist, so that it re- 
 tained all its ancient beauty long after the echoes of the 
 tragedy, with which it must have been connected, had died 
 out of the world. For, as he wrought at his case, Jeremy 
 grew certain that it was the ghastly memento of some enor- 
 mous crime; indeed, by degrees, as he tacked and ham- 
 mered at the lead lining, he made up a history that was 
 quite satisfactory to his mind, appealing on doubtful points 
 to the witch herself, who was perched on the table near 
 him, and ascertaining whether she meant " yes " or " no " 
 by the simple process of observing whether or not her eyes 
 trembled when he spoke. It was slow work getting the 
 story together in this fashion, but then the manufacture of 
 the case was slow also, and it was not without its charm, 
 for he felt it an honor to be taken into the confidence of 
 so lovely a lady. 
 
 But if the head had a fascination for Jeremy, it had a 
 still greater charm for his grandfather. The old man 
 M'ould continually slip out of the office and cross the yard 
 to the little room where Jeremy worked, in order to stare 
 at this wonderful relic. One night, indeed , when the case 
 was nearly finished, Jeremy remembered that he had not 
 locked the door of his work-shop. He was already half 
 undressed, but, slapping on his coat again, he went out by 
 the back door and crossed the yard carrying the key with 
 him. It was bright moonlight, and Jeremy, having slip- 
 pers on, walked without noise. Wheif he reached the work- 
 shop, and was about to lock the door; he thought he heard 
 a sound in the room. This startled him, and for a moment 
 he meditated a retreat, leaving the head to look after itself. 
 Those eyes were interesting in the day-time, but he scarcely 
 cared to face them alone at night. It was foolish, but they 
 did look so very much alive! After a moment's hesitation, 
 during which the sound, whatever it was, again made itself 
 audible, he determined to compromise matters by going 
 
74 THE witch's head. 
 
 round to the other side of the room and looking in at the 
 little window. With a beating heart he stole round, and 
 quietly peeped in. The moonlight was shining bright into 
 tlie room, and struck full upon the long case he had man- 
 ufactured. He had left it gliid, and the head inside it. 
 Now it was open; he could clearly see the white outlines of 
 the face, and the direful glitter of the trembling eyes. The 
 sound, too — a muttering sound — was still going on. Jer- 
 emy drew back, and wiped the perspiration from his fore- 
 head, and for the second time thought of flight. But his 
 curiosity overcame him and he looked again. This time he 
 discovered the cause of the muttering. Seated upon his 
 carpentering-bench was his grandfather, old Atterleigh, 
 who appeared to be staring with all his might at the head, 
 and muttering incoherently to himself. This was the noise 
 he had heard through the door. It was an uncanny sight, 
 and made Jeremy feel cold down the back. While he was 
 still contemplating it, and wondering what to do, old At- 
 terleigh rose, closed the case, and left the room. Jeremy 
 slipped round, locked up the door, and made his way back 
 to bed mucli astonished. He did not, however, say any- 
 thing of what he had seen, only in future he was careful 
 never to leave the door of his worii-shop open. 
 
 At last the case was iinished, and, for an amateur, a very 
 good job he made of it. When it was done he placed it, 
 as already narrated, back on the bracket, and showed it to 
 Mr. de Talor. 
 
 But from tlie day when Eva Oeswick nearly fell to the 
 bottom of the clilf in tlie course of her antiquarian re- 
 searches, things began to go wrong at Bum's Ness. Ever}'- 
 body felt it except Ernest, and he was thinking too much 
 of other things. Dorothy \^ as very unhappy in those days, 
 and began to look thin and miserable, though she sturdily 
 alleged, when asked, that she never had been better in her 
 life. Jeremy himself was also unhappy, and for a good 
 reason. He had caught the fever that women like Eva 
 Ceswick have it in their power to give to the sons of men, 
 badly enough. His was a deep, self-contained nature, very 
 gentle and tender, not admitting many things into its 
 affections, but loving such as were admitted with all the 
 heart and soul and strength. And it was in the deepest 
 depths of this loyal nature that Eva Oeswick had printed 
 her image; before Ue kuew it, beforo he hn/1 time to think, 
 
THE witch's head 75 
 
 it was photographed there upon his heart, and he felt that 
 there it must stay for good or evil; that plate could never 
 be used again. 
 
 She had been so kind to him; her eyes had grown so 
 bright and friendly when she saw him^coming! He was sure 
 that she liked him (which indeed she did), and once he had 
 ventured to press her little hand, and he had thought that 
 she returned the pressure, and had not slept all night in 
 consequence. 
 
 But perhaps this was a mistake. And then, just as he 
 was getting on so nicely, came Ernest, and scattered his 
 hopes like mists before the morning sun. Prom the mo- 
 ment that those two met, he knew that it was all up with 
 his chance. And next, to make assurance doubly sure, 
 Providence itself, in the shape of a shilling, had declared 
 against him, and he was left lamenting. Well, it was all 
 fair; but still it was very hard, and for the first time in his 
 life he felt inclined to be angry with Ernest. Indeed, he 
 was angry, and the fact made him more unhappy than ever, 
 because he knew that his angor was unjust, and because his 
 brotherly love condemned it. 
 
 But for all that, the shadow between them grew darker. 
 
 Mr. Card us, too, had his troubles, connected, needless to 
 say — for nothing else ever really troubled him — with his 
 monomania of revenge. Mr. de Talor, of whose discom- 
 fiture he. had at last made sure, had unexpectedly slipped 
 out of his power, nor could he at present see any way in 
 which to draw him back again. Oonsequently he was 
 distressed. As for Hard-riding Atterleigh, ever since he 
 had found himself faced by " the witch's " crystal eye, he 
 had been madder than ever, and more perfectly convinced 
 that Mr. Cardus was the devil in person. Indeed, Dorotliy, 
 who watched over the old man, the grandfather who never 
 knew her, thought that she observed a marked change in 
 him. He worked away at his writing as usual; but it ap- 
 peared to her with more vigor, as though it were a thing 
 to encounter, and get rid of. He would cut the notches 
 out of his stick calendar, too, more eagerly than hereto- 
 fore, and altogether it seemed as though his life had be- 
 come dominated by some new purpose. She called Mr. 
 Cardus's atention to this change; but he laughed, and 
 said that it was nothing, and would probably pass with tha 
 jaaoofi. 
 
76 THE witch's heab. 
 
 But if nobody else was haijpy, Ernest was, that is, ex- 
 cept when he was sunk in the depths of woe, which was on 
 an average about three days a week. On the occasion of 
 the first of these seizures, Dorothy, noting his miserable 
 aspect and entire want of appetite, felt much alarmed, and 
 took au occasion after supper to ask him what was the 
 matter. Before many minutes were over she had cause to 
 regret it; for Ernest burst forth with a history of his love 
 and his wrongs that lasted for au hour. It appeared that 
 another young gentleman, one of those who danced with 
 the lovely Eva at the Sniythes' ball, had been making the 
 most unmistakable advaaees; he had called — three times: 
 he had sent flowers — twice (Ernest sent them every morn- 
 ing, beguiling Sampson into cutting the best orchid-blooms 
 for that purpose) ; he had been out walking — once. Dorothy 
 listened quietly, till he ceased of his. own accord. Then she 
 spoke. 
 
 " So you really love her, Ernest?" 
 
 " Love her! I " — but we will not enter into a descrip- 
 tion of this young man's raptures. When he had done, 
 Dorothy did a curious thing. She rose from her chair, and 
 coming to where Ernest was sitting, bent over him, and 
 kissed him on the forehead, and as she did so ho noticed 
 vaguely that she had great black rings round her eyes. 
 
 " I hope that you will be happy, my dear drother. You 
 will have a lovely wife, and I think that she is as good as 
 f he is beautiful." She spoke quite quietly, but somehow 
 lier voice sounded like a sob. He kissed her in acknowleflg- 
 inent, and she glided away. 
 
 Ernest did not think much of the incident, however. In- 
 deed, in five minutes his thoughts were back with Eva, 
 with whom he really was seriously and earnestly in love, 
 lu sober truth, the antics that he played were enough to 
 make the angels weep to see a human being possessing the 
 normal weight of brain making such a donkey of himself. 
 For instance, he would promenade for hours at night in Ihe 
 neighborhood of the cottage. Once he ventured into the 
 garden to enjoy the perfect bliss of staring at six panes of 
 glass, got severely bitten by the house-dog for his pains, 
 and was finally chased for a mile or more by both the dog 
 and the policeman, who, having heard of the mysterious 
 figure that was to be seen mooning (in every sense of the 
 word) round the cottage, had lain up to watch for him. 
 
THE witch's head. 77 
 
 Next day he had the satisfaction of hearing from his ador- 
 ed'a own lips the story of the attempted burglary, but as 
 she told it there was a smile playing about the corners of 
 her mouth that almost seemed to indicate that she had her 
 suspicions as to who the burglar was. And then Ernest 
 wallied so very lame, which, considering that the teeth of 
 a brute called Towzer had made a big hole in his calf, was 
 not to be wondered at. 
 
 After this he was obliged to give up his miduight sigh- 
 ing, but he took it out in other ways. Once indeed with- 
 out warning he flopped down on to the floor and kissed 
 Eva's hand, and tiien, aghast at his own boldness, fled 
 from the room. 
 
 At first all this amused Eva greatly. She was pleased at 
 her conquest, and took a malicious pleasure in leading 
 Ernest on. When she knew that he was coming she would 
 make herself look as lovely as possible, and put on all her 
 pretty little ways and graces in order to more thoroughly 
 enslave him. Somehow, whenever Ernest thought of her 
 in after-years as she was at that period of her life, his mem- 
 ory would call up a vision of her in the pretty little draw- 
 ing-room at the cottage, leaning back in a low chair in 
 siich a way as to contrive to show o£E her splendid figure to 
 the best advantage, and also the tiny foot and slender ankle 
 that peeped from beneath her soft white dress. There she 
 sat, a little Skye-terrier called Tails on her lap, with 
 which his rival had presented her but a fortnight before, 
 and — yes — actually kissing the brute at intervals, her eyes 
 shining all the time with innocent coquetry. What would 
 not Ernest have given to occupy for a single minute the 
 position of that uuappreciative Skye-terrier! It was agony 
 to see so many kisses wasted on a dog, and Eva, seeing that 
 he thought so, kissed the animal more vigorously than ever. 
 
 At last he could stand it no longer. " Put that dog 
 down!" he said, peremptorily. 
 
 She obeyed him, and then, remembering that he had no 
 right to dictate to her what she should do, made an effort 
 to pick it up again; but Tails, who, be it added, was 
 not used to being kissed in private life, and thought the 
 whole operation rather a bore, promptly bolted. 
 
 " Why should I put the dog down?" she asked, with a 
 quick look of defiance. 
 
 " Because I hate to see you kissing it, it is so effeminate. ■"■ 
 
78 THE witch's head. 
 
 He spoke in a masterful way; it was a touch of the curb, 
 and there are few things a proud woman hates so much aa 
 the first touch of the curb. 
 
 " What right have you to dictate what I shall or shall 
 not do?' she asked, tapping her foot upon the floor. 
 
 Ernest was very humble in those days, and he collapsed. 
 
 " None at all. Don't be angry, Eva " (it was the first 
 time that he had called her so, till now she had always been 
 Miss Ceswick), " but the fact was I could not bear to see 
 you kissing that dog; I was jealous of the brute. " 
 
 Whereupon she blushed furiously and changed the sub- 
 ject. But after awhile Eva's coquettishness began to be 
 less and less marked. When they met she no longer greeted 
 him with a smile of mischief, but with serious eyes that 
 once or twice, he thought, bore traces of tears. At the 
 same time she threw him into despair by her coldness. Did 
 he venture a tender remark, she would pretend not to hear 
 it — alas that the mounting blood sliould so obstinately pro- 
 claim that she did! Did he touch her hand, it was cold 
 and unresponsive. She was quieter too, and her reserve 
 frightened him. Once he tried to break it, and began some 
 passionate appeal, but she rose without answering and 
 turned her face to the window. He followed her, and saw 
 that her dark eyes were full of tears. This he felt was even 
 more awful than her coldness, and, fearing that he had 
 offended her, he obeyed her whispered entreaty and went. 
 Poor boy! he was very young. Had he had a little more 
 experience, he might perhaps have found means to brush 
 away her tears and his own doubts. It is a melancholy 
 thing that such opportunities should, as a rule, present 
 themselves before people are old enough to take advantage 
 of them. 
 
 The secret of all this change of conduct was not far to 
 seek. Eva had played with edged tools till she cut her 
 fingers to the bone. The dark-eyed boy who danced so 
 well and had such a handsome, happy face, had become 
 very dear co her. She had begun by pLij'iug with him, 
 and now, alas! she loved him better than anybody in the 
 world. That was the sting of the thing; she had fallen in 
 love with a hoy — as young as herself — a boy, too, who, so far 
 as she was aware, had no particular prospects iu life. It 
 was humiliating to her pride to think that she, who had 
 already, in the few months that she had been " out " in 
 
THE -witch's head. f$ 
 
 London, before her cousins i-ose np and cast her forth, had 
 the satisfaction of seeing one or two men of middle age and 
 established position at her feet, and the further satisfaction 
 of requesting them to kneel there no more, should in the up- 
 shot haye to strilie her colors to a boy of twenty-one, even 
 though he did stand six feet high, and had more wits in his 
 young head and more love in his young heart than all her 
 middle-aged admirers put together. 
 
 Perhaps, though she was a wom6,n grown, she was not 
 herself quite old enough to appreciate the great advantage 
 it is to any girl to stamp her image upon the heart of the 
 man she loves while the wax is yet soft and undefaced by 
 the half-worn-out marks of many shallow dies; perhaps 
 she did not know what a blessing it is to be able to really 
 love a man at all, young, middle-aged, or old. Many women 
 wait till they can not love without shame to make that dis- 
 covery. Perhaps she forgot that Ernest's youth was a 
 fault that would mend day by day, and he had abilities, 
 which, if she would consent to inspire them, might lead 
 him to great things. At any rate, two facts remained in 
 Tier mind after much thinking; she loved him with all her 
 heart, and she was ashamed of it. 
 
 But as yet she could not make up her mind to any fixed 
 course. It would have been easy to crush poor Ernest, to 
 tell him that his pretensions were ridiculous, to send him 
 away, or to go away herself, and so to make an end of a 
 position that she felt was getting absurd, and which we may 
 be sure her elder sister Florence did nothing to make more 
 pleasant. But she could not do it, that was the long and 
 short of the matter. The idea of living without Ernest 
 made her feel cold all over; it seemed to her that the only 
 hours that she really did live were the hours that they spent 
 together, and that when he went away he took her heart 
 with him. Wo, she could not make up her mind to that: 
 the thought was too cruel. Then there was the other 
 alternative, to encourage him a little and become engaged 
 to him, to brave everything for his sake. But as yet she 
 could not make up her mind to that either. 
 
 Eva Oeswick was very loving, very sweet, and very good, 
 but she did not possess a determined mind. 
 
80 THi; witch's head. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DEEPER TET. 
 
 While Ernest was wooing and Eva doubting, Time, 
 whose interest in earthly affairs is that of the sickle in the 
 growing crop, went on his way as usual. 
 
 The end of August came, as it has come so many thou- 
 Band times since this globe gave its first turn in space, as it 
 will come for many thousand more, till at last, its appointed 
 course run out, the world darkens, quivers, and grows still; 
 and, behold, Ernest was still wooing, Eva still doubting. 
 
 One evening — it was a very beautiful evening — this pair 
 were walking together on the sea-shore. Whether they 
 met by appointment or by accident does not matter; they 
 did meet, and there they were, strolling along together, as 
 fully charged with intense feeling as a thunder-cloud with 
 electricity, and almost as quiet. The storm had not yet 
 burst. 
 
 To listen to the talk of these two, they might have met 
 for the first time yesterday. It was chiefly about the 
 weather. 
 
 Presently, in the course of their wanderings, they came 
 to a little sailing-boat drawn up upon the beach — not far 
 up, however, just out of the reach of the waves. By this 
 boat, in an attitude of intense contemplation, there stood 
 an ancient mariner. His hands were in his pockets, his 
 pipe was in his mouth, his eyes were fixed upon the deep. 
 Apparently he did not notice their approach tUl they were 
 within two yards of him. Then he turned, "dashed" 
 himself, and asked the lady, with a pull of his grizzled 
 forelock, if she would not take a sail. 
 
 Ernest looked sui-prised. 
 
 " How's the wind?" he asked. 
 
 " Straight off shore, sir; will turn with the turn of the 
 tide, sir, and bring you back." 
 
 " Will you come for a bit of a sail, Eva?" 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you. I must be getting home; it is 
 seven o'clock. " 
 
 " There is no hurry for you to get home. Your aunt 
 and Florence have gone to tea with the Smythes." 
 
THE witch's head. 81 
 
 " Indeed, I can not come; I could not think of such a 
 thing." 
 
 Her words were unequivocal, but the ancient mariner put 
 a strange interpretation upon them. Pirst he hauled up 
 the little sail, and then, placing his brown hands against 
 the stern of the boat, he rested his weight upon them, and 
 caused her to travel far enough into the waves to float her 
 bow. 
 
 " Now, miss. " 
 
 " I am not coming, indeed." 
 
 " Now, miss." 
 
 " I will not come, Ernest." 
 
 " Come," said Ernest, quietly holding out his hand to 
 help her in. 
 
 She took it and got in. Ernest and the mariner gave a 
 strong shove, and as the light boat took the water the for- 
 mer leaped in, and at the same second a puff of wind caught 
 the sail and took them ten yards out or more. 
 
 " Why, the sailor is left behind!" said Eva. 
 
 Ernest gave a twist to the tiller to get the boat's head 
 straight off shore, and then leisurely looked round. The 
 mariner was standing as they had found him, his hands in 
 his pockets, his pipe in his mouth, his eyes fixed upon the 
 deep. 
 
 " He doesn't seem to mind it," he said, meditatively. 
 
 " Yes, but I do; you must go back and fetch him." 
 
 Thus appealed to, Ernest went through some violent 
 maneuvers with the tiller, without producing any marked 
 effect on the course of the boat, wjjich by this time had got 
 out of the shelter of the cliff, and was bowling along mer- 
 rily. 
 
 " Wait till we get clear of the draught from the cliff, 
 and I will bring her round." 
 
 But when at last they were clear from the draught of the 
 .cliff, and he slowly got her head round, lo and behold, the 
 mariner had vanished ! 
 
 " How unfortunate!" said Ernest, getting her head to- 
 ward the open sea again; "he has probably gone to his tea." 
 
 Eva tried hard to get angry, but somehow she could not, 
 she only succeeded in laughing. • ,, 
 
 " If I thought that you had done this on purpose, I would 
 never come out with you again." 
 
 Ernest looked horrified. " On purpose!" he said, and. 
 
83 THE witch's head. 
 
 the subject dropped. They were sitting side by sidem the 
 stem-sheets of the boat, and the sun was just dipping all 
 red-hot into the ocean. Under the lee of the clifE there 
 were cool shadows, before them was a path of glory that 
 led to a golden gate. The air was very sweet, and for those 
 two all the world was lovely; there was no sorrow on the 
 earth, there were no storms upon the sea. 
 
 Eva took off her hat and let the sweet breeze play upon 
 her brow. Then she leaned over the side, and, dipping her 
 hand into the cool water, watched the little track it made. 
 
 "Eva." 
 
 "Yes, Ernest." 
 
 " Do you know I am going away?" 
 
 The hand was withdrawn with a'start. 
 
 "Going away? when?" 
 
 " The day after to-morrow, to France." 
 
 " And when are you coming back again?" 
 
 " I think that depends upon you, Eva. " 
 
 The hand went back into the water. They were a mile 
 or more from the shore now. Ernest manipulated the sail 
 and tiller so as to sail slowly parallel with the coast-Une. 
 Then he spoke again. 
 
 "Eva." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Eva, for God's sake look at me!" 
 
 There was something in his voice that forced her to obey. 
 She took lier hand out of the water and turned her eyes on 
 to his face. It was palp, and the lips were quivering. 
 
 " I love you/' he said, iii a low, choked voice. 
 
 She grew angry. " AVhy did you bring mo here? I will 
 go home. This is nonsense; you are nothing but a boy!" 
 
 There are moments in life when the human face is capa- 
 ble of conveying a more intense and vivid impression than 
 any words, when it seems to speak to the very soul in a 
 language of its own. And so it was with Ernest now; he 
 made no answer to her reproaches, but if that were possi- 
 ble, his features grew jjaler yet, and his eyes, shining like 
 stars, fixed themselves upon her, and drew her to him. And 
 what they said she and he knew alone, nor could any words 
 convey it, for the tongue in which they talked is not spoken 
 in this world. 
 
 A moment still she wavered, fighting against the sweet 
 jnasterj of his will with, all her woman's strength, and then 
 
IHE witch's head. 83 
 
 —Oh, Heaven! it wasdone, and his arms were round about 
 her, her head upon his breast, and her voice was lost in 
 Bobs and broken words of love. 
 
 Oh, radiant-winged hour of more than mortal joy, the 
 hearts where thou hast lighted will know when their time 
 comes that they have not beat quite in vain ! 
 
 And so they sat, those two, quite silent, for there seemed 
 to be no need for speech; words could not convey half they 
 had to say, and, indeed, to tell the honest truth, their lips 
 were for the most part otherwise employed. 
 
 Meanwhile the sun went down, and the golden moon 
 arose over the quiet sea, and turned their little ship to sil- 
 ver. Eva gently disengaged herself from his arms, and 
 half rose to look at it; she had never thought it half so 
 beautiful before. Ernest looked at it too. It is a way that 
 lovers have. 
 
 *' Do you know the lines?" he said; " I think I can say 
 them: 
 
 " ' With a swifter motion, 
 Out,upon the ocean, 
 Heaven above and round us, and you alone witl^me; 
 Heaven around and o'er us, 
 The Infinite before us,' 
 Floating on forever, upon the flowing sea.' " 
 
 "Go on," she said, softly. 
 
 " ' What time is it, dear, now? 
 
 We are in the year now 
 Of the New Creation, one million, two or three; 
 
 But where are we now, love? ■ 
 
 We are, as I trow, love. 
 In the Heaven of Heavens, upon the Crystal Sea.' " 
 
 " That is how I hope it may be with us, dear," she said, 
 taking his hand as the last words passed his lips. 
 
 " Are you happy now?" he asked her. 
 
 " Yes, Ernest, I am happy indeed. I do not think that 
 I shall erer be so happy again; certainly I never was so 
 happy before. Do you know, dear, I wish to tell you, so 
 that you may see how mean I have been; I have fought so 
 hard against my love for you?" 
 
 He looked pained. " Why?" he asked. 
 
 " I will tell you quite truly, Ernest — because you are so 
 young. I was ashamed to fall in love with a boy, and yet 
 you see, dear, you have been too strong for me." 
 
84 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Why, there is no difference in our ages." 
 
 " Ah, Ernest, but J am a woman, and ever so much older 
 than you. We age so much quicker, you know. I feel 
 about old enough to be your mother," she said, with a 
 pretty assumption of dignity. 
 
 " And I feel quite old enough to be your lover," he re- 
 plied, impertinently. 
 
 "So it seems. But, Ernest, if three months ago any- 
 body had told me that I should he in love to-day with a boy 
 of twenty-one, I would not have believed them. Dear, I 
 have given you all my heart; you will not betray it, will 
 you? You know very young men are apt to change their 
 minds." 
 
 He flushed a little as he answered, feehng that it was 
 tiresome to have the unlucky fact that he was only twenty- 
 one persistently thrust before him. 
 
 '' Then they are young men who have not had the honor 
 of winning your affectio'ns. A mkn who had once loved you 
 could never forget you. Indeed, it is more likely that yon 
 will forget me; you will have plenty of temptation to do 
 so." 
 
 She saw that she had vexed him. " Don't be angry, 
 dear; but you see the position is a very difficult one, and, 
 if I could not be quite sure of j^ou, it would be intolerable." 
 
 " My darling, you may be as sure of me as woman can 
 be of man; but don't begin your doubts over again. They 
 are settled now. Let us be quite happy just this one even- 
 ing. No doubt there are plenty coming when we shall not 
 be able to. " 
 
 And so they kissed each other and sailed on, homeward, 
 alas! for it was getting late, and were perfectly happy. 
 
 Presently they drew near the shore, and there, at the 
 identical spot where they had left him, stood the ancient 
 mariner. His hands were in his pockets, his pipe was in 
 his mouth, his eyes were fixed upon the deep. 
 
 Ernest grounded the little boat skillfully enough, and 
 jumping over the bow he and the mariner pulled it up. 
 Then Eva got out, and as she did so she thought, in the 
 moonlight, she noticed something resembling a twinkle in 
 the latter's ancient eye. She felt confused — there is noth- 
 ing so confusing as a guilty conscience — and to cover her 
 confusion plunged into conversation — while Ernest was 
 finding some money to pay for the boat. 
 
THE witch's head. 85 
 
 " Do you often let boats?" slie asked. 
 
 " No, miss, only to Mr. Ernest in a general way " (so 
 that wicked Ernest had set a trap to catch her). 
 
 " Oh, then, I suppose you go out fishing?" 
 
 " No, miss, only for rikkration, like." 
 
 " Then, what do you do?" — she was getting curious on 
 the point. 
 
 " Times I does nothing; times I stands on the beach and 
 sees things; times I runs cheeses, miss." 
 
 " Kua cheeses!" 
 
 " Yes, miss, Dutch ones." 
 
 *' He means that he brings cargoes of Dutch cheeses to 
 Harwich. " 
 
 " Oh!" said Eva. 
 
 Ernest paid the man, and they turned to go. She had 
 not got many yards when she felt a heavy hand laid on her 
 shoulder. Turning rouad in astonishment she perceived 
 the mariner. 
 
 " I say, miss," he said ia a hoarse whisper. 
 ■ " Well, what?" 
 
 " Niver you eat the rind of a Dutch cheese. I says it as 
 knows. " 
 
 Eva never forgot his advice. 
 
 CHAPTEE XHI. 
 
 ME. CAEDUS UNFOLDS HIS PLANS. 
 
 " Eenest," said Mr. Oardus on the morning following 
 the events described in the previous chapter, " I want to 
 speak to you in my office — and you too, Jeremy." 
 
 They both followed him into his room, wondering what 
 was up. He sat down and so did they, and then, as was 
 his habit, letting his eyes stray over every part of their per- 
 sons except their faces, he began: 
 
 " It is time that you two fellows took to doing something 
 for yourselves. You must not learn to be idle men, not 
 that most young men require much teaching in that way. 
 What do you propose to do?" 
 
 Jeremy and Ernest stared at one another rather blankly, 
 but apparently Mr. Cardus did not expect an answer; at 
 any rate he went on before either of them could frame one. 
 
 *' You don't geeiH t§ know, never gave the matter any 
 
Bi THE witch's head- 
 
 considei-aLioa probably; quite content to obey the Bibla 
 literally, and take no thought for the morrow. Well, it is 
 luoky that you have somebody to think for you. Now I 
 will tell what I propose for you both. I want you, Ernest, 
 to go to the bar. It is a foolish profession for most young 
 men to take to, but it will not be so in your case, because, as 
 it happens, if you show yourself capable, I shall by degrees be 
 able to put a good deal of business in your hands — Chancery 
 business— for I have little to do with any other. I dare 
 say that you will wonder where the business is to come 
 from. I don't seem to do very much here, do I? with a 
 mad old hunting man as a clerk, and Dorothy to copy my 
 private letters; but I do, for all that. I may as well tell 
 you both in confidence that this place is only the head-cen- 
 ter of my business. I have another office in London, 
 another at Ipswich, and another at Norwich, though they 
 all carry on business under different names; besides which 
 I have other agencies of a different nature. But all this is 
 neither here nor there. I have communicated with Aster, 
 the great Chancery man, and he will have a vacancy in his 
 chambers next term. Let me see — Term begins on Novem- 
 ber 2d; I propose, Ernest, to write to-day to enter you at 
 Lincoln's Inn. I shall make you an allowance of three 
 hundred a year, which you must clearly understand you 
 must not exceed. I think that is all I have to say about 
 the matter." 
 
 " I am sure I am very much obliged to you, uncle," 
 began Ernest, fervently, for since the previous evening he 
 haH clearly realized that it was necessary for him to make a 
 beginning of doing something. 
 
 But his uncle cut him short. 
 
 " All right, Ernest, we will understand all that. Now, 
 Jeremy, for you. I propose that you shall be articled to 
 me, and if you work welf and prove useful, it is my inten- 
 tion in time to admit you to a share of the business. lu 
 order that you may not feel entirely dependent, it is my 
 further intention to make you an allowance also, on the 
 amount of which I have not yet settled." 
 
 Jeremy groaned in spirit at the thought of becoming a 
 lawyer, even with a " share of the business," but he re- 
 membered his conversation with Dorothy, and thanked Mr. 
 Card us with the best grace that he could muster. 
 
 "All right, then; I will have the articles prepared at 
 
THI witch's head. 8'J' 
 
 oneej and you can take to your stool in the ofl&ce next week. 
 I thiak that is all I have to say. " 
 
 Acting on this hint, the pair were departing, Jeremy iu 
 the deepest state of ; depression, induced by the near pros- 
 pect of that stool, when Mr. Cardus called Ernest back. 
 
 " I want to speak to you about something else," he said, 
 thoughtfully. ^' Shut the door." 
 
 Ernest turned cold down his back, and wondered if his 
 uncle could have heard anything about Eva. He had the 
 full intention of speaking to him about the matter, but it 
 would be awkward to be boarded himself before he had 
 made up his mind what to say. He shut the door, and 
 then walking to the glass entrance to the orchid- blooming 
 bouse, stood looking at the flowers, and waiting for Mr. 
 Cardus to begin. But he did not begin; he seemed to be 
 lost in thought. 
 
 " Well, uncle," he said at last. 
 
 " It is a delicate business, Ernest, but I may as well get 
 it over. I am going to make a request of you, a request to 
 which I beg you will give me no immediate 'answer, for 
 from its nature -it will require the most anxious and careful 
 consideration. I want you to listen, and say nothing. 
 You can give me your answer wlien you come back from 
 abroad. At the same time, I must tell you that it is a mat- 
 ter that I trust you will not disappoint me in; indeed, I do 
 not, think that you could be so cruel as to do so. I must 
 also tell you that if you do, you must prepare to be a great 
 loser, financially speaking." 
 
 " I have not the faintest idea what you are driving at, 
 uncle," said Ernest, turning from the glass door to speak. 
 
 " I know you have not. I will tell you. Listen; I will 
 tell you a little story. Many years ago a great misfortune 
 overtook me, a misfortune so great that it struck me as 
 liglitniug sometimes does a tree; it left the bark sound, but 
 turned the heart to ashes. Never mmd what the details 
 were, they were nothing out of the common; such things 
 sometimes happen to men and women. The blow was so 
 severe tliat it almost turned my brain, so from that day I gave 
 myself to revenge. It sounds melo-dramatic, but there was 
 nothing of the sort about it. I had been cruelly wronged, and 
 I determined that those who had wronged me should taste of 
 their own medicine. With the exception of one man they 
 have done so. He has escaped me for a time, but he is 
 
88 THE witch's head. 
 
 doomed. To pass on. The woman who caused the trouble 
 — for wherever there is trouble, there is generally a woman 
 who causes it— had children. Those children are Dorothy 
 and her brother. I adopted them. As time went on, I 
 grew to love the girl for her likeness to her mother. The 
 boy I never loved; to this hour I can not like him, though 
 he is a gentleman, which his father never was. I can, 
 however, honestly say that I have done my duty by him. 
 I have told you all this in order that you may understand 
 the request which I am going to make. I trust you never 
 to speak of it, and if you can to forget. And now for the 
 request itself.-" 
 
 Ernest looked up wonderingly. 
 
 "It is my most earnest desire that you should marry 
 Dorothy." 
 
 His listener started violently, turned quite pale, and 
 opened his lips to speak. Mr. Cardus lifted his hand and 
 went on: 
 
 " Eemember what I asked you. Pray say nothing; only 
 listen. Of course I can not force you into this or any other 
 marriage. I can only beg you to give heed to my wishes, 
 knowing that they will in every way prove to your ad- 
 vantage. That girl has a heart of gold; and if you marry 
 her you shall inherit nearly all my fortune, which is now 
 very large. J have observed that you have lately been 
 about a great deal with Eva Ceswick. She is a handsome 
 woman, and very likely has taken some hold upon your 
 fancy. I warn you that any entanglement in that direction 
 would be most disagreeable to me, and would to a great 
 extent destroy your prospects, so far as I am concerned. " 
 
 Again Ernest was about to speak, and again his uncle 
 stopped him. 
 
 I want no confidences, Ernest, and had much rather 
 that no words passed between us that we might afterwarc^ 
 regret. And now I understand that you are going abroad 
 with your friend Batty for a couple of months. When you 
 return you shall give me your answer about Dorothy. In 
 the meanwhile here is a check for your expenses; what is 
 over you can spend as you like. Perhaps you have some 
 bills to pay. " 
 
 He gave him a folded check, and then went on 
 
 " Now leave me, as I am busy." 
 
 Ernest walked out of the room in a perfect maze. In 
 
THE witch's head. 89 
 
 the yard he mechamcally unfolded the .check. It was for 
 a large sum — two hundred and fifty pounds. He put it in 
 his pocket, and began to reflect upon his position, wliich 
 was about as painful as a position can well be. Truly he 
 was on the horns of a dilemma; probably before he was 
 much older, one of them would have pierced him. For a 
 moment he was about to return to his uncle and tell him 
 all the truth, but on reflection he could not see what was 
 to be gained by such a course. At any rate, it seemed to 
 him that he must first consult Eva, whom he had arranged 
 to meet on the beach at three o'clock; there was nobody 
 else whom he could consult, for he was shy of talking about 
 Eva to Jeremy or Dolly. 
 
 The rest of that morning went very ill for Ernest, but 
 three o'clock came at last, and found him at the trysting- 
 place. 
 
 About a mile on the further side of Kesterwick, that is, 
 two miles or so from Titheburgh Abbey, the clifi jutted out 
 into the sea in a way that corresponded very curiously with 
 the little promontory known as Uum's Ness, the reason of 
 its resistance to the action of the waves being that it was 
 at this spot composed of an upcrop of rock of a more 
 durable nature than the sandstone and pebbles of the re- 
 mainder of the line of cliff. Just at the point of this 
 promontory, the waves had worn a hollow in the rock that 
 was locally dignified by the name of the cave. For two 
 hours or more at high tide this hollow was under water, 
 and it was, therefore, impossible to pass the headland ex- 
 cept by boat: but during the rest of the day it formed a 
 convenient grotto or trysting-place, the more so as anybody 
 sitting in it was quite invisible either from the beach, the 
 clifE above, or indeed, unless the boat was quite close in- 
 shore, the sea in front. 
 
 Here it was that Ernest bad arranged to meet Eva, and 
 on turning the rocky corner of the ca^ve he found her sitting 
 on a mass of fallen rock waiting for him. At the sight of 
 her beautiful form h* forgot all his troubles, and when ris- 
 ing to greet him, blushing like the dawn, she lifted her 
 pure face for him to kiss, there was not a happier lad in 
 England. Then she made room for him beside her — the 
 rock was Just wide enough for two— and he placed his arm 
 round her waist, and for a minute or two she laid her head 
 upon his shoulder, and they were very happy. 
 
§0 THE witch's HEA». 
 
 " You are early," he said at last. 
 
 " Yes; I wanted to get away from Florence and liare a 
 good think. You have no idea how unpleasant she is; she 
 seems to know everything. For instance, she knew that we 
 went out sailing together last evening, for this morning at 
 breakfast she said in the most cheerful way that she hoped 
 that I enjoyed my moonlight sail last night." 
 
 " The deuce she did! and what did you say?" 
 
 " I said that I enjoyed it very much, and luckily my 
 aunt did not taKo any notice." 
 
 " Why did you not say at once that we were engaged? 
 We are engaged, you know." 
 
 " Yes— that is, I suppose so." 
 
 " Suppose so! There is no supposition about it. At 
 least, if we are not engaged, what are we?" 
 
 " Well, you see, Ernest, it sounds so absurd to say that 
 one is engaged to a boy! I love you, Ernest, love you 
 dearly, but how can I say that I am engaged to you?" 
 
 Ernest rose in great wrath. " I tell you what it is, Eva, 
 if I am not good enough to acknowledge, I am not good 
 enough to have anything to do with. A boy, indeed; I am 
 one-and-twenty; that is full age. Confound it all, you are 
 always talking about my being so young, just as though I 
 could not get old fast enough. C&n't you wait for me a 
 year or two?" he asked, with tears of mortification in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Ernest, Ernest, do be reasonable, there's a dear; 
 what is the good of getting angry and making me wretched? 
 Come and sit down here, dear, and tell me, am /not worth 
 a little patience? There is not the slightest possibility, so 
 far as I can see, of our getting married at present; so the 
 question is, if it is of any use to trumpet an engagement 
 that will only make us the object of a great deal of gossip, 
 and which, perhaps, your uncle would not like." 
 
 " Oh, by Jove!" he said, " that reminds me," and sit- 
 ting down beside her again he told her the story of the in- 
 terview with his uncle. She listened in silence. 
 
 " This is all very bad," she said when he had finished. 
 
 " Yes, it is bad enough; but wliat is to be done?" 
 
 " There is nothing to be done at present. " 
 
 " Shall I make a clean breast of it to him?" 
 
 " No, no, not now; it will only make matters worse. 
 We must wait, dear. You must go abroad for a couple of 
 
TH3! witch's head. 91 
 
 months, as you have arranged, and then when you come 
 back we musji^ee what can be arranged." 
 
 " But, my dearest, I can not bear to leave you; it makes 
 my heart ache to think of it." 
 
 " Dear, I know that it is hard; but it must be done. 
 You could not stop here now very well without speaking 
 about our — our engagement, and to do that would only be 
 to bring your uncle's anger on you. No, you had better 
 go away, Ernest, and metmwhile I will try to get into Mr. 
 Cardus's good grages, and, if I fail, then when you come 
 back we must agree upon some plan. Perhaps by that 
 time you will take your uncle's view of the matter and 
 want to marry Dorothy. She would make you a better 
 wife than I shall, Ernest, my dear." 
 
 "Eva, how can you say such things; it is not kind of 
 you?''' 
 
 " Oh, why not? It is true. Oh, yes, I know that I am 
 better-looking, and that is what you men always think pf,- 
 but she has more brains, more fixiby of mind, and, perhaps, i 
 for all I know, more heart than I have, though for the mat-' 
 ter of that, I feel as if I was all heart just now. Eeally, 
 Ernest, you had better transfer your allegiance. Give me 
 up, and forget me, dear; it will save you much trouble. I 
 know that there is trouble coming; it is in the air. Better 
 marry Dorothy, and leave nie to fight my sorrow out alone. 
 I will release you, Ernest," and she began to cry at the 
 bare idea. 
 
 " I shall wait to give you up uniiil you have given me 
 up," said Ernest, when he had found means to stop her 
 tears; "and, as for forgetting you, I can never do that. 
 Please, dear, don't talk so any more; it pains me." 
 
 " Very well, Ernest; then let us vow eternal fidelity in- 
 stead; but, my dear, I hnoiv that I shall bring you 
 trouble," * 
 
 " It is the price that men have always paid for the smiles 
 of women like you," he answered. " Q^rouble may coma 
 — so be it, let it come; at any rate, I have the conscious- 
 ness of your love. When I have lost that, then and then 
 only shall I think that I have bought you too dear. " 
 
 In the course of his ftf ter-lif^ these words often came baelt 
 to Eraest's mind. 
 
THE witch's head. 
 
 CHAPTER XrV. 
 
 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 There are some scenes, trivial enough very likely in 
 themselves, that yet retain a peculiar power of standing- 
 out in sharp relief, as we cast our mincFs eye down the 
 long vista of our past. The group of events with which 
 these partiuular scenes were connected may have long ago 
 vanished from our mental sight, or faded into a dim and 
 misty uniformity, and be as difficult to distinguish one from 
 the other as the trees of a forest viewed from a height. 
 But here and there an event, a sensation, or a face will 
 stand out as perfectly clear as if it had been that moment 
 experienced, felt, or seen. Perhaps it is only some scene 
 of our childhood, such as a fish darting beneath a rustic 
 bridge, and the ripple which its motion left upon the water. 
 We have seen many larger fish dart in many fine rivers 
 since then, and Imve forgotten them, but somehow that 
 one little fish has kept av.ake in the store-house of our brain, 
 where most things sleep, though none are really obliterated. 
 
 It was in this clear and brilliant fashion that every little 
 detail of the scene was indelibly photographed on Ernest's 
 mind when, on the morning following their meeting in the 
 cave, he said good-byejio Eva before he went abroad. It was 
 a public good-bye, for, as it happened, there was no oppor- 
 tunity for the lovers to meet alone. They were all gath- 
 ered in the little drawing-room at the cottage; Miss Ces- 
 wick seated on a straight-backed chair in the bow- window; 
 Ernest on one side of the round table, looking intensely 
 uncomfortable; Eva on the other, a scrap-book in her hand, 
 which she studiously kept before her face,* and in the back- 
 ground, leaning carelessly over the back of a chair in such 
 a way that her own face could not be seen, though she 
 could survey everybody else's, was Florence. Ernest, from 
 where he sat, could just make out the outline of her olive 
 face, and the quick glance of her brown eyes. 
 
 And so they sat for a long time; but what was said he 
 could not remember, it was only the scene that imprinted 
 itself upon his memory. 
 
 And then at last the fatal moment came— -he knew that 
 
THE witch's HEATJ. 93 
 
 it was time to go, and said good-bye to Miss Ceswick, who 
 made some remark about his good fortuae in going to 
 France aad Italy, and warned him to be careful not to lose 
 his heart to a foreign girl. Then lie crossed the room and 
 shook hands with Florence, who smiled coolly in his face, 
 and read him through with her piercing eyes; and last of 
 all came to Eva, who dropped her album and a pocket- 
 handkerchief in her confusion as she rose to give him her 
 hand. He stooped and picked them up — the album he 
 placed on the table, the little lace-edged handkerchief he 
 crumpled up in the palm of his left hand and kept; it 
 was almost the only souvenir he had of her. Then he took 
 her hand, and for a moment looked into her face. It wore 
 a smile, but beneath it the features were wan and troubled. 
 It was so hard to go. 
 
 " Well, Ernest," said Miss Oeswick, " you two are tak- 
 ing leave of each other as solemnly as though you were 
 never going to meet again." 
 
 "Perhaps they never will," said Florence, in her clear 
 voice; and at that moment Ernest felt as though he hated 
 her. 
 
 " You should not croak, Florence; it is unlucky," said 
 Miss Ceswick. 
 
 Florence smiled. 
 
 Then Ernest dropped the cold hand, and turning, left 
 the room. Florence followed him, and, snatching a hat 
 from the pegs, passed into the garden before him. ' When 
 he was half-way down the garden-walk, he found her 
 ostensibly picking some carnations. 
 
 " I want to speak to yon for a minute, Ernest," she said; 
 " turn this way with me," and she led him past the bow- 
 window, down a small shrubbery-walk about twenty paces 
 long. "I must offer you my congratulations," she went 
 on. " I hope that you two will be happy. Such a hand- 
 some pair ought to be hapi^y, you know." 
 
 " Why, Florence, who told you?" 
 
 " Told me I nobody told me. I have seen it all along. 
 Let me see, you first took a fancy to one another on the 
 night of the Symthes' dance, when she gave you a rose, 
 and the next day you saved her life quite in the romantic 
 and orthodox way. Well, and then events took their nat- 
 ural course, till one evening you went out sailing together 
 in a boat. Shall I go on?" 
 
94 THB witch's head. 
 
 "I don't think it is necessary;^ Florence. I am sure I 
 don't know how you know all these things." 
 
 She had stopped, and was standing slowly picking a car- 
 nation to pieces leaf by leaf. 
 
 " Don't you.'" she answered, with a laugh. " Lovers 
 are blind; but it does not follow that other people are. I 
 have been thinking, Ernest, that it is very fortunate that I 
 found out my httle mistake before you discovered yours. 
 Supposing T really had cared for you, the position would 
 have been awkward now, would it not?" 
 
 Ernest was forced to admit that it would. 
 
 " But luckily, you see, I do not. I am only your true 
 friend now, Ernest; and it is as a friend that I wish to say 
 a word to you about Eve— a word of warning." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " You love Eva, and Eva loves you, Ernest, but remem- 
 ber this, she is weak as water. She always was so from a 
 child; those beautiful women often are; nature does not 
 give them everything, you see." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " What I say, nothing more. She is very weak, and you 
 must not be surprised if she throw you over. " 
 
 " Good heavens, Florence! why, she loves me with all 
 her heart!" 
 
 " Yes; but women often think of other things besides 
 their hearts. But there, I don't want to frighten you, 
 only I would not quite pin all my faith to Eva's constancy, 
 however dearly you may think she loves you. Don't look 
 so distressed, Ernest; I did not wish to pain you. And 
 remember that, if any difficulty should arise between Eva 
 and you, you will always have me on your side. You will 
 always think of me as your true friend, won't you, 
 Ernest?" and she held out her hand. 
 
 He took it. " Indeed I will," he said. 
 
 They had turned now, and again reached the bow-win- 
 dow, one of the divisions of which stood open. Florence 
 touched his arm and pointed into the room. He looked in 
 through the open window. Miss Ceswick had gone, but 
 Eva was still at her old place by the table. Her head was 
 down upon the table, resting on the album he had picked 
 up, and he could see from the motion of her shoulders that 
 elie was sobbing bitterly. Presently she lifted her face — 
 it was all stained with tears — only, however, to drop it 
 
THE witch's head. 95 
 
 again. Ernest made a motion as though he would enter 
 the house, but Florence stopped him. 
 
 " Best leave her alone," she whispered; and then, wheft 
 they were well past the window, added aloud: " I am sorry 
 that you saw her like that; if you should never meet again, 
 or be separated for a very long time, it will leave a painful 
 recollection in your mind. V/ell, good-bye. I hope that 
 you will enioy yourself." 
 
 Ernest shook hands in silence — there was a lump in his 
 throat, that prevented him from speaking — and then went 
 on his way, feeling utterly miserable. As for Florence, she 
 put up her hand to shade her keen eyes from the sun, and 
 watched him till he turned the corner with a look of intense 
 love and longing, which slowly changed into one of bitter 
 hate. When he was out of sight she turned, and making 
 her way to her bed-room, flung herself upon the bed, and 
 burying her face in the pillow to stifle the sound of her 
 sobbing, gave way to an outburst of jealous rage that was 
 almost awful in its intensity. 
 
 Ernest had only just time to get back to Dum's Ness, 
 and go through the form of eating some luncheon, before 
 he was obliged to start to catch his train. Dorothy had 
 packed his things, and made all those little preparations 
 for his journey that women think of, so, after going to the 
 office to bid good-bye to his uncle, who shook liim heai'tily 
 by the hand, and bade him not forget the subject of their 
 conversation, he had nothing to do but jump into the cart 
 and start. In the sittiug-room he found Dorothy waiting 
 for him, with his coat and gloves, also Jeremy, who fvas 
 going to drive to the station with him. He put on his 
 coat in silence; they were all quite silent; indeed, he might 
 have been going for a long sojourn in a deadly chmate, in- 
 stead of a two months' pleasure-tour, so depressed was 
 everybody. 
 
 " Good-bye, Doll, dear," he said, stooping to kiss hei;, 
 but she shrunk away from him. In another minute he was 
 gone. 
 
 At the station a word or two about Eva passed between 
 Jeremy and himself. 
 
 " Well, Ernest," asked the former, nervously, " have 
 you pulled it off?" 
 
 "With her?" 
 
96 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Of course; who else?" 
 
 " Yes, I have. But, Jeremy — " 
 
 " Well."' 
 
 " I don't want you to say anything about it to anybody 
 at present. " 
 
 Very good." 
 
 " I say, old fellow," Ernest went on, after a pause, " I 
 hope you don't mind very much. " 
 
 If I said I did not mind, Ernest," he answered, slowly 
 turuing his honest eyes full on to his friend's face, " I 
 should be telling a lie. But I do say this. As I could not 
 win her myself, I am glad that you have, because next to 
 her I think I love you better than anybody in the world. 
 You always had the luck, and I wish you joy. Here's the 
 train." 
 
 Ernest wrung his hand. " Thank you, old chap," he 
 said; " you are a downright good fellow, and a good friend 
 too. I know I have had the luck, but perhaps it is going 
 to turn. Good-bye." 
 
 Ernest's plans were to sleep in London, and to leave on 
 the following morning, a Wednesday, for Dieppe, via New- 
 haven, which place he expected to reach about five or six in 
 the afternoon. There he was to meet his friend on Thurs- 
 day, when they were to start upon their tour through Nor- 
 mandy, and thence wherever their fancy led them. 
 
 This programme he carried out to tlie letter, at least the 
 first part of it. On his way from Liverpool Street Station 
 to the rooms where he had always slept on the few occa- 
 sions that he had been in London, his hansom passed down 
 Fleet Street, and got blocked opposite No. I'J. His eye 
 caught the number, and he wondered what there was about 
 it familiar to him. Then he remembered that 19 Fleet 
 Street was the address of Messrs. Goslings & Sharpe, the 
 bankers on ■\\'hom his uncle had given him the check for 
 £350. Bethinking himself that he might as well cash it, 
 he stopped the cab and entered the bank. As he did so, 
 the cashier was just leaving his desk, for it was past closing 
 hour; but he courteously took Ernest's crossed check, and 
 though it was for a large sum, cashed it without hesita- 
 tion. Mr. (lardus's name was evidently well known in the 
 establishment. Ernest proceeded on his journey with a 
 crisp little bundle of Bank of England notes in his breast- 
 pocket, a circumstance that, in certain events of which at 
 
THE witch's head, 97 
 
 that momeut he little dreamed, proved of the utmost serv- 
 ice to him. 
 
 It will not be necessary for us to follow him in his jour- 
 ney to Dieppe, which very much resembled other people's 
 journeys. He arrived there safely enough on Wednesday 
 afternoon, and proceeded to the best hotel, took a room, 
 and inquired the hour of the table d'hote. 
 
 In the course of the voyage from Newhaven, Ernest had 
 fallen into conversation with a quiet, foreign-looking man, 
 who spoke English with a curious little accent,. This gen- 
 tleman, for there was no doubt about his being a gentle- 
 man, was accompanied by a boy about nine years of age, 
 remarkable for his singularly prepossessing face and man- 
 ners, whom Ernest rightly judged to be his son. Mr. 
 Alston, for such he discovered his companion's name to be, 
 was a middle-aged man, not possessed of any remarkable 
 looks or advantages of person, nor in any way brilliant- 
 minded. But nobody could know Mr. Alston for long with- 
 out discovering that, his neutral tints notwithstanding, he 
 was the possessor of an almost striking individuality. 
 From his open way of talking, Ernest guessed that he was 
 a colonial, for he had often noticed at college that colonials 
 ai-e much less reserved than Englishmen proper are bred up 
 to be. He soon learned that Mr. Alston was a Natal colonist, 
 now, for the first time, paying a visit to the old country. 
 He had, until lately, held a high position in the Natal 
 Government Service; but having unexpectedly come into a 
 mcfderate fortune through the death of an aged lady, a sis- 
 ter of his father in England, he had resigned his position in 
 the service; and after his short visit " home," as colonists 
 always call the mother-country, even when they have never 
 seen it, intended to start on a big game-shooting expedition 
 in the country, between Secocoeni's country and Delagoa 
 Bay. 
 
 All this Ernest learned before the boat reached the har- 
 bor at Dieppe and they separated. He was, however, 
 E leased when, having seen his luggage put into his room, 
 e went into the little court-yard of the hotel and found 
 Mr. Alston standing there with his son, and looking rather 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Halloo!" said Ernest, " I am glad that you have come 
 to this hotel. Do you want anything?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I do. The fact of the matter is, I don't un- 
 i 
 
98 THE witch's head. 
 
 derstand a word of French, and I want to find my Tvay to 
 a place that my boy and I have come over here to see. If 
 they talked Zulu or Sisutu, you see, I should be equal to 
 the occasion; but to me French is a barbarous tongue. 
 Here is the address, 36 Eue Saint Honor." 
 
 " St. Houore," suggested Ernest. " I can talk French, 
 and, if you like, I will go with you. The table d'hote is not 
 till seven, and it is not six yet." 
 
 " It is very kind of you. " 
 
 " Not at all. I have no doubt that you would show me 
 the way about Zululand, if ever I wandered there. " 
 
 " Ay, that I would with pleasure;" and they started. 
 
 It was with considerable difficulty that Ernest discovered 
 the place, for the address that Mr. Alston had, had been 
 written down a dozen years before, and in France, the land 
 of revolutions, streets" often change their names once or 
 twice in a decade. Finally, however, he found it; it was 
 now called the " Eue de la Eepublique," which republic 
 does not matter. It was a quaint, out-of-the-way little 
 street, an odd mixture of old j^rivate houses and" shops, 
 most of which seemed to deal in the carved ivory-ware for 
 which Dieppe is famous. At last they came to No. 36, a 
 gray, old house standing in its own grounds. Mr. Alstoa 
 scanned it eagerly. 
 
 " That is the place," he said; " she often told me of the 
 coat-of-arms over the doorway — a mullet impaled with three 
 squirrels; there they are. I wonder if it is still a school?" 
 Ernest crossed the road and asked an old bourgeois, who was 
 standing in the doorway of his shop, taking the air after 
 his day's labor, if the house opposite was a school. 
 
 "But certainly not, monsieur; it is a convent; the holy 
 sisters live there. But stop, monsieur had reason; it used 
 to be a girls' school before the last revolution. Monsieur 
 could, no doubt, see over the old place; the holy sisters 
 were hospitable, oh, most hospitable. ' ' 
 
 Armed with this information, Ernest returned to his 
 friend; and in due coarse they were admitted to the place, 
 and allowed to wander round the ancient w^alled garden, 
 with every nook of which Mr. Alston seemed to be perfect- 
 ly acquainted. 
 
 " There is the tree under which she used to sit," he said, 
 sadly, to his boy, pointing out an old yew-tree, under which 
 there stood a rotting bench. 
 
THE witch's HBAD. 99 
 
 " Who?" asked Ernest, much interested. 
 
 " My dead wife, that boy's mother," he said with a sigh. 
 
 There, I have seen it. Let us go." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ERNEST GETS INTO TROUBLE. 
 
 When Mr. Alston and Ernest reached the hotel, there 
 was sbill a quarter of an hour to elapse before the table 
 d'Mte, so, after washing his hands and putting on a blaclc 
 coat, Ernest went down into the salon. There was only 
 one other person in it, a tall, fair Frenchwoman, apparent- 
 ly about thirty years of age. She veas standing by the empty 
 fireplace, her arm upon the mantel-piece, and a lace pock- 
 et-handkerchief in her hand; and Ernest's first impression 
 of her was that she was handsome and much overdressed. 
 There was a "Figaro " upon the mantel-piece, which he 
 desfred to get possession of. As he advanced for this pur- 
 po^, the lady dropped her handkerchief. Stooping down, 
 he picked it out of the grate and handed it to her. 
 
 Mille remerciments, monsieur," she said, with a Uttle 
 courtesy. 
 
 " De tout, madame?" 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, parle franpais?" 
 
 "Mais oui, madame." 
 
 And then they drifted into a conversation, in the course 
 of which Ernest learned that madame thought Dieppe very 
 dull; that she had been there three days with her friends, 
 and was nearly dead de tristesse; that she was going, how- 
 ever, to the public dance at the Entertainment Rooms that 
 night. " Of course monsieur would be there;" and many 
 other things, for madame had a considerable command of 
 language. 
 
 In the middle of all this the door opened, and another 
 lady of much the same cut as madame entered, followed by 
 two young men. The first of these had a face of the com- 
 monplace English type, rather a good-humored face; but 
 when he saw the second Ernest started, it was so like his 
 own, as his would become if he were to spend half a dozen 
 years in drinking, dicing, late hours, and their concomit- 
 ants. The man to whom this face belonged was evidently 
 
100 THE 
 
 a gentleman, but he looked an ill-tempered one, and very 
 puny and oat of health; at least so thought Ernest. 
 
 " It is time for dinner, Camille," said the gentleman to 
 madame, at the same time favoring Ernest with a most 
 comprehensive scowl. 
 
 Madame appeared not to understand, and made some re- 
 mark to Ernest. 
 
 " It is time for dinner, Camille," said the gentleman 
 again in a savage voice. This time she lifted her head and 
 looked at him. 
 
 " Din-nare, din-uare, qu'est que c'est que din-nhre?" 
 
 " Table d'hote," said the gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, pardon," and with a little bow and most fascinat- 
 ing smile to Ernest, she took the gentleman's extended arm 
 and sailed away. 
 
 " "Why did you pretend not to understand me?" Ernest 
 heard him ask, and saw her shrug her shoulders in reply. 
 The other gentleman followed with his companion, and 
 after him came Ernest. When he reached the salle-a- 
 manger he found that the only chair vacant at the table 
 •was one next to his friend of the salon. Indeed, had he 
 thought of it, it might have struck him that madame had 
 contrived to keep that chair vacant, for on his approacli 
 she gathered together the folds of her silk dress, which had 
 almost hidden it, and welcomed him with a little nod. 
 
 Ernest took the chair, and forthwith madame entered 
 into a most lively conversation with him, a course of pro- 
 ceeding that appeared to be extremely distasteful to the 
 gentleman on her right, who pished and pshawed and 
 pushed away his plate in a manner that soon became quite 
 noticeable. But madame talked serenely on, quite careless 
 of his antics, till at last he whispered something to her 
 that caused the blood to mount to her fair cheek. 
 
 " Mais tais-toi done," Ernest heard her answer, and next 
 moment — the subsequent history of our hero demands that 
 the truth should be told — ^it was his turn to color, for, alas! 
 there was no doubt about it, he distinct!}' felt madame'a 
 little foot pressed upon his own. He took up his wine and 
 drank a little to hide his confusion, but wheLher he had oi 
 had not the moral courage to withdraw from the situation 
 by placing his toes under the more chilly but safe guardian- 
 ship of the chair-legs, history saith not; let us hope and 
 presume that he had. But if this was so or no, he did not 
 
THE witch's head. 101 
 
 get on very -ivell with his dinner, for the situation was novel 
 and not conducive to appetite. Presently Mr. Alston, who 
 was sitting opposite, addressed him across the table. 
 
 -" Are you going to the Assembly Eooms to-night, Mr. 
 Kershaw?" 
 
 To Ernest's surprise the gentleman on the other side of 
 madame answered with an astonished look — 
 
 " Yes, I am going." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr. Alston, " I was speaking 
 to th* gentleman on your left." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, I thought you said Kershaw!" 
 
 " Yes, I did, the gentleman's name is Kershaw, I 
 think." 
 
 " Yes," put in Ernest, " my name is Kershaw." 
 
 " That is odd," said the other gentleman, " so is mine. 
 I did not know that there were any other Kershaws." 
 
 " Nor did I," answered Ernest, " except Sir Hugh Ker- 
 shaw," and his face darkened as he pronounced the name. 
 
 " I am Sir Hugh Kershaw's son; my name is Hugh Ker- 
 shaw," was the reply. 
 
 " Indeed! Then we are cousins, I suppose, for I am his 
 nephew, the son of his brother Ernest. " 
 
 Hugh Kershaw the elder did not receive this intelligence 
 witt even the moderate amount of enthusiasm that might 
 have been expected; he simply lifted his scanty eyebrows, 
 and said, " Oh, I remember, my uncle left a son;" then 
 he turned and made some remark to the gentleman who sat 
 next him that made the latter laugh. 
 
 Ernest felt the blood rise to his cheeks; there was some- 
 thing very insolent about his cousin's tone. 
 
 Shortly afterward the dinner came to an end, and ma- 
 dame, with another fascinating smile, retired. As for 
 Ernest, he smoked a pipe with Mr. Alston, and about nine 
 o'clock strolled over with him to the Assembly Eooms or 
 Casino, a building largely composed of glass, where thrice 
 a week, during the season, the visitors at Dieppe adjourned 
 to dance, flirt and make merry. 
 
 One of the first sights that caught his eye was a fair creature 
 in evening dress, and with conspicuously white shoulders, 
 in whom he recognized madame. She was sitting near the 
 door, and appeared to be watching it. Ernest bowed to 
 her. and was about to pass on; but, pursuing her former 
 tacHcs, she dropped the bouquet she was carrying. He 
 
103 THE witch's head. 
 
 stooped, picked it up, returned it, and again made as 
 though he would pass on, when she addressed him, just as 
 -the band struck up. 
 
 " Ah, que c'est belle la musique! Monsieur, valse n'est 
 ce pas?" 
 
 In another minute they were floating down the room to- 
 gethor. As they passed along, Ernest saw his cousin stand- 
 ing in the corner looking at him with no amiable air. Ma- 
 dame saw his glance. 
 
 "Ah," she said, "Monsieur Hugh ne valse pas, il se 
 grise; il a I'air jaloux, n'est ce pas?" 
 
 Ernest danced three times with this fair enslaver, and 
 with their last waltz tlie ball came to an end. Just then 
 his cousin came up, and they all, including Mr. Alston, 
 walked together down the street, which was now quite de- 
 serted, to the door of the hotel. Here Ernest said good- 
 night to madame, who extended her hand. He took it, 
 and as he did so he felt a note slipped into it, which, not 
 being accustomed to such transactions, he clumsily dropped. 
 It was the ball programme, and there was something writ- 
 ten across it in pencil. Unfortunately, he was not the only 
 one who saw this; his cousin Hugh, who had evidently been 
 drinking, saw it too, and tried to pick up the programme, 
 but Ernest was too quick for him. , 
 
 " Give me that," said his cousin, hoarsely. 
 
 Ernest answered by putting it into his pocket. 
 
 " What is written on that programme?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " What have you written on that programme, Camille?" 
 
 " Mon Dieu, mais vons m'ennuyez!" was the answer. 
 
 " I insist upon your giving me that," with an oath. 
 
 "Monsieur est 'gentleman.' Monsieur ne la rendra 
 pas," said madame, with a meaning glance, and then turn- 
 ing she entered the hotel. 
 
 " I am not going to give it to you," said Ernest. 
 
 " You shall give it to me." 
 
 " Is this lady your wife?" asked Ernest. 
 
 " That is my affair; give me that note." 
 
 " I shall not give it to you," said Ernest, whose temper 
 was rapidly rising.* " I don't know what was on it, and I 
 don't wish to know; but whatever it is, the lady gave it to 
 me, and not to you. She is not your wife, and you have 
 no right to ask for it." 
 
THE witch's head. 103 
 
 His cousin Hugh turned livid with fury. At the best of 
 times he was an evil-tempered man, and now, inflamed as 
 he was by drink and jealousy, he looked a perfect fiend. 
 
 " D — you!" he hissed, " you half-bred cur, I suppose 
 
 that you can get your manners from your of a 
 
 mother!" 
 
 . He did not get any further, for at this point Ernest 
 knocked him into the gutter and then stood over him, very 
 quiet and pale, and told him that if ever he dared to let i 
 disrespectful word about his mother pass his lips again, he 
 (Ernest) would half kill him (Hugh). Then he let him 
 get up. 
 
 Hugh Kershaw rose, and turning, whispered something 
 to his friend who had sat next him at dinner, a man about 
 thirty years of age*, and with a military air about him. His 
 friend listened and pulled his large mustache thoughtfully. 
 Then he addressed Ernest with the utmost politeness. 
 
 " I am Captain Justice, of the — Hussars. Of course, 
 Mr. Kershaw, you are aware that you can not indulge your- 
 self in the luxury of knocking people down without hearing 
 more about it, especially," he added, with emphasis, " on 
 this side of the water. Have you any friend with you?" 
 
 Ernest shook his head as he answered: " This," indicat- 
 ing Mr. Alston, who had been an attentive observer of 
 everything that had passed, " is the only gentleman I know 
 in the town, and I can not asli him to mix himself up in 
 my quarrels. " Ernest was beginning to understand that 
 this quarrel was a very serious business. 
 
 " All right, my lad," said Mr. Alston, quietly, " I will 
 stand by you. " 
 
 " Really, I have no right," began Ernest. 
 
 " Nonsense! it is one of our colonial customs to stick by 
 one another." 
 
 "Mr. Justice—" 
 
 " Captain Justice," put in that gentleman with a bow. 
 
 " Captain Justice, my name is Alston; I am very much 
 at your service." 
 
 Captain Justice turned to Hugh Kershaw, whose clothes 
 were dripping from the water in the gutter, and after whis- 
 pering with him for a moment, said aloud, " If I were you, 
 Kershaw, I should go and change those clothes, you will 
 catch cold;" and then, addressing Mr. Alston, "I think 
 
104 THE witch's head. 
 
 the smoking-room is empty; shall we go and have a 
 chat?" 
 
 Mr. Alston assented, and they went in together. Ernest 
 followed, but having lit his pipe, sat down in a far corner 
 of the room. Presently Mr. Alston called him. 
 
 " Look here, Kershaw, this is a serious business, and as 
 you are principally concerned, I think that you had better 
 give your own answer. To be brief, your cousin, Mr. 
 Hugh Kershaw, demands that you should apologize in 
 writing for having struck him." 
 
 "I am willing to do that if he will apologize for the 
 terms he used in connection with my mother." 
 
 " Ah!" said the gallant captain, " the young gentleman 
 is coming to reason. " 
 
 " He also demands that you should hand over the note 
 you received from the lady." 
 
 " That I certainly shall not do," he answered, and draw- 
 ing the card from his pocket he tore it into fragments, un- 
 read. 
 
 Captain Justice bowed and left the room. In a few min- 
 utes he returned, and, addressing Mr. Alston and Ernest, 
 said : , 
 
 " Mr. Kershaw is not satisfied with what you offer to do. 
 He declines to apologize for any e.'jpression that he may 
 have used with reference to your mother, and he now wishes 
 you to choose between signing an apology which I shall dic- 
 tate, or meeting him to-morrow morning. You must re- 
 member that we are in France, where you can not insult a 
 man on the payment of forty shillings." 
 
 Ernest felt the blood run to his heart. He understood 
 now what Captain Justice meant. He answered simply: 
 
 " I shall be very bappy to meet my cousin in whatever 
 place and way you and Mr. Alston may agree upon," and 
 then he returned to his chair and gave himself up to the 
 enjoyment of his pipe and an entirely new set of sensa- 
 tions. 
 
 Captain Justice gazed after him pityingly. " I am sorry 
 for him," he said to Mr. Alston; " liershaw is, I believe, a 
 good shot with pistols. I suppose you will choose pistols; 
 it would be difficult to get swords in such a hurry. He is 
 a fine young fellow, took it coolly, by George! Well, I 
 don't think that he will trouble the world much longer." 
 
^ THE witch's head. 105 
 
 " This is a silly business, and likely to land us all in a 
 nasty mess. Is there no way out of it?" 
 
 " ^one that I know of, unless your young friend will oat 
 dirt. He is a nasty-tempered fellow, Kershaw, and wild about 
 that woraau, over whom he has spent thousands. Nor is 
 he likely to forgive being rolled in the gutter. You had 
 better get your man to give in, for if you don't Kershaw 
 will kill him." 
 
 " It is no good talking of it. I have lived a rough life, 
 and know what men are made of. He is not of that sort. 
 Besides, your man is in the wrong, not that boy. If any- 
 body spoke of my mother like that /would shoot him." 
 
 " Very good, Mr. Alston. And now about the pistols; 
 I have none." 
 
 " I have a pair of Smith & Wesson revolvers that I 
 bought yesterday to take out to Africa with me. They 
 throw a very heavy bullet. Captain Justice." 
 
 " Too heavy. If one of them is hit anywhere in the 
 body — " He did not finish his sentence. 
 
 Mr. Alston nodded. " We must put them twenty paces 
 apart to give them a chance of missing. And now about 
 the place and the time." 
 
 " I know a place on 'the beach, about a mile and a half 
 from here, that will do very well. You go down that street 
 till you strike the beach, then turn to your right and fol- 
 low the line of the sea till you come to a deserted hut or 
 cottage. There we will meet you." 
 
 " At what timer" 
 
 " Let me see! shall we say a quarter to five? It will be 
 light enough for us then. " 
 
 " Very good. The Newhaven boat leaves at half past 
 six. I am going to see about getting my things ready to go 
 to meet it. I should advise you to do the same, Captain 
 Justice. We had better not return here after it is over. " 
 
 "No." 
 
 And then they parted. 
 
 Luckily the manager of the hotel had not gone to bed, so 
 the various parties concerned were able to pay their bills 
 and make arrangements about their luggage being sent to 
 meet the early boat without exciting the slightest suspicion. 
 Ernest wrote a note, and left it to be given to his friend 
 when he sliould arrive on the morrow, in which he stated 
 mysteriously that business had called hiju away. He could 
 
106 THE witch's head. ^ 
 
 not help smiling to himself sadly when he thought that his 
 business might be of a sort that it would take all eternity 
 to settle. 
 
 Then he went to his room and wrote two letters, one to 
 Eva and one to Dorothy. Mr. Alston was to post them if 
 anything happened to him. The first was of a passionate 
 nature, and breathed hopes of reunion in another place — 
 ah, how fondly the poor human heart chngs to that ideal — 
 the second collected and sensible enough. The letters 
 finished, he, following Mi*. Alston's advice, undressed and 
 toolv a bath, then he said his prayers — the prayers his 
 mother had taught him — put on a quiet, dark suit of 
 clothes, and went and sat by the open window. The night 
 was very still and fragrant with the sweet, strong breath of 
 the sea. Not a sound came from the quaint town beneath; 
 all was at peace. Ernest, sitting there, wondered whether 
 he would live to see another night, and, if not, what the 
 nights were like in the land whither he was journeying. 
 And as he thought, of it the gray damps that hide that un- 
 risen world from our gaze struck into his soul and made 
 him feel afraid. Not afraid of death, but afraid of the 
 empty loneliness beyond it — of the cold air of an infinite 
 space in which nothing human can live. Would his moth- 
 er meet him there, he wondered, or would she put him 
 from her, coming with blood upon his hands? And then 
 he thought of Eva, and in his solitude a tear gathered in 
 his dark eyes. It seemed so hard to go to that other place 
 "without her. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 MADAilE'S VTOEK. 
 
 Peesextly the eastern sky began to be barred with rays 
 of light, and Ernest knew that the dawn was near. 
 
 Rising with a sigh, he made his last preparations, in- 
 wardly determining that^; if he was to die, he would die in 
 a way befitting an English gentleman. There should be 
 no sign of his fears on his face when he looked at his ad- 
 versary's pistol. 
 
 Presently there came a soft knock at the door, and Mr. 
 Alston entered with his shoes off. In his hand he held a 
 case contaiuing the two Unntu and Wessons. 
 
THE -witch's head. 107 
 
 ""We must be off presently," lie said. " I just heard 
 Captain Justice go down. Look here, Kershaw, do you 
 understand anything about these?" and he tapped the 
 Smith and Wessons. 
 
 " Yes; I have often practiced with a pair of old dueling- 
 pistols at home. I used to he a very fair shot with them." 
 
 " That is lucky. 'Now take one of these revolvers; I 
 want to give you a lesson, and accustom you to handle it." 
 
 " ISTo, I will not. It would not be fair on the other 
 man. If I did, and killed- him, I should feel like a mur- 
 derer. " 
 
 " As you like; but I am going to tell you something, 
 and give you a bit of advice. These revolvers are hair- 
 triggered; I had the scears filed. When the word is given, 
 bring the barrel of your pistol down till you get the sight 
 well on to your antagonist somewhere about his chest, then 
 press the trigger, do not pull it; remember that. If you 
 do as I tell you, he will never hear the report. Above all, 
 do not lose your nerve; and don't be sentimental and fire 
 in the air, or any such nonsense, for that is a most futile 
 proceeding, morally, and in every other way{ Mark my 
 'words, if you do not kill him, he will kill you. He in- 
 tends to kill you, and you are in the right. Now we must 
 be going, l^our luggage is in the hall, is it not?" 
 AH except this bag." 
 
 " Very good ; bring it down with you. My boy will bring 
 it to the boat with my own. If you are not hit, you will 
 do well to get out of this as soon as possible. I mean to 
 make for Southampton as straight as I can. Tliere is a 
 vessel sailing for South Africa on Friday morning; I shall 
 embark in her. We will settle what you are to do after- 
 ward." 
 
 " Yes," said Ernest, with a smile, " there is no need to 
 talk of that at present." 
 
 Five minutes afterward they met in the hall, and slipped 
 quietly out through the door that always stood open all 
 night for the accommodation of visitors addicted to late 
 hours. Following the street that Captain Justice had 
 pointed out, they soon reached the beach, and, turning to 
 the right, walked along it leisurely. The early morning air 
 was very sweet, and all nature smiled dimly upon them as 
 they went, for the sun was not yet up; but at that moment 
 Ernest did not think much of the beauty.of the morning. 
 
108 THE witch's head. 
 
 It all seemed like a frightful dream. At last they came to 
 the deserted hut, looming large in the gray mist. By it 
 stood two figures. 
 
 " They are there already," said Mr. Alston. 
 
 As they approached the two figures lifted their hats, a 
 compliment which they returned. Then Mr. Alstoni went 
 to Captain Justice and fell into conversation with liim, and 
 together they paced off a certain distance on the sand, 
 marking its limits with their walking-sticks. Ernest no- 
 ticed that it was about the length of a short cricket-pitch. 
 
 " Shall we place them?" he heard Captain Justice say. 
 
 "Not just yet/' was the reply; " there is barely light 
 enough." 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Alston, presently, "I 
 have prepared in duplicate a paper setting forth as fairly 
 as I can the circumstances under which this nnhappy affair 
 has come about. 1 propose to read it to you, and to ask 
 you all to sign it, as a protection to — to us all. I have 
 brought a pen and a pocket ink-pot with me for that pur- 
 pose." 
 
 Nobody objected, so he read the paper. It was short, 
 concise, and just, and they all signed it as it stood. Eru- 
 uest's hand shook a good deal as he did so. 
 
 " Come, that won't do," said Mr. Alston, encouraging- 
 ly, as he pocketed one copy of the document after handing 
 tlie other to Captain Justice. " Shake yourself together, 
 jnan!" 
 
 But for all his brave words he looked the more nervous 
 of the two. 
 
 " I wish to saj^," began Ernest, addressing himself to 
 idl the other three, " that this quarrel is none of my seek- 
 i ig. I could not in honor give up the note the lady wrote 
 to me. But I feel that tliis is a dreadful business; and if 
 \Du," addressing his cousin, "are ready to apologize for 
 what you said about my mother, I am ready to do the same 
 f H- attacking you. " 
 
 Mr. Hugh Kershaw smiled bitterly, and turning, said 
 something to his second. Ernest caught the words "' white 
 frather." 
 
 " Mr. Hugh Kershaw refuses to offer any apology; he 
 (.'xpects one," was Captain Justice's ready answer. 
 
 " Then if any blood is shed, on his head be it!" said Mr. 
 Alston, solemnly. " Come, let us get it over." 
 
THE witch's head. ( 109 
 
 Each took his mau and placed him by one of the sticks, 
 and then handed him a revolver. 
 
 " Stand sideways, and remember what I told you," 
 whispered Mr. Alston. 
 
 " Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked Captain Justice, 
 presently. 
 
 There was no answer; but Ernest felt his heart stand 
 still, and a mist gathered before bis eyes. At that moment 
 he heard a lark rise into the air near him and begin to sing. 
 Unless he could get his sight back he felt that he was lost. 
 
 " One !" The mist cleared away from his eyes; he saw 
 his adversary's pistol-barrel pointing steadily at him. 
 
 " Two J" A ray broke from the rising sun, and caught 
 a crystal pin Hugh Kershaw incautiously wore. Instinct- 
 ively he remembered Mr. Alston's advice, and lowered the 
 sight of his long barrel till it was dead on the crystal pin. 
 Curiously enough, it reminded him at the moment of the 
 eyes in the witch's head at Dam's Ness. His vital forces 
 rose to the emergency, and his arm grew as steady as a 
 rock. Then came a pause that seemed hours long. 
 
 " Three!" There was a double report, and Ernest be- 
 came aware of a commotion in his hair. Hugh Kershaw 
 flung up his arms wildly, sprung a few inches off the 
 ground, and fell backward. Great God, it was over! 
 
 Ernest staggered a moment from the reaction, and then 
 ran with the others toward his cousin — nay, toward what 
 had been his cousin. He was lying on his back upon the 
 sand, his wide-opened eyes staring up at the blue sky, as 
 though to trace the flight of the spirit, his arms extended. 
 The heavy revolver ball had struck near the crystal pin, 
 and then passed upward through the throat and out at the 
 base of the head, shattering the spinal column. 
 
 " He is dead," said Captain Justice, solemnly. 
 
 Ernest wrung his hands: 
 
 " I have killed him," he said — " I have killeil my own 
 cousin!" 
 
 " Young man," said Mr. Alston, "do not stand there 
 wringing your hands, but thank Providence for your own 
 escape. He was very near killing you, let me tell you. 
 Is your head cut?" 
 
 Instinctively Ernest took oflE his hat, and as he did so 
 some fragments of his curly hair fell to the ground. There 
 was a neat hole through the felt, and a neat groove along 
 
110 , THE witch's head. 
 
 his thick hair. His cousin had meant to kill him; and he 
 was a good shot, so good that he thought that he could put a 
 ball through Ernest's head. But he forgot that a, heavy 
 American revolver, with forty grains of powder behind the 
 ball, is apt to throw a trifle high. 
 
 And then they all stood silent and looked at the body; 
 and the lark that had been frightened by the noise began 
 to sing again. 
 
 " This will not do/' said Mr. Alston, presently. " We 
 had better move the body in there," and he pointed to the 
 deserted hut. " Captain Justice, what do you intend to 
 do?" 
 
 " Give myself up to the authorities, I suppose," was the 
 gallant captain's scared answer. 
 
 "Very well; then there is no need for you to be in a 
 hurry about that. You must give us time to get clear first. " 
 
 They lifted the corpse, reverently bore it into the de- 
 serted hut, and laid it on the floor. Ernest remained 
 standing looking at the red stain where it had been. Pres- 
 ently they came out again, and Mr. Alston kicked some 
 sand over the stain and hid it, 
 
 '■ Now," he said, " we had better make an addition to 
 those documents, to say how this came about. " 
 
 They all went back to the hut, and the addition was 
 made, standing there by the body. When it came to Ern- 
 est's turn to sign, he almost wished that his signature was 
 the one missing from the foot of that ghastly postscriptum. 
 Mr. Alston guessed his thoughts. 
 
 " The fortune of war," he said coolly. 
 
 " Now, Captain Justice, we are going to catch the early 
 boat, and we hope that you will not give yourself up before 
 midday, if you can help it. The inquiry into the affair 
 will not then be held before to-morrow; and by eleven to- 
 morrow morning I hope to havff seen the last of England 
 for some years to come." 
 
 The captain was a good fellow at bottom, and had no 
 wish to see others dragged into trouble. 
 
 "I shall certainly give myself up," he said; " but I 
 don't see any reason to hurry about it. Poor Hugh ! he 
 can well afford to wait," he added, with a sigh, glancing 
 down at the figure that lay so still, with a coat thrown over 
 the face. " I suppose that they will lock me vqy for six 
 months — pleasant prospect! But I say, Mr. Kershaw, you 
 
trHi witch's head. Ill 
 
 had better keep clear; it will be more awkward for you. 
 You see, he was your cousin, and by his death you become, 
 unless I am mistaken, next heir to the title. " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said Ernest, vaguely. 
 
 " Come, we must be ofp," said Mr. Alston, " or we 
 shall be late for the boat," and, bowing to Captain Justice, 
 he left the hut. 
 
 Ernest followed his example, and, when he had gone a 
 few yards, glanced round at the hateful spot. There stood 
 Captain Justice in the door-way of the hut, looking much 
 depressed, and there, a few yards to the left, was the im- 
 press in the sand, that marked where his cousin had fallen. 
 He never saw either the man or the place again. 
 
 "Kershaw," said Mr. Alston, "what do you propose 
 doing?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " But you must think; remember you are in an awk- 
 ward fix. You know by English law dueling is murder. " 
 
 " I think I had better give myself up, like Captain Jus- 
 tice." 
 
 " Nonsense! you must hide away somewhere for a year 
 or two till the row blows over. " 
 
 " Where am I to hide?" 
 
 " Have you any money, or can you get any?" 
 
 " Yes, I have nearly two hundred and fifty pounds on 
 me now. " 
 
 "My word, that is fortunate! Well, now, what I have 
 to suggest is, that you should assume a false name, and 
 sail for South Africa with me. I am going up-country on 
 a shooting expedition, outside British territory, so there 
 will be little fear of your being caught. Then, in a year 
 or so, when the afEair is forgotten, you can come back to 
 England. What do you say to that?" 
 
 I suppose I may as well go there as anywhere else. I 
 shall be a marked man all my life, anyhow. What does 
 it matter where I go?" 
 
 " Ah, you are down on your luck now; by and by you 
 will cheer up again." 
 
 Just then they met a fisherman, who gazed at them, 
 wondering what the two foreign gentlemen were doing out 
 walking at that hour; but, concluding that, after the m^d 
 fashion of Englishmen, they had been to bathe, he passed 
 them with a civil " Bon jour. " Ernest colored to the eyes 
 
lis THE witch's head. 
 
 under the scrutiny; he was beginning to feel the dreadful 
 burden of his secret. Presently they reached the steamer, 
 and found Mr. Alston's little boy, Roger, who, though he 
 was only nine years old, was as quick and self-reliant as 
 many English lads of fourteen, waiting for them by the 
 bridge. 
 
 " Oh, here you are, father; you have been walking so 
 long that I thought you would miss the boat. I have 
 brought the luggage down all right, and this gentleman's 
 too." 
 
 " That's right, my lad. Kershaw, do you go and take 
 the tickets, I want to get rid of this;" and he tapped the 
 revolver-case, that was concealed beneath his coat. 
 
 Ernest did so, and presently met Mr. Alston on the 
 boat. A few minutes more and, to his intense relief, she 
 cast off and stood out to sea. There were not very many 
 passengers on board, and those there were, were too much 
 taken up in making preparations to be sea-sick to take any 
 notice of Ernest. And yet he could not shake himself free 
 from the idea that everybody knew that he had just killed 
 a man. His own self-consciousness was so intense that he 
 saw his guilt reflected on the faces of all he met. He 
 gazed around him in awe, expecting every moment to be 
 greeted as a murderer. Most people who have ever done 
 anything they should not, are acquainted with this sensa- 
 tion. Overcome with this idea, he took refuge in his berth, 
 nor did he emerge therefrom till the boat put in at New- 
 haven. There both he and Mr. Alston bouglit some rough 
 clothes, and to a great extent succeeded in disguising them- 
 selves; and then made their way across-country to Soutli- 
 anjpton in the same train, but in separate carriages. Reach- 
 ing Southampton without let or hindrance, they agreed j^ 
 take passages in the Union Company's R. M.S. "Moor," sail- 
 ing on the following morning. Mr. Alston obtained a list of 
 the passengers; fortunately, there was nobody among them 
 whom he knew. For greater security, however, they took 
 steerage passages, and booked themselves under assumed 
 names. Ernest took his second Christian name, and fig- 
 ured on the passenger list as E. Beyton, wliile Mr. Alston 
 and his boy assumed the name of James. They took their 
 passages at different times, and feigned to be unknown to 
 each other. 
 At last the vessel sailed, and it was with a sigh of relief 
 
THE witch's head. 11? 
 
 that Ernest saw his natire shores fade from view. As they 
 disappeared, a fellow-passenger, valet to a gentleman go- 
 ing to the Cape for his liealth, politely offered him a paper 
 to read. It was the " Standard " of that day's date. He 
 took it and glanced at the foreign intelligence. The first 
 thing that caught his eye was the following paragraph, 
 headed, "'A fa;tal duel." 
 
 " The town of Dieppe haS been thrown into a state of 
 consternation by the discovery of the body of an English 
 gentleman, who was this morning shot dead in a duel. 
 Captain Justice, of the- — Hussars, who was the unfortu- 
 nate gentleman's second, has surrendered himself to the 
 authorities. The other parties, who are at present un- 
 known, have absconded. It is said that they have been 
 traced to ISTe^haven; but there all trace of them has been 
 lost. The cause of the duel is unknown, and in the pres- 
 ent state, of excitement it is difficult to obtain authentic in- 
 formation. " 
 
 By the pilot who left the vessel, Ernest dispatched two 
 tetters, one to Eva Ceswick, and the other — which con- 
 tained a copy of the memoranda drawn up before and after 
 the duel, and attested by Mr. Alston — to his uncle. To 
 both he told the story of his misfortune, fully and fairly, 
 imploring the former not to forget him and to wait for hap- 
 pier times, and asking the forgiveness of the latter for the 
 trouble that he had brought upon himself and all belong- 
 ing to him. Should they wish to write to him, he gave 
 his address as Ernest Beyton, Post-Office, Maritzburg. 
 
 The pilot-boat hoisted her brown sail with a huge white 
 P. upon it, and vanished into the night; and Ernest, feel- 
 ing that he was a ruined man, and with the stain of blood 
 upon his hands, crept to liis bunk and wept like a child. 
 «i Yesterday he had been loved, prosperous, happy, with a 
 bright career before him. To-day he was a nameless out- 
 cast, departing into exile, and his young life shadowed by 
 a cloud in which he could see no break. 
 
 Well might he weep; it was a hard lesson. 
 
Hi THE 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MY POOE EVA. 
 
 Two days after the pilot-boat, flitting away from the 
 vessel's side like some silent-flighted bird, had vanished 
 into the night, Florence Ceswick happened to be walking 
 past the village post-office on her way to pay a visit to 
 Dorothy, when it struck her that the afternoon post mast 
 be in, and that she might as well ask if there were any let- 
 ters for Dum's Ness. Tliere was no second delivery at 
 Kesterwick, as she knew that it was not always convenient 
 to Mr. Cardus to send in. The civil old postmaster gave 
 her a little bundle of letters, remarking at the same time 
 that he thought that there was one for the cottage. 
 
 " Is it for me, Mr. Brown?" asked Florence. 
 
 " No, miss; it is for Miss Eva." 
 
 " Oh, then I will leave it; I am going up to Dum's Ness. 
 No doubt Miss Eva will call." 
 
 She knew that Eva watched the arrival of the posts very 
 carefully. When she got outside the office she glanced at 
 the bundle of letters in her hand, and noticed with a start 
 that one of them, addressed to Mr. Cardus, was in Ernest's 
 handwriting. It bore a Southampton postmark. What, 
 she wondered, could he be doing at Southampton? He 
 should have been at Dieppe. 
 
 She walked on briskly to Dum's Ness, and on her arrival 
 found Dorothy sitting working in the sitting-room. After 
 she had greeted her she handed over the letters. 
 
 " There is one from Ernest," she said. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad!" answered Dorothy. " Who is it 
 for?" 
 
 " For Mr. Cardus. Oh, here he comes." 
 
 Mr. Cardus shook hands with her, and thanked her for 
 bringing the letters, which he turned over casually, after 
 the fashion of a man accustomed to receive large quantities 
 of correspondence of an uninteresting nature. Presently 
 his manner quickened, and he opened Ernest's letter. 
 Florence flxed her keen eyes upon him. He read the let- 
 ter, she read his face. 
 
 Mr. Cardus was accustomed to conceal his emotions, but 
 
THE WTTCh's head. 115 
 
 on this occasion it was clear that they were too strong for 
 him. Astonishment iJhd grief pursued each other across 
 his features as he proceeded. Knally he put the letter 
 down and glanced at an inclosure. 
 
 " What is it, Reginald, what is it?" asked Dorothy. 
 
 " It is," answered Mr. Cardus, solemnly, " that Ernest 
 is a murderer and a fugitive." 
 
 Dorothy sunk into a chair with a groan, and covered her 
 face with her hands. Florence tui-ned ashy pale. 
 
 " What do you mean?" she said. 
 
 " Read the letter for yourself, and see. Stop, read it 
 aloud, and the inclosure too. I may have misunderstood. " 
 Florence did so in a quiet voice. It was wonderful how her 
 power came oub in contrast to the intense disturbance of 
 the other two. The old man of the world shook like a leaf, 
 the young girl stood firm as a rock. Yet, in all probabil- 
 ity, her interest in Ernest was more intense than his. 
 
 When she had finished, Mr. Cardus spoke again. 
 
 " You see," he said, " I was right. He is a murderer 
 and an outcast. And I loved the boy, I loved him. Well, 
 let him go." 
 
 " Oh, Ernest, Ernest!" sobbed Dorothy. 
 
 Florence glanced from one to the other with contempt. 
 
 " What are you talking about?" she said at last. " What 
 is there to make all this fuss about? 'Murderer' indeedl 
 then our grandfathers were often murderers. What would 
 you have had him do? Would you have had him give up 
 the woman's letter to save himself? Would you have had 
 him put up with this other man's insults about his mother? 
 If he had, I would never have spoken to him again. Stop 
 that groaning, Dorothy. You should be proud of him; he 
 behaved as a gentleman should. If I had the right I should 
 be proud of him," and her breast heaved, and the proud 
 lips curled as she said it. 
 
 Mr. Cardus listened attentively, and it was evident that 
 her enthusiasm moved him. ' 
 
 " There is something in what Florence says," he broke 
 in. ' ' I should not have liked the boy to show the white 
 feather. But it is an awful business to kill one's own first 
 cousin, especially when one is next in the entail. Old Ker- 
 shaw will be furious at losing his only son, and Ernest will 
 never be able to come back to this country while he lives, 
 or he will set the law on him." 
 
11(5 THE witch's head. 
 
 "It is dread^l!" said Dorothy; "just as he was be- 
 ginning life, and going into a profession, and now to have 
 to go and wander in that far-off country under a false 
 name!" 
 
 " Oh, yes, it is sad enough," said Mr. Oardus; "but 
 what is done can not be undone. He is young, and will live 
 it down, and if the worst comes to the worst, must make 
 himself a home out there. But it is hard ujion me, hard 
 upon me," and he went off to his office, mutturiog, " hard 
 upon me. " 
 
 When Florence started upon her homeward way, the 
 afternoon had set in wet and chilly, and the sea was hidden 
 in wreaths of gray mist. Altogether the scene was de- 
 pressing. On arrival at the cottage she found Eva stand- 
 ing the picture of melancholy by the window, and staring 
 out at the misty sea. 
 
 " Oh, Florence, I am glad that you have come home; I 
 really began to feel inclined to commit suicide." 
 
 " Indeed! and may I ask whyr" 
 
 " I don't know; the rain is so depressing, I suppose." 
 
 " It does not depress me." 
 
 " Xo, nothing ever does; you live in the land of perpet- 
 ual calm." 
 
 " I take exercise, and keep my liver in good order. Have 
 you been out this afternoon?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah, I thought not. No wonder you feel depressed, 
 staying in-doors nil day. '\Vhy don't you go for a walk?" 
 
 " There is nowhere to go." 
 
 " Really, Eva, I don't know what has come to you late- 
 ly. AVhy don't you go along the clilT, or, stop — have you 
 been to the post-office? I called for the Dam's Ness let- 
 ters, and Mr. Brown said that there was one for you." 
 
 Eva jumped up uiih remarkable animation, and passed 
 out of the room with her peculiar light tread' The men- 
 tion of that word " letter " had sufficed to change the as- 
 pect of things considerably. 
 
 Florence watched her go with a dark little smile. 
 
 "Ah," she said aloud, as the door closed, " your feet 
 ■will soon fall heavily enough." 
 
 Presently Eva went out, and Florence, having thrown off 
 ber cloak, took her sister's place at the window and waited. 
 
THE witch's head. 117 
 
 It was seven minutes' walk to the post-office. She would 
 be back .in about a quartei- of an hour. Watch in hand, 
 Florence waited patiently. Seventeen minutes had elapsed 
 when the garden-gate was opened, and Eva re-entered, her 
 face quite gray with pain, and furtively applying a hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes. Florence smiled again. 
 
 " I thought so," she said. 
 
 From all of which 'it will be seen that Flbrenoe was a 
 very remarkable woman. She had scarcely exaggerated 
 when she said that her heart was as deep as the sea. The 
 love that she bore Ernest was the strongest thing in all her 
 strong and vigorous life; when every other characteristio 
 and influence crumbled away and was forgotten, it would 
 still remain overmastering as ever. And when she discov- 
 ered that her high love, the greatest and best part of her, 
 had been made a plaything of by a thoughtless boy, who 
 kissed girls on the same principle that a duck takes to 
 water, because it came natural to him, the love in its mor- 
 tal agonies gave birth to a hate destined to grow great as 
 itself. But, with all a woman's injustice, it was not direct- 
 ed toward the same object. On Ernest, indeed, she would 
 wreak vengeance if she could, but she still loved him as- 
 dearly as at first; the revenge would be a mere episode in 
 the history of her passion. But to her sister, the innocent 
 woman who, she chose to consider, had robbed her, she 
 gave all that bountiful hate. Herself the more powerful 
 character of the two, she determined upon the utter de- 
 struction of the weaker. Strong as Fate, and unrelenting 
 as Time, she dedicated her life to that end. Everything, 
 she said, comes to those who can wait. She forgot that the 
 Providence above us can wait the longest of us all. In the 
 end it is Providence that wins. 
 
 Eva came in, and Florence heard her make her way up 
 the stairs to her room. Again she spoke to herself: 
 
 " The poor fool will weep over him and renounce him. 
 If she had the courage she would follow him and comfort 
 him in his trouble, and so tie him to her forever. Oh, that 
 I had her chance! but the chances always come to fools." 
 
 Then she went upstairs, and listened outside Eva's door. 
 She was sobbing audibly. Turning the handle, she walked 
 casually in. 
 
 " Well, Eva, did you— Why, my dear girl, what is the 
 matter with you?" 
 
118 THE witch's head. 
 
 Eva, who was Ij'ing sobbing on her bed, turned her head 
 to the wall and went on sobbing. 
 
 ''' What is the matter, Eva? If you only knew how ab- 
 surd you look!" 
 
 " No-no-thing." 
 
 " Nonsense! people do not make such scenes as this for 
 nothing.'" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Come, my dear, as your affectionate sister, I really 
 must ask what has happened to you." 
 
 The tone was commanding, and half unconsciously Eva 
 obeyed it. 
 
 Ernest!" she ejaculated. 
 
 " Well, what about Ernest? he is nothing to you, is he?" 
 
 " No — that is, yes. Oh, it is dreadful! It was the let- 
 ter," and she touched a sheet of closely written paper that 
 lay on the bed beside her. 
 
 " Well, as you do not seem to be in a condition to ex- 
 plain yourself, perhaps you had better let me read the let- 
 ter." 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " Nonsense! give it me; perhaps I may be able to help 
 you," and she took the paper from her unresisting grasp, 
 and, turning her face from the light, read it deliberately 
 through. 
 
 It was very passionate in its terms, and rather incoherent; 
 such a letter, in short, as a lad almost wild with love and 
 grief would write under the circumstances. 
 
 " So," said Florence, as she coolly folded it up, " it ap- 
 pears that you are engaged to him." 
 
 No answer, unless sobs can be said to constitute one. 
 
 " And it seems that you are engaged to a man who has" 
 just committed a frightful murder, and run away from the 
 consequences. " 
 
 Eva sat up on the bed. 
 
 " It was not a murder; it was a duel." 
 
 " Precisely, a duel about another woman; but the law 
 calls it murder. If he is caught, he will be hanged. " 
 
 " Oh, Florence! how can you say such dreadful things?" 
 
 " I only say what is true. Poor Eva, I do not wonder 
 that you are distressed. " 
 
 "It is all so dreadful!" 
 
 " You love him, I suppose?" 
 
THi witch's head. 119 
 
 " Oh, yes, dearly." 
 
 " Theu you must get over it; you must never think of 
 him any more. " 
 
 " Never think of him! 1 shall think of him all my 
 life." 
 
 " That is as it may be. You must never have anything 
 more to do with him. He has blood upon his hands, blood 
 shed for some bad woman. " 
 
 " I can not desert him, Florence, because he has got into 
 trouble." 
 
 " Over another woman." 
 
 A peculiar expression of pain passed over Eva's face. 
 
 " How cruel you are, Florence! He is only a boy, and 
 boys will go wrong sometimes. Anybody can make a fool 
 of a boy. " 
 
 " And it seems that boys can make fools of some people 
 who should know better. " 
 
 " Oh, Florence, what is to be done? "You have such a 
 clear head; tell me what I must do. I can not give him 
 up, I can not indeed." 
 
 Florence seated herself on the bed beside her sister, and 
 put an arm round her neck and kissed her. Eva was much 
 touched at her kindness. 
 
 " My poor Eva," she said, " I am so sorry for you! But 
 tell me, when did you get engaged to him — that evening 
 you went out sailing together?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He kissed you, I suppose, and all that?" 
 
 " Yes. Oh, I was so happy!" 
 
 " My poor Eva!" 
 ' M I tell you I can not give him up." 
 
 " Well, perhaps there will be no need for you to do so! 
 But you must not answer that letter." 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " Because it will not do. Look at it which way you 
 will, Ernest has just killed his own cousin in a quarrel 
 about another woman. It is necessary that you should 
 mark your disapproval of that in some way or other. Do 
 not answer his letter. If ia time he can wash himself clear 
 of the reproach, and remains faithful to you, then it will be 
 soon enough to show that you still care for him." 
 
 " But if I leave him like that, he will fall into the hands 
 
120 THE witch's head. 
 
 of other womeu, though he loves me all the time. J tnow 
 him well; his is not a nature that can stand alone. 
 
 "■ Well, let him." _ , 
 
 "But, Florence, you forget I love him too. i can not 
 bear to tliink of it. Oh, I love him, I love him! and she 
 dropped her iiead upon her sister's shoulder and began to 
 sob again. 
 
 " My dear, it is just because you do love him so that you 
 should prove him; and besides, my dear, you have your 
 own self-respect to think of. Be guided by me, Eva^do 
 not answer that letter; _ I jm .suJ;e-4feat-y<iuj^^il^^ 
 you do. Let matters stand for a few mouths, inen we can 
 arrange a plan of action. Above all, do not let your en- 
 gagement transpire to anybody. There will be a dreadful 
 scandal about this business, and it will be most unpleasant 
 for you, and indeed for us all, to have our name mixed up 
 in the matter. Hark! there is aunt coming in. I will go 
 and talk to her; you can stop here and recover yourself a 
 little. You will follow my advice, will you not, dearest.^" 
 
 " I suppose so," answered Eva, with a heavy sigh, as she 
 buried her face in the pillow. 
 
 Then Florence left her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 THE LOCUM TENENS. 
 
 And so it came to pass that Ernest's letter remained un- 
 answered. But Mr. Cardus, Dorothy, and Jeremy all 
 wrote. Mr. Cardus's letter was very kind and considerate. 
 It expressed his deep grief at what had happened, and told 
 him of the excitement that the duel had caused, and of the 
 threatening letters which he had received from Sir Hugh 
 Kershaw, who was half- wild with grief and fury at the loss 
 of liis son. Finally, it commended his wisdom in putting 
 the seas between himself and tlie avengers of blood, and 
 told him that he should not want for money, as his drafts 
 would be honored to the extent of a thousand a year, should 
 he require so much — Mr. Cardus was very opea-handed 
 where Ernest was concerned — also if he required any par- 
 ticular sum of money for any purpose, such as to buy land 
 or start a business, he was to let him know. 
 
THE WITCHES HEAD. 131 
 
 Dorotby's letter was like herself, sweet and gentle, and 
 overflowing with womanly sympathy. She bade him not to 
 be down-hearted, but to hope for a time when all this 
 dreadful business would be forgotten, and he would be able 
 to return in peace to England. She bade him also, shyly 
 enough, to remember that there was only one power that 
 could really wash away the stain of blood upon his hands. 
 Every month, she said, she would write him a letter, 
 whether he answered it or not. This promise she faithfully 
 kept. 
 
 Jeremy's letter was characteristic. It is worth transcrib- 
 ing. 
 
 " My dear old Fellow, — Your news has knocked us 
 all into the middle of next week. To think of your fight- 
 ing a duel, and my not being there to hold the sponge! 
 And I will tell you what it is, old chap; some of these peo- 
 ple round here, like that old De Talor, call it murder, but 
 that is gammon, and don't you trouble your head about it. 
 It was he who got up the row, not you, and he tried to 
 shoot you into the bargain. I am awfully glad that you 
 kept your nerve and plugged him; it would have been bet- 
 ter if you could have nailed him through the right shoulder, 
 which would not have killed him; but at the best of times 
 you were never good euough with a pistol for that. Don't 
 you remember when we used to shoot with the old pistols 
 at the mau I cut out on the cliff, you were always just as 
 likely to hit him on the head or in the stomach as through 
 the hearth It is a sad pity that you did not practice a lit- 
 tle more, but it is no use crying over spilled milk — and 
 after all the shot seems to haTS been a 7ery creditable one. 
 So you are going on a shooting-expedition up in Secocceni's 
 country. That is what I call glorious. To think of a 
 rhinoceros makes my mouth water; I would give one of 
 my fingers to shoot one. Life here is simply wretched now 
 that you have gone — Mr. Cardus as glum as Titheburgh 
 Abbey on a cloudy day, and Doll always looking as though 
 ,^he had been crying, or were going to cry. Old Grand- 
 father Atterleigh is quite lively compared to those two. As 
 for the office, I hate it, everlastingly copying deeds which I 
 don't in the slightest nnderstand, and adding up figures in 
 which I make mistakes. Your respected uncle told me the 
 other day, in his politest way, that he considered I sailed as 
 
1S3 THE witch's head. 
 
 near being a complete fool as any man he ever knew. I 
 answered that I quite agreed with him. 
 
 " I met that young fellow Smithers the other day, the one 
 who gave Eva Ceswick that little brute of a dog. He said 
 something disagreeable about wondering if they would hang 
 you. I told him that I didn't know if they would or not, 
 but unless he dropped his infernal sneer I was very sure that 
 I would break his neck. He concluded to move on. By 
 the way, I met Eva Ceswick herself, yesterday. She looked 
 pale, and asked if we had heard anything of you. She said 
 that she had got a letter from you. Florence came up here, 
 and spoke up well for you; she said that she was proud of 
 you, or would be if she had a right to. I never liked her 
 before, but now I think that she is a brick. Good-bye, old 
 chap; I never wrote such a long letter before. You don't 
 know how I miss you; life don't seem worth having. Yes- 
 terday was the first; I went out and killed twenty brace to 
 my own gun — fired forty-six cartridges. Not bad, eh! 
 And yet somehow J didn't seem to care a twopenny curse 
 about the whole thing, though if you had been there you 
 would have duffed them awfully. I feel sure you would 
 have set my teeth on edge with letting them off — the birds 
 I mean. Mind you write to me often. Good-bye, old fel- 
 low. God bless you! 
 
 " Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " Jeeemt Jones. 
 " P.S. — In shooting big game, a fellow told me that the 
 top of the flank raking forward is a very deadly shot, as it 
 either breaks the back or passes through the kidneys to the 
 lungs or heart. I should have thought that the shot was 
 very apt to waste itself in the flesh of the flank. Please try 
 it, and take notes of the results. " 
 
 About a fortnight after these letters, addressed Ernest 
 Beyton, Esq., Post-Oflfice, Maritzberg, IS'atal, had been dis- 
 patched, Kesterwick and its neighborhood was thrown into 
 a state of mild excitement by the announcement that Mr. 
 Halford, the clergyman, whose health had of late been 
 none of the best, purposed taking a year's rest, and that 
 the bishop had consented to the duties of his parish being 
 carried on by a locum tcnens named the Eev. James Plow- 
 den. Mr. Halford was much liked and respected, and the 
 ..intfrlligeuce was received with general regret, which was. 
 
THE -WITOH's head. 123 
 
 however, tempered with curiosity as to the new-comer. 
 Thus, whea it became known that Mr. Plowden was to 
 preach in the parish church at the evening service on the 
 third Sunday in September, all Kesterwlck was seized with 
 profound religious fervor and went to hear him. 
 
 The parish church at Kesterwick was unusually large 
 and beautiful, being a relic of an age when, whatever men's 
 lives may have been, they spared neither their money nor 
 their thought in rearing up fitting habitations to the Divin- 
 ity whom they regarded, perhaps with more of superstitious 
 awe than true religious feeling. Standing as it did some- 
 what back from the sea, it alone had escaped the shock of 
 the devouring waves, and remained till this day a monu- 
 ment of architectural triumph. Its tali tower, pointing 
 like a great finger up to heaven, looked very solemn on that 
 quiet September evening as the crowd of church-goers 
 passed beneath its shadow into the old door-way, through 
 which most of them had been carried to their christening, 
 and would in due time be carried to their burial. At least 
 so thought Eva and Dorothy as they stood for a moment 
 by the monument to " five unknown sailors," washed ashore 
 after a great gale, and buried in a common grave. How 
 many suffering, erring human beings had stood upon the 
 same spot and thought the same thoughts? How many 
 more now sleeping in the womb of tim» would stand there 
 and think them, when these two had suffered and erred 
 their full, and been long forgotten? 
 
 They formed a strange contrast, those two sweet womgn, 
 as they passed together into the sacred stillness of the 
 church — the one stately, dark, and splendid, with an un- 
 restful trouble in her eyes; the other almost insignificant in 
 figure, but pure and patient of face, and with steady blue 
 eyes which never wavered. Did they guess, those two, as 
 they walked thus together, how closely their destinies were 
 linked? Did they know that each at heart was striving for 
 the same prize, a poor one indeed, but still all the world 
 to them? Perhaps they did, very vaguely, and it was the 
 pressure of their common trouble that drew them closer 
 together in those days. But if they did, they never spoke of 
 it; and as for little Dorothy, she never dreamed of win- 
 ning. She was content to be allowed to toil along in the 
 painful race. 
 
 When they reached the pew that the Oeswicks habitually 
 
12i THE witch's head. 
 
 occupied, they foiuid Miss Ceswick and Florence already 
 tliere. Jeremy liad refused to come; he had a most unrea- 
 sonable antipathy to parsons. Mr. Halford he liked, but 
 of this new man he would have none.* The general curios- 
 ity to see him wa3 to Jeremy inexplicable, his opinion being 
 that he should soon see a great deal more of him than he 
 liked. "Just like a pad: of girls ruiniing after a new 
 doll," he growled; " well, there is one thing, you will soon 
 be tired of liearing him squeak." 
 
 As tlie service went on, the aisles of the great church 
 grew dim except where the seuing bl;ii shot a crimson shaft 
 through the west window, which wandered from spot to spot 
 and face to face, and made them glorious. When it came to 
 the hymn before the sermon, Eva could scarcely see to 
 rend, and with the exception of the crimson pencil of sun- 
 light that came throngn the head of the \^irgin Mary, and 
 wavered restlessly about, and the strong glow of the lights 
 upon the pulpiit, the church was almost dark. 
 
 AVheii the new clergyman, Mr. Plowdeii, ascended the 
 steps of the ancient pulpit and gave out his text, Eva looked 
 at him in common with the rest of the congregation. Mr. 
 Plowden was a large man of a somewhat lumbering make. 
 Hi-; head, too, was large, and covered with masses of rather 
 coarse-textured black hair. The forehead was prominent, 
 and gave signs of intellectual power; the eyebrows thick 
 and strongly marked, and in curious contrast to the cold, 
 light-gray eyes that played unceasingly beneath them. All 
 tlie.lovver part of the face, which, to judge from the purple 
 ]iue of the skin. Nature had intended should be plentifully 
 clothed with hair, was clean shaven, and revealed a large 
 I'aw, square chin, and pair of thick lips. Altogether Mr. 
 I'lowden was considered a fine man, and his face was gen- 
 erally spoken of as " striking." Perhaps the most curious 
 Ihing about it, however, was a species of varicose vein on 
 the forehead, which was generally quite unnoticeable, but 
 whenever he was excited or nervous stood out above the 
 level of the skin in the form of a j)erfecfc cross. It was thus 
 visible when Eva looked at him, and it struck her as being 
 an unpleasant mark to have on one's forehead. She turned 
 lior eyes away — the man did not please her fastidious taste 
 — and listened for his voice. Presently it came; it was 
 powerful and even musical, but coarse. 
 
 " He is not a gentl&mau," thought Eva to herself, and 
 
THE witch's head. 135 
 
 then dismissing him and his sermon too from her mind, 
 she leaned back against the poppy-head at the end of the 
 pew, half-closed her eyes, and let her thoughts wander in 
 the way that thoughts have the power to do in church. 
 Far across the sea they flew, to where a great vessel labor- 
 ing in a heavy gale was plowing her sturdy way along — to 
 where a young man stood clinging to the iron stanchions, 
 and gazed out into the darkness with sorrow in his eyes. 
 
 Wonderfully soft and tender grew her beautiful face as 
 the vision passed before her soul; the ripe lips quivered, 
 and there was a world of love in the half-opened eyes. And 
 just then the wandering patch of glory perceiving her, set- 
 tled on her hke a butterfly upon a flower, and for awhile 
 v?andered no longer. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware of a momentary pause in the 
 even flow of the clergyman's eloquence, and waking from 
 her reverie glanced up at the spot of light surrounding him, 
 and as she did so it struck her that she herself was illumin- 
 ated with a more beautiful light — that she and she alone 
 were distinguishable out of all the people beneath that roof. 
 
 The same thought had evidently struck Mr. Plowden, for 
 he was gazing intently at her. 
 
 Instinctively she drew back into the shadow, and Mr. 
 Plowden went on with his sermon. But he had driven 
 away poor Eva's vision; there only remained of it the sad, 
 reproachful look of those dark eyes. 
 
 Outside the church Dorothy found Jeremy waiting to es- 
 cort her home. They all went together as far as the cot- 
 tage. When they got clear of the crowd, Florence spoke: 
 
 " What a good-looking man Mr. Plowden is, and how 
 well he preached!" 
 
 " I did not like him much," said Dorothy. 
 
 " What do you think of him, Eva?" asked Florence, 
 
 " I? Oh, I do not know. I do not tliink he is a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "lam sure that he is not," put in Jeremy. " I saw 
 him by the post-office this afternoon. He is a cad." 
 
 " Rather a sweeping remark that, is it not, Mr. Jones?" 
 said Florence. 
 
 " I don't know if it is sweeping or not," answered Jer- 
 emy, sententiously, " but I am sure that it is true." 
 
 Then they said good-night, and went their separate ways. 
 
IM THE witch's HBAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 EVA TAKES A BISTEICT. 
 
 The Eev. James Plovvden was born of rich but honest 
 parents in the sugar -broking way. He was one of a large 
 family, who were objects of anxious thought to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Plowden. These worthy people, aware of the disad- 
 vantages under which they labored in the matter of educa- 
 tion, determined that neither trouble nor money should be 
 spared to make their children " genteel." And so it came 
 to pass that the " mansion " near Bloomsbury was overrun 
 with the most expeasive nurses, milliners, governesses, and 
 tutors, all straining every nerve to secure the perfect gen- 
 tility of the young Plowdens. The result was highly orna- 
 mental, but perhaps scarcely equivalent to the vast expanse 
 incurred. The Plowden j^outh of both sexes may be said 
 to have been painted, and varnished, and gilded into an 
 admirable imitation of gentlefolks; but if the lacquer-work 
 would stand the buffetings of the world's weather was 
 another question, and one which, except in so far as it has 
 to do with a single member of the family, does not concern 
 us. 
 
 Master James Plowden came about hiilf-way down the 
 family list, but he might just as well have stood at the head 
 of it, for he ruled his brothers and sisters — old and young 
 — with a heavy rod. He was the strong one of the family, 
 strong both in mind and body, and he had a hand of iron. 
 
 For his misdeeds were his brothers th rashed, preferring 
 to take those ills they knew of from the hands of the 
 thrasher rather than endure the unimagined horrors Brother 
 James would make ready for them should they venture to 
 protest. 
 
 Thus it was that he came to be considered par excellence 
 the good boy of the family, as he was certainly the clever 
 one, and bore every sort of blushing honor thick upon him. 
 
 It was to an occurrence in his boyhood that Mr. Plowden 
 owed his parents' determination to send him into the 
 Church. His future carefer had always been a matter of 
 much speculation to them, for they belonged to that class 
 of people who love to arrange their infants' destinies when 
 
THE witch's head. 137 
 
 the infants themselves are still in the cradle, and argue 
 their fitness for certain lines of life from remarks which 
 they make at three years old. 
 
 Now, James's mamma had a very favorite parrot with a 
 red tail, and out of this tall it was James's delight to pull 
 the feathers, having discovered that so doing gave the par- 
 rot a lively twinge of pain. The onus of the feather-pull- 
 ing was then, if discovered, shouldered on to a chosen 
 brother, who was promptly thrashed. 
 
 But on one occasion things went wrong ^ith Master 
 James. The parrot was climbing up the oatside of his 
 cage, presenting the remainder of his tail to the hand of 
 the spoiler in a way that was irresistibly seductive; but, 
 aware of the fact that his enemy was in the neighborhood, 
 he kept a careful lookout from the corner of his eye, and 
 the moment that he saw James's stealthy hand draw near 
 his tail made a sudden dart at it, and actually succeeded iu 
 making his powerful beak meet through its forefinger. 
 James shrieked with pain and fury, and shaking the bird 
 on to the floor stunned it with a book. But he was not 
 satisfied with this revenge, for, as soon as he saw that it 
 could no longer bite, he seized it and twisted its neck. 
 
 " There, you devil!" he said, throwing the creature into 
 the cage. " Halloo, something has burst in my forehead!" 
 
 " Oh, James, what have youdone!" said his little brother 
 Montague, well knowing that he had a lively personal in- 
 terest in James's misdoings. 
 
 " Nonsense! what have you done? Now remember, 
 Montague, you killed the parrot. " 
 
 Just then Mr. and Mrs. Plowden came in from a drive, 
 and a very lively scene ensued, into which we need^iiot 
 enter. SufiSce it to say that, all evidence to the contrary 
 notwithstanding, James was acquitted on the ground of 
 general good character, and Montague, howling and pro- 
 testing his innocence, was led off to execution. Justly 
 fearful lest something further should transpire, James was 
 hurriedly leaving the room when his mother called him 
 back. 
 
 " Why, what is that on your forehead?" 
 
 " Don't know," answered James; " something went 
 snap there just now." 
 
 " Well I never! Just look at the boy, John; he has got 
 9, cross upon his forehead." 
 
138 THE wttch's head. 
 
 Mr. Plowden's papa examined the phenomenon very care- 
 fully, and then, solemnly removing his spectacles, remarked 
 with much deliberation : 
 
 " Elizabeth, that settles the point." 
 "What point, John?" 
 
 " What point! Why, the point of the boy's profession. 
 It is, as you remark, a cross upon his forehead. Good! — 
 lie shall go into the Church. Now I must decline to be 
 argued with, Elizabeth. The matter is settled." 
 
 And so in due course James Plowden, Esq., went to 
 Cambridge', and became the Rev. James Plowden. 
 
 Shortly after the Reverend James had started in life as a 
 curate he fouurl it convenient — having first succeeded in 
 beguiling his parents into settling on himself a portion just 
 twice as large as that to which he was entitled — to cut off 
 his connection with a family he considered vulgar, and a 
 drag upon his jorofessional success. But somehow, with all 
 his gifts, and undoubtedly he was by nature well endowed, 
 especially as regards his mind, that was remarkable for a 
 species of hard cleverness and persuasive power; and with 
 all the advantages whicb he derived from being in receipt 
 of an independent income, the Reverend James had not 
 hitherto proved a conspicuous success. He had held sev- 
 eral important curacies, and of late had acted as the locum 
 ienens of several gentlemen who, like Mr. Halford, had 
 through loss of health or other reasons been called away 
 from their livings for a length of time. 
 
 But from all these places the Reverend James had de- 
 parted without regret, nor had there been any very uni- 
 versal lamentations over his going. The fact of the matter 
 was, that the Reverend James was not a popular man. 
 He had ability in plenty, and money in plenty, and would 
 expend both without stint if he had an end to gain. He 
 was more or less of a good companion, too, in the ordinary 
 sense of the word; that is, he could make himself agreeable 
 in a rough, exaggerated kind of way to both men and wom- 
 en. Indeed, by the former he was often spoken of careless- 
 ly as a " good fellow;" but women, or rather ladies, fol- 
 lowing their finer instincts, disliked him intensely. He 
 jarred upon them. 
 
 Of course, it is impossible to lay down any fixed rule 
 about men, but there are two tokens by which they may be 
 known. The first is by their friends; the second by tha 
 
THE witch's head. 139 
 
 degree of friendship and affection to which they are ad- 
 mitted by women. The man to whom members of the 
 other sex attach themselves is in ninety-nine cases out of a 
 hundred a good fellow, and women's instinct tells them so, 
 or they would not love him. It may be urged that women 
 often love blackguards. To this the answer is, that there 
 must be a good deal of good mixed up with the blacirguard- 
 ism. Show me the man whom two or three women of his 
 own rank love with all their honest hearts, and I will trust 
 all I have into his hands and not be a penny the poorer. 
 
 But women did not love the Eeverend James Plowden, 
 although he had for several years come to the conclusion 
 that it was desirable that they should, or rather that one of 
 them should. In plain language, he had for some years 
 past thought that he would improve his position by getting 
 married. He was a shrewd man, and he could not dis- 
 guise from himself the fact that so far he was not altogether 
 a success. He had tried his best, but, with all his con- 
 siderable advantages, he had failed. Ihere was only one 
 avenue to success which he had not tried, and that was 
 marriage. Marriage with a woman of high caste, quick in- 
 tellect, and beauty, might give him the tone that his social 
 system so sadly needed. He was a man in a good position, 
 he had money, he had intelligence of a robust if of a coarse 
 order, he had fairly good looks, and he was only thirty-five; 
 why should he not marry blood, brains, and beauty, and 
 shine with a reflected splendor? 
 
 Such were the thoughts which were simmering in the 
 astute brain of the Eeverend James Plowden when he first 
 set eyes . upon Eva Ceswick in the old church at Kester- 
 wick. 
 
 Within a week or so of his arrival, Mr. Plowden, in his 
 character of spiritual adviser to the motley Kesterwick 
 flock, paid a ceremonious call on the Miss Ceswicks. They 
 were all at home. 
 
 Miss Ceswick and Florence welcomed him graciously; 
 Eva politely, but with an air which said plainly that he in- 
 terested her not at all. Yet it was to Eva that he chiefly 
 directed himself. He took this opportunity to inform them 
 all, especially Eva, that he felt the responsibilities of his 
 position as locum tenens to weigli heavily upon him. He 
 appealed to them all, especially Eva, to help him to bear 
 Jus load. He was going to institute a new system of dis- 
 
ISO THE witch's head. 
 
 trict visiting. "Would they all, especially Eva, assist him? 
 If they would, the good work was already half done. 
 There was so much for young ladies to do. He could as- 
 sure them, from his personal experience, that one visit 
 from a young lady, however useless she might be in a gen- 
 eral way, which his instinct assured him these particular 
 young ladies before him were not, had more influence with 
 a distressed and godless family than six from well-meaning 
 but unsympathetic clergymen like himself. Might he rely 
 on their help? 
 
 "I am afraid that I am too old for that sort of thing, 
 Mr. Plowden," answered Miss Ceswick. " You must see 
 what you can do with my nieces." 
 
 ■' I am sure that I shall be delighted to help," said Flor- 
 ence, " if Eva will bear me company. I always feel a shy- 
 ness about intruding myself into cottages unsupported." 
 
 " Your shyness is not surprising. Miss Ceswick. I 
 suffered from it myself for many years, but at last I have, 
 I am thankful to say, got the better of it. But I am sure 
 that we shall not appeal to your sister in vain.''' 
 
 " I shall be glad to help if you think that I can do any 
 good," put in Eva, thus directly appealed to; " but I must 
 tell you I have no great faith in myself. " 
 
 " Do the work. Miss Ceswick, and the faith will come; 
 sow the seed and the tree will spring up, and bear fruit 
 too in due season." 
 
 There was no reply, so he continued: " Then I have 
 your permission to put you down for a district." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Mr. Plowden," answered Florence. "Will 
 you take some more tea?" 
 
 Mr. Plowden would take no more tea, but went on his 
 way to finish the day's work he had mapped out for himself 
 — for he worked hard and according to a strict rule — re- 
 flecting that Eva Ceswick was the loveliest woman he had 
 ever seen. 
 
 " I think that we must congratulate you on a conquest, 
 Eva," said Miss Ceswick, cheerfully, as the front-door 
 closed. " Mr. Plowden never took his eyes off you, and 
 really, my dear, I do not wonder at it, you look charm- 
 ing." 
 
 Eva flushed up angrily. 
 
 " Nonsense, aunt!" she said, and left the room, 
 
THE WlicH'S HEAD. 131 
 
 " Really," said Miss Ceswick, " I don't know what has 
 come to Eva, lately, she is so very strange," 
 
 " I expect that you touched her on a sore point. I 
 rather fancy that she has taken a liking to Mr. Plowden," 
 said Florence, dryly. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," answered the old lady, nodding her head 
 wisely. 
 
 In due course a district was assigned to the two Miss Ces- 
 wicks, and for her part Eva was glad of the occupation. It 
 brought her a good deal into contact with Mr. Plowden, 
 which was not altogether pleasant to her, for she cherished 
 a vague dislike of the clergyman, and did not admire his 
 shifty eyes. But, as she got to know him better, she could 
 find nothing to Justify her dislike. He was not, it is true, 
 quite a gentleman, but that was his misfortune. Jlis man- 
 ner to herself was subdued and almost deferential; henever 
 obtruded himself upon her society, though somehow he 
 was in it almost daily. Indeed, he even succeeded in rais- 
 ing her to some enthusiasm about her work, a quality in 
 which poor Eva had of late been sadly lacking. She thought 
 him a very good clergyman, with his heart in his duty. 
 But she disliked him all the same. 
 
 .Jlva never answered Ernest's letter. Once she began an 
 answer, but bethought her of Florence's sage advice, and 
 changed her _ mind. " He will write again," she said to 
 herself. She did not know Ernest; his was not a nature 
 to humble himself before a woman. Could she have seen 
 her lover hanging about the steps of the Maritzburg post- 
 office when the English mail was being delivered, in order 
 to go back to the window when the people had dispersed, 
 and ask the tired clerk if he was " sure " that there were 
 no more letters for Ernest Beyton, and get severely snubbed 
 for his pains, perhaps her heart would have relented. And 
 yet it was a performance which poor Ernest went through 
 once a week out there in Natal. 
 
 One mail-day Mr. Alston went with him. 
 
 " Well, Ernest, has it come?" he asked, as he came 
 down the steps, a letter from Dorothy in his hand. 
 
 " No, Alston, and never will. She >as thrown me 
 over. " 
 
 Mr. Alston took his arm, and walked away with him 
 across the market-square. 
 
 " Look here, my lad," he said; " the woman who deserts 
 
132 THE witch's head. 
 
 a man in trouble, or as soon as his back is turned, is worth- 
 less. It is a sharp lesson to learn, but, as most men have 
 cause to know, the world is full of sharp lessons and 
 worthless women. You know that she got your letter?" 
 
 " Yes, she told my friend so." 
 
 " Then I tell you that your Eva, or whatever her name 
 is, is more worthless than most of them. She has been 
 tried and found wanting. Look," he went on, pointing to 
 a shapely Kafir girl passing with a pot of native beer upon 
 her head, " you had better take that Intombi to wife than 
 such a woman as this Eva. She at any rate would stand 
 by you in trouble, and if you fell would stop to be killed 
 over your dead body. Come, be a man, and have done 
 with her." 
 
 " Ay, by Heaven, I will!" answered Ernest. 
 
 " That's right; and now, look here, the wagons will be 
 at Lydenburg in a week. Let us take the post-cart to- 
 morrow and go up. Then we can have a mouth's wilder- 
 beeste and koodoo shooting until it is safe to go into the 
 fever country. Once you get among the big game, you 
 won't think any more about that woman. Women are all 
 very well in their way, but if it comes to choosing between 
 them and big game-shooting, give me the big game. " .^ 
 
 CHAPTBE XX. 
 
 Jeremy's idea of a shaking. 
 
 Two months or so after Ernest's flight there came a let- 
 ter from him to Mr. Cardus in answer to the one sent by 
 his uncle. He thanked his uncle warmly for his kindness, 
 and more especially for not joining in the hue and cry 
 against him. As regards money, he hoped to be able to 
 make a living for himself, but if he wanted any he would 
 draw. The letter, wliich was short, ended thus: 
 
 " Thank Doll and Jeremy for their letters. I would an- 
 swer them, but I am too down on my luck to write much; 
 writing stirs up so many painful memories, and makes me 
 think of all the dear folks at home more than is good for 
 me. The fact is, my dear uncle, what between one thing 
 and another I never was so miserable in my life, and as for 
 
THE witch's head. 133 
 
 loneliness I never knew what it meant before. Sometimes 
 I wish that my cousin had hit me instead of my hitting 
 him, and that I was dead and buried, clean out of the way. 
 Alston, who was my second in that unhappy affair, and 
 with whom I am going up-country shooting, has been most 
 kind to me, and has introduced me to a good maoy people 
 here. They are very hospitable; everybody is hospitable 
 in a colony; but somehow a hundred new faces can not 
 make up for one old one, and I should think old Atterleigh 
 a cheerful companion beside the best of them. What is 
 more, I feel myself an impostor intruding myself on them 
 under an assumed name. Good-bye, my dear uncle. It 
 would be difficult for me to explain how grateful I am for 
 your goodness to me. Love to dear Doll and Jeremy. 
 " Ever your afEectionate nephew, 
 
 " E. K." 
 
 All the party at Bum's Ness were much touched by this 
 letter, more especially Dorothy, who could not bear to think 
 of Ernest all alone out there in that strange, far-ofl land. 
 Her tender httle heart grew all alive with love and sorrow 
 ' 'as she lay awake at night and thought of him travehng over 
 the great African plains. She got all the books that were 
 to be had about South Africa and read them, so that she 
 might be the better able to follow his life in her thoughts. 
 One day when Florence came to see her she read her part 
 of Ernest's letter, and when she had finished was astonished 
 to see a tear in her visitor's keen eyes. She liked Florence 
 the better for that tear. Could she have seen the conflict 
 that was raging in the fierce heart of the woman before her, 
 she would have started from her as though she had been a 
 poisonous snake. The letter touched Florence — touched 
 her to the quick. The tale of Ernest's loneliness almost 
 overcame her resolution, for she alone knew why he was so 
 utterly lonely, and what it was that crushed him. Had 
 Ernest alone been concerned, it is probable that she would 
 then and there have thrown up her cruel game; but he was 
 not alone concerned. There was her sister who had robbed 
 her of her lover — ^her sister whose loveliness was a standing 
 affront to her as her sweetness was a standing reproach. 
 She was sorry for Ernest, and would have been glad to 
 make him happier, but as that could only be done by fore- 
 going her revenge upon her sister, Ernest must continue to 
 
134 THE witch's head. 
 
 suffer. And after all why should he not suffer? she 
 argued? Did not she suffer? 
 
 When Florence got home she told Eva about the letter 
 from her lover, but she said nothing of his evident distress. 
 He was making friends, he expected great pleasure from 
 his shooting — altogether he was getting on well. 
 
 Eva listened, hardened her heart, and went out district 
 visiting with Mr. Plowden. 
 
 Time went on, and no letters came from Ernest. One 
 month, two months, six months passed, and there was no 
 intelligence of him. Dorothy grew very anxious, and so 
 did Mr. Cardus, but they did not speak of the matter much, 
 except to remark that the reason no doubt was that he was 
 away on his shooting-excursion. 
 
 Jeremy, also, in his slow way grew intensely preoccupied 
 with the fact that they never heard from Ernest now, and 
 that life was consequently a blank. He sat upon the stool 
 in his uncle's outer office and made pretense to copy deeds 
 and drafts, but in reality occupied bis time in assiduously 
 polishing his nails and thinking. As for the deeds and 
 drafts he gave them to his grandfather to copy. 
 
 " It kept the old gentleman employed," he would explain 
 to Dorothy, "and from indulging in bad thoughts about 
 the devil." 
 
 But it was one night out duck-shooting that his great in- 
 spiration came. It was a bitter night, a night on which no 
 sane creature except Jeremy would ever have dreamed of 
 going to shoot ducks or anything else. The marshes were 
 partially frozen, and a fierce east wind was blowing across 
 them; but utterly regardless of the cold, there sat Jeremy 
 under the lee of a dike-bank, listening for the sound of the 
 ducks' wings as they passed to their feeding-grounds, and 
 occasionally getting a shot at them as they crossed the 
 moon above him. There were not many ducks, and the 
 solitude and silence wore inductive of contemplation. 
 Ernest did not write. Was he dead? Not probable, or 
 they would have heard of it. Where was he, then? Im- 
 possible to say, impossible to discover. Was it impossible? 
 
 Sioish, swish, bang /" and down came a mallard at his 
 feet. A quick shot, that! Yes, it was impossible; they 
 had no means of inquiry here. The inquiry, if any, must 
 be made there, on the other side of the water; but who was 
 to make it? Ah! an idea struck him. Why should not 
 
THE witch's head. 135 
 
 he, Jeremy, make that inquiry-? Why should he not go 
 to South Africa and look for Ernest? A flight of duck 
 passed over his head unheeded. What did he care for 
 duck? He had solved the problem which had been troub- 
 ling him all these months. He would go to South Africa 
 and look for Ernest. If Mr. Cardus would not give him 
 the money, he would work his way out. Anyhow he would 
 go. He could bear the suspense no longer. 
 
 Jeremy rose in the new-found strength of his purpose, 
 and gathering up the slain — there were only three — whistled 
 to his retriever, and made his way back to D urn's Ness. 
 
 He found Mr. Cardus and Dorothy by the fire in the sit- 
 ting-room. Hard-riding Atterleigh was there too, in his 
 place in the ingle-nook, a riding-whip in his ink-stained 
 hand, with which he was tapping his top-boot. They 
 turned as he entered, except his grandfather, who did not 
 hear him. 
 
 " What sport have you had, Jeremy?" asked his sister, 
 with a sad little smile. Her face had grown very sad of 
 late. 
 
 " Three ducks," he answered, shortly, advancing his 
 powerful form out of the shadows into the firelight. " I 
 came home just as they were beginning to fly." 
 
 " You^found it cold, I suppose," said Mr. Cardus, ab- 
 sently. They had been talking of Ernest, and he was still 
 thinking of him. 
 
 " No, I did not think of the cold. I came home because 
 I had an idea." 
 
 Both his hearers looked up surprised. Ideas were not 
 very common to Jeremy, or if they were he kept them to 
 himself. 
 
 " Well, Jeremy?" said Dorothy, inquiringly. 
 
 " Well, it is this. I can not stand this about Ernest any 
 longer, and I am going to look for him. If you won't give 
 me the money," he went on, addressing Mr. Cardus almost 
 fiercely, " I will work my way out. It is no credib to me," 
 he added; " I lead a dog's life while I don't know where 
 he is." 
 
 Dorothy flushed a pale pink with pleasure. Eising, she 
 went up to her great strong brother, and standing on tip- 
 toe managed to kiss him on the chin. 
 
 " That is like you, Jeremy dear," she said, softly. 
 
136 THE witch's head. 
 
 Mr. Oardus looked up'too, and after his fashion let his 
 eyes wander round Jeremy before he spoke. 
 
 " You shall have as much money as you like, Jeremy," 
 he said, presently; " and if you bring Ernest back safe, I 
 will leave you twenty thousand pounds " — and he struck 
 his hand down upon his knee, an evidence of excitement 
 which it was unusual for him to display. 
 
 " I don't want your twenty thousand pounds — I want 
 Ernest," answered the young man, gruffly. 
 
 " No. I know you don't, my lad; I know you don't. 
 But find him and keep him safe, and you shall have it. 
 Money is not to be sneezed at, let me tell you. I say keep 
 him, for I forgot you can not bring him back till this ac- 
 cursed business has blown over. When will you go?" 
 
 " By the next mail, of course. They leave every Friday; 
 I will not waste a day. To-day is Saturday; I will sail 
 next Friday. " 
 
 " That is right; you shall go at once. I will give you a 
 check for £500 to-morrow, and mind, Jeremy, you are not 
 to spare money. If he has gone to the Zambesi, you must 
 follow him. Never think of the money; I will think of 
 that." 
 
 Jeremy soon made his preparations. They consisted 
 chiefly of rifles. He was to leave Dum's Ness early on the 
 Thursday. Oa the Wednesday afternoon it occurred to him 
 that he might as well tell Eva Ceswick that he was going 
 in search of Ernest, and ask if she had any message. 
 Jeremy was the only person, or thought that he was the 
 only person, in the secret of Ernest's affection for Eva. 
 Ernest had asked him to keep it secret, and he had kept it 
 as secret as the dead, never breathing a word of it, even to 
 his sister. 
 
 It was about five o'clock on a windy March afternoon 
 when he set out for the cottage. On the edge of the ham- 
 let of Kesterwick, some three hundred yards from the cliff, 
 stood two or three little hovels, turning their naked faces 
 to the full fury of the sea-blast. He was drawing near to 
 these when he came to a stile which gave passage over a 
 sod wall that ran to the edge of the chff, marking the 
 limits of the village common. As he approached the 
 stile the wind brought him the sound of voices — a 
 man's and a woman's, engaged apparently in angry dis- 
 pute on the further side of the wall. Instead of getting 
 
THE witch's head. 187 
 
 over the stile, he stepped to, the right and looked over the 
 wall, and saw the new clergyman, Mr. Plowden, standing 
 with his back toward him, and, apparently very much 
 against her will, holding Eva Ceswick by the handJ 
 Jeremy was too far off to overhear his words, but from his 
 voice it was clear that Plowden was talking in an excited, 
 masterful tone. Just then Eva turned her head a little, 
 and. he did hear what she said, her voice being so much 
 clearer: 
 
 " No, Mr. Plowden, no! Let go my hand. Ah, why 
 will you not take an answer?" 
 
 Just at that moment she succeeded in wrenching her im- 
 prisoned hand from his strong grasp, and, without waiting 
 for any more words, set off toward Kesterwick almost at a 
 run. 
 
 Jeremy was a man of slow mind, though when once his 
 mind was made up it was of a singularly determined nat- 
 ure. At first he did not quite take in the full significance 
 of the scene, but when he did a great red flush spread over 
 his honest face, and the big gray eyes sparkled dangerous- 
 ly. Presently Mr. Plowden turned and saw him. Jeremy 
 noticed that the '' sign of the cross " was remarkably visi- 
 ble on his forehead, and that his face wore an expression by 
 no means pleasant to behold — anything but Christian, in 
 short. 
 
 " Hallool" he said to Jeremy; " what are you doing 
 there?" 
 
 Before answering, Jeremy put his hand on the top of the 
 sod wall, and vaulting over walked straight up to the clergy- 
 man. 
 
 " I was watching you," he said, lookiag him straight in 
 the eyes. 
 
 " Indeed! — an honorable employment; eavesdropping I 
 think it is generally called." 
 
 Whatever had passed between Mr. I'lowden and Eva 
 Ceswick, it had clearly not improved the former's temper. 
 
 " What do you meg,n?" 
 
 " I mean what I say." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Plowden, I may as well tell you what I 
 mean; I am not good at talking, but I know that I shall be 
 able to make you understand. I saw you just now assault- 
 ing Miss Ceswick." 
 
 " It is a lie!" 
 
138 THE witch's head. 
 
 " That is not a gentleman-like word, Mr. Plowden, but 
 as you are not a gentleman I will overlook it. " Jeremy, 
 after the dangerous fashion of the Anglo-Saxon race, always 
 got n'onderfully cool as a row thickened. " I repeat that 
 I saw you holding her notwithstanding her struggles to get 
 away." 
 
 " And what is that Jo you, confound you!" said Mr. 
 Plowdeu, shaking with fury, and raising a thick stick he 
 held in his hand in a suggestive manner. 
 
 " Don't lose your temper, and you shall hear. Miss Eva 
 Oeswick is engaged to my friend Ernest Kershaw, or some- 
 thing very like it, and, as he is not here to look after his 
 own interests, I must look after them for him." 
 
 " Ah, yes," answered Mr. Plowden, with a ghastly smile, 
 " I have heard of that. The murderer, you mean?" 
 
 " I recommend you, Mr. Plowden, in ynur own interest, 
 to be a little more careful in your terms." 
 
 "And supposing that there has been something between 
 your — your friend.'" 
 
 " Much better term, Mr. Plowden." 
 
 " And, Miss Eva Ceswick, what, I should like to know, 
 is there to prevent her having changed her mind?" 
 
 Jeremy laughed aloud, it must be admitted rather inso- 
 lently, and in a way calculated to irritate people of meeker 
 mind than Mr. Plowden. 
 
 " To any one, Mr. Plowden, who has the privilege of 
 your acquaintance, and who also knows Ernest Kershaw, 
 your question would seem absurd. "You see, there are 
 some people between whom there can be no comparison. 
 It is not possible that, after caring for Ernest, any woman 
 could care for you;" and Jeremy laughed again. 
 
 Mr. Plowden's thick lips turned quite pale, the veinous 
 cross upon his forehead throbbed till Jeremy thought it 
 would burst, and his eyes shone with the concentrated light 
 of hate. Ilis vanity was his weakest point. He controlled 
 himself with an effort, however, though if there had been 
 any deadly weapon at hand it might have gone hard with 
 Jeremy. 
 
 " Perhaps you will explain the meaning of your interfer- 
 ence and your insolence, aud let me go on." 
 
 " Oh, with pleasure," answered Jeremy, with refreshing 
 cheerfulness. " It is just this: if I catch you at any such 
 tricks again, you shall suffer for it. One can't thrash a 
 
THE witch's head. 139 
 
 clergyman, and one can't fight him, because he won't fight; 
 but look here, one can shake him, for that leaves no marks, 
 and if you go on with these games, so sure as my name is 
 Jeremy Jones, I will shake your teeth down your throat! 
 Good -night)" and^ Jeremy turned to go. 
 
 It is not wise to turn one's back upon an infuriated ani- 
 mal, and at that moment Mr. Plowden was nothing more. 
 Even as he turned Jeremy remembered this, and gave him- 
 self a slue to one side. It was fortunate for him that he 
 did so, for at that moment Mr. Plowden's heavy blackthorn 
 stick, directed downward with all the strength of Mr. Plow- 
 den's powerful arm, passed within a few inches of his head, 
 out of which, had he not turned, it would have probably 
 knocked the brains. As it was, it struck the ground with 
 such force that the jar sent it flying out of its owner's hand. 
 
 " Ah, you would!" was Jeremy's reflection as he sprung 
 at bis assailant. 
 
 Now Mr. Plowden was a very powerful man, but he was 
 no match for Jeremy, who in after-days came to be known 
 as the strongest man in the East of England, and so he 
 was destined to find out. Once Jeremy got a grip of him, 
 for his respect for the Church prevented jiim from trying 
 to knock him down, he seemed to crumple up like a piece 
 of paper in his iron grasp. Jeremy could easily have 
 thrown him, but he would not, he had his own ends in 
 view. So he just held him tight enough to prevent his do- 
 ing him (Jeremy) any serious injury, and let him struggle 
 frantically till he thought he was sufficiently exhausted for 
 his purpose. Then he suddenly gave him a violent twist, 
 got behind him, and set to work with a will to fulfill his 
 promise of a shaking. Oh, what a shake that was! First 
 of all he shook him backward and forward for Ernest's 
 sake, then he alternated the motion and shook him from 
 side to side for his own sake, and finally he shogkhim every 
 possible way for the sake of Eva Ceswick. 
 
 It was a wonderful sight to see the great burly clergyman, 
 his hat off, his white tie undone, and his coat-tails waving 
 like streamers, bounding and gamboling on the breezy cliffs, 
 his head, legs, and arms jerking in every possible direction, 
 like those of a galvanized frog, while behind him, his legs 
 slightly apart to get a better grip of the ground, and his 
 teeth firmly clinched, Jeremy shook away with the fixity 
 of fate. 
 
140 THE witch's head. 
 
 At last, getting exhausted, he stopped, and, holding Mr. 
 PJowdea still, gave him a drop-kick — only one. But Jere- 
 my's leg was very strong, and he always wore thick boots, 
 and the result was startling. Mr. Plowden rose some inches 
 off the ground, and went on his face into,a furze-bush. 
 
 " He will hardly like to show that honorable wound," 
 reflected Jeremy, as he wiped the perspiration from his 
 brow with every sign of satisfaction. 
 
 Then he went and picked his fallen enemy out of the 
 bush, where he had nearly fainted, smoothed his clothes, 
 tied the white tie as neatly as he could, and put the wide 
 hat on the disheveled hair. Then he sat him down on the 
 ground to recover himself. 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Plowden, good-night. iN^ext time 
 you wish to hit a man with a big stick, do not wait till his 
 back is turned. Ah, I dare say your head aches. I should 
 advise you to go home and have a nice sleep." 
 
 And Jeremy departed on his way, filled with a fearful 
 joy- 
 When he reached the cottage he found everything in a 
 state of confusion. Miss Oeswick had, it appeared, been 
 suddenly taken very seriously ill; indeed, it was feared that 
 she had got a stroke of apoplexy. He managed, however, 
 to send up a message to Eva to say that he wished to speak 
 to her for a minate. Presently she came down, crying. 
 
 " Oh, my poor aunt is so dreadfully ill," she said. " We 
 .think that she is dying!" 
 
 Jeremy ofEered some awkward condolences, and indeed 
 was much distressed. He liked old Miss Ceswick. 
 
 " I am going to South Africa to-morrow. Miss Eva," he 
 said. 
 
 She started violently, and blushed up to her hair. 
 
 " Going to South Africa! What for?" 
 
 " I am gping to look for Ernest. We are afraid that 
 something must have happened to him." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that!" she said. " Perhaps he has — 
 amusements which prevent his writing. " 
 
 " I may as well tell you that I saw something of what 
 passed between you and Mr. Plowden. " 
 
 Again Eva blushed. 
 
 " Mr. Plowden was very rude," she said. 
 
 " So I thought; but 1 think that he is sorry for it now." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
THE witch's head. 141 
 
 ■' I mean that I nearly shook his ugly head off for him." 
 
 " Oh, how could you?" Eva asked, sweetly; but there 
 was no severity on her face. 
 
 Just then Florence's voice was heard calling imperatively. 
 
 " I must go," said Eva. 
 
 " Have you any message to Ernest if I find him?" 
 
 Eva hesitated. 
 
 " I know all about it," said Jeremy, considerately turn- 
 ing his head. 
 
 ' Oh, no, I have no message — that is — oh, tell him that 
 1 love him dearly !" and she turned and fled upstairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 FLOEBITCE OK MAEEIAGB. 
 
 Miss Ceswick's seizure turned out to be even worse 
 than was anticipated. Once she appeared to regain con- 
 sciousness, and began to mutter something, then she sunk 
 back into a torpor out of which she never woke again. 
 
 It was fortunate that her condition was not such as to 
 require the services of the clergyman, for Mr. Plowden was 
 for some days after the events described in the last chapter 
 not in any condition to give them. AVhether it was the 
 shaking, or the well-planted kick, or the shock to his sys- 
 tem, it is impossible to say, but he was in the upshot con- 
 strained to keep his bed for several days. Indeed, the first 
 service that he took was on the occasion of the 02Dening of 
 the ancient Ceswick vault to receive the remains of the re- 
 cently deceased lady. The only territorial possession 
 which remained to the Ceswicks was their vault. Indeed, 
 as Florence afterward remarked to her sister, there was a 
 certain irony in the reflection that of all their wide acres 
 there remained only the few square feet of soil, which for 
 centuries had covered the bones of the race. 
 
 When their aunt was dead and buried, the two girls went 
 back to the cottage, and were very desolate. They had 
 both of them loved the old lady in their separate ways, 
 more especially Florence, both because she possessed the 
 deeper nature of the two, and because she had lived the 
 longest with her. 
 
 But the grief of youth at the departure of age is not in- 
 consolable, and after a month or so they had conquered the 
 
143 THE witch's head. 
 
 worst of their sorrow. Then it was that the question what 
 they were to do came prominently to the fore. Such little 
 property as their aunt had possessed was equally divided 
 between them, and the cottage left to their joint use. This 
 gave them enough to live on in their quiet way, but it un- 
 doubtedly left them in a very lonely and unprotected posi- 
 tion. Such as it was, however, they, or rather Florence, 
 for she managed all the business, decided to make the best 
 of it. At Kesterwick they were, at any rate, Jjnown, and 
 it was, they felt, better to stay there than to float away and 
 become waifs and strays on the great sea of English life. 
 So they settled to stay. 
 
 Florence had, moreover, her own reasons for staying. 
 She had come to the conclusion that it would be desirable 
 that her sister Eva should marry Mr. Plowden. Not that 
 she liked Mr. Plowden — her lady's instincts rose up in re- 
 bellion against the man — but if Eva did not marry him, it 
 was probable that she would in the long run marry Ernest, 
 and Ernest, Florence swore, she. should not marry. -To 
 prevent such a marriage was the main purpose of her life. 
 Her jealousy and hatred of her sister had become a part of 
 herself; the gratification of her revenge was the evil star by 
 which she shaped her course. It may seem a terrible thing 
 that so young a woman could give the best energies of her 
 life to such a purpose, but it was none the less the truth. 
 
 Hers was a wild, strange nature, a nature capable of vio- 
 lent love and violent hate; the same pendulum could swing 
 with equal ease to each extreme. Eva had robbed her of 
 her lover; she would rob Eva, and put the prize out of her 
 reach, too. Little she recked of the wickedness of her de- 
 sign, for where in the long record of human crime is there 
 a wickedness to surpass the deliberate separation, for no 
 good reason, of two people who love each other with all 
 their hearts? Surely there is none. She knew this, but she 
 did not hesitate on that account. She was not hypocritical. 
 She made no excuses to herself. She knew well that on 
 every ground it was best that Eva should marry Ernest, 
 and pursue her natural destiny, happy in his love and in 
 her own. But she would have none of it. If once they 
 should meet again, the game would pass out of hor hands, 
 for the weakest woman grows strong of purpose when she 
 has her lover's arm to lean on. Florence realized this, and 
 determined that they should never set eyes on each other 
 
THE witch's head. 143 
 
 until an impassable barrier in the shape of Mr. Plowdea 
 had been raised between the two. Having thus finally de- 
 termined on the sacrifice, she set about whetting the knife. 
 
 One day, a month or so after Miss Oeswick was buried, 
 Mr. Plowden called at the cottage on some of the endless 
 details of which district visiting was the parent. He had 
 hardly seen Eva since that never-to-be-forgotten day, when 
 he had learned what Jeremy's ideas of a shaking were, for 
 the very good reason that she had carefully kept out of his 
 way. 
 
 So it came to pass that when, looking out of the window 
 on the afternoon in question, she saw the crown of a cler- 
 ical hat coming along the road, Eva promptly gathered up 
 her work and commenced a hasty retreat to her bedroom. 
 
 " Where are you going to, Eva?" asked her sister. 
 
 " Upstairs — here he comes." 
 
 " He? who is ' he '?" 
 
 " Mr. Plowden, of course." 
 
 " And why should you run away because Mr. Plowden is 
 coming?" 
 
 " I do not like Mr. Plowden." 
 
 " Eeally, Eva, you are. too bad. You know what a 
 friendless position we are in just now, and you go and get 
 up a dislike to one of the few men we know. It is very 
 selfish of you, and most unreasonable." 
 
 At that moment the front-door bell rang, and Eva fled. 
 
 Mr. Plowden on entering looked round the room with a 
 somewhat disappointed air. 
 
 " If you are looking for my sister," said Florence, " she 
 is not very well." 
 
 " Indeed, I am afraid that her health is not good; she is 
 often indisposed." 
 
 Florence smiled, and they dropped into the district visit- 
 ing. Presently, however, Florence dropped out again. 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Plowden, I want to tell you of some- 
 thing I heard the other day, and which concerns you. In- 
 deed, I think that it is only right that I should do so. I 
 heard that you were seen talking to my sister, not very far 
 from the Titheburgh Abbey cottages, and that she — she 
 ran away from you. Then Mr. Jones jumped over the 
 wall, and also began to talk with you. Presently he also 
 turned; and, so said my informant, yon struck at him with 
 
144 THE witch's head. 
 
 a heavy stick, but missed him. Thereupon a tussle ensued, 
 and you got the worst of it. " 
 
 " He irritated me beyond all endurance," broke in Mr. 
 Plowden,. excitedly. 
 
 " Oh, then the story is true?" 
 
 Mr. Plowden saw that he had made a fatal mistake, but 
 it was too late to deny it. 
 
 " To a certain extent," he said, sulkily. " That young 
 ruflSan told me that I was not a gentleman." 
 
 "Really! Of course that was unpleasant. But how 
 glad you must feel that you missed him, especially as his 
 back was turned! It would have looked so bad for a clergy- 
 man to be had up for assault, or worse, wouldn't it?" 
 
 Mr. Plowden turned pale and bit his lip. He began to 
 feel that he was in the power of this quiet, dignified young 
 woman, and the feeling was not pleasant. 
 
 " And it would not look very well if the story got round 
 here, would it? I mean even if it was not known that you 
 hit at him with the stick when he was not looking, because, 
 you see, it would sound so absurd! The idea of a clergy- 
 man more than six feet high being shaken like a naughty 
 child! I suppose that Mr. Jones is very strong." 
 
 Mr. Plowden winced beneath her mockery, and rising, 
 seized his hat, but she motioned him back to his chair. 
 
 " Don't go yet," she said. " I wanted to tell you that 
 you ought to be much obliged to me for thinking of all this 
 for you. I thought that it would be painful to you to have 
 the story all over the country-side, so I nipped it in the 
 bud." 
 
 Mr. Plowden groaned in spirit. If these were the results 
 of a story nipped in the bud, what would its uninjured 
 bloom be like? 
 
 " Who told you?" he asked, brusquely. "Jones went 
 away." 
 
 " Yes. How glad you must be, by the way, that he is 
 gone! But it was not Mr. Jones, it was a person who over- 
 saw the difference of opinion. No, never mind who it was; 
 I have found means to silence that person." 
 
 Little did Mr. Plowden guess that during the whole 
 course of his love-scene, and the subsequent affair with 
 Jeremy, there had leaned gracefully in an angle of the sod 
 wall, not twenty yards atvay, a figure uncommonly resem- 
 
THE WiaXJH'S HEAD. 145 
 
 bling that of an ancient mariner in an attitude of the most 
 intense and solemn contemplation; but so it was. 
 
 " I am grateful to you, Miss Ceswick." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Plowden, it is refreshing to meet -with 
 true gratitude, it is a scarce flower in this world; but really 
 I don't deserve any. The observer who oversaw the pain- 
 ful scene between you and Mr. Joaes also oversaw a scene 
 preceding it, that, so far as I can gather, seems to have 
 been hardly less painful in its way." 
 
 Mr. Plowdea colored, but said nothing. 
 
 " Now, you see, Mr. Plowden, I am left in a rather pe- 
 culiar position as regards my sister; she is younger than 1 
 am, and has always been accustomed to look up to me, so, 
 as you will easily understand, I feel my responsibilities to 
 weigh upon me. Consequently, I feel bound to ask you 
 what I am to understand from the report of my informant?" 
 
 " Simply this. Miss Ceswick; I proposed to your sister, 
 and she refused me." 
 
 " Indeed! you were unfortunate that afternoon." 
 
 "Miss Ceswick,^' went on Mr. Plowden, after a pause, 
 " if I could find means to induce your sister to change her 
 verdict, would my suit have your support?" 
 
 Florence raised her piercing eyes from her work, and for 
 a second fixed them on the clergyman's face. 
 
 " That depends, Mr. Plowden. " 
 
 " I am well off," he went on, eagerly, " and I will tell 
 you a secret. I have bought the advowson of this living; I 
 happened to hear it was going, and got it at a bargain. I 
 don t think that Halford's life is worth five years' pur- 
 chase." 
 
 " Why do you want to marry Eva, Mr. Plowden?" asked 
 Florence, ignoring this piece of information; "you are not 
 in love with her?' ' 
 
 "In love! No, Miss Ceswick. I don't think that sen- 
 sible men fall in love; they leave that to boys and- women." 
 
 " Oh! Then why do you want to marry Eva? It will 
 be best to tell me frankly, Mr. Plowden. " 
 
 He hesitated, and then came to the conclusion that with 
 a person of Florence's penetration frankness was the best 
 game. 
 
 " Well, as you must know, your sister is an extraordi- 
 narily beaatifnl woman." 
 
146 THE witch's head.] 
 
 " And would therefore form a desirable addition to your 
 establishment?" 
 
 " Precisely," said Mr. Plowden. " Also," he went on, 
 " she is a distinguished-looking woman, and quite the lady. " 
 
 Florence shuddered at the phrase. 
 
 " And would therefore give you social status, Mr. Plow- 
 den?" 
 
 " Yes. She is also sprung from an ancient family." 
 
 Florence smiled, and looked at Mr. Plowden with an air 
 that said more plainly than any words, " Which you clear- 
 ly are not. " 
 
 " In short, I am anxious to get married, and I admire 
 your sister Eva more than anybody I ever saw." 
 
 "All of which are very satisfactory reasons, Mr. Plow- 
 den; all you have to do is to convince my sister of the many 
 advantages you have to offer her, and — to win her altec- 
 tions." 
 
 " Ah, Miss Ceswick, that is just the point. She told me 
 that her affections are already irredeemably engaged, and 
 that she had none to give. If only I have the opportunity, 
 however, I shall hope to be able to distance my rival." 
 
 Florence looked at him scrutiuizingly as she answered: 
 
 " You do not know Ernest Kershaw, or you would not 
 be so confident." 
 
 "Why am I not as good as this Ernest?" he asked; for 
 Florence's remark, identical as it was with that of Jeremy, 
 wounded his vanity intensely. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Plowden, I do not want to be rude, bat it is 
 impossible for me to conceive a woman's affections being 
 won away from Ernest Kersbaw by you. You are so very 
 different." 
 
 "If Mr. Plowden wanted a straightforward answer^he had 
 certainly got it. For some moments he sat in sulky si- 
 lence, and then he said : 
 
 " I suppose, if that is the case, there is nothing to be 
 done. " 
 
 "I never said that. Women are frequently married 
 whose affections are very much engaged elsewhere. You 
 know how they win their wives in savage countries, Mr. 
 Plowden; they catch them. Marriage by capture is one of 
 the oldest institutions in the world." 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " Well, the same institution still obtains in England, 
 
THE witch's head. 147 
 
 only we don't call it by that name. Do you suppose that 
 no women are hunted down nowadays? Ah, very many 
 are; the would-be husband heads the pack, and all the lov- 
 ing relatives swell its cry." 
 
 "You mean that your sister can be hunted down?" he 
 said, bluntly. 
 
 "I! I mean nothing, except that the persistent suitor 
 on the spot often has a better chance than the lover at a 
 distance, however deal- he may be." 
 
 Tlien Mr. Plowden took his leave. Florence watched 
 him walking down the garden-path. 
 
 " I am glad Jeremy shook you soundly," she said, aloud. 
 " Poor Eva!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ME. PL0WDE3S" GOES A-WOOING. 
 
 Mb. Plowden was not a suitor to let the grass grow 
 under his feet. As he once took the trouble to explain to 
 Florence, he considered that there was nothing like bold- 
 ness in wooing, and he acted up to his convictions. Possess- 
 ing no more delicacy of feeling than a bull-elephant, and as 
 much consideration for the lady as the elephant has for the 
 lily it tramples under foot, he, figuratively speaking, 
 charged at Eva every time he saw her. He laid wait for 
 her round corners, and asked her to marry him; he 
 dropped in on her at odd hours, and insisted upon her mar- 
 rying him. It was quite useless for her to say, " No, no, 
 no, " or to appeal to his better feelings or compassion, for 
 he had none. He simply would not listen to her; but, en- 
 couraged thereto by the moral support which he received 
 from Florence, he crushed the poor girl with his amorous 
 eloquence. 
 
 It was a merry chase that Florence sat and watched with 
 a dark smile on her scornful lip. In vain did the poor 
 white doe dash along at her best speed, the great black 
 hound was ever at her flank, and each time she turned came 
 bounding at her throat. This idea of a chase, and a hound, 
 and a doe, took such a strong possession of Floreuce's sat- 
 urnine imagination, that she actually made a drawing of 
 it, for she was a clever artist, throwing by a few strokes of 
 her pencil a perfect likeness of Mr. Plowden into the fierce 
 
148 THE witch's head. 
 
 features of the hound. The doe she drew with Eva's dark 
 eyes, and when she had done them there was such a world 
 of agony in their tortured gaze tliat she could not bear to 
 look at them, and tore her picture up. 
 
 One day Florence came in and found her sister weeping. 
 
 " Well, Eva, what is it now?" she asked, contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 " Mr. Plowden," sobbed Eva. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Plowden again! Well, my dear, if you will 
 be so beautiful, and encourage men, you must take the con- 
 sequeaces." 
 
 " I never encouraged Mr. Plowden." 
 
 " Nonsense, Eva! you will not get me to believe that. 
 If you do not encourage him, he would not go on making 
 love to you. Gentlemen are not so fond of being snubbed." 
 
 " Mr. Plowden is not a gentleman," exclaimed Eva. 
 
 " What makes you say that?" 
 
 " Because a gentleman would not persecute one as he 
 does. He will not take No for an answer, and to-day he 
 kissed my hand. I tried to get it away from him, but I 
 could not. Oh, 1 hate him!" 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Eva; I have no patience with you 
 and your fancies. Mr. Plowden is a very respectable man, 
 he is a clergyman, and well off, altogether quite the sort of 
 man to marry. Ah, Ernest — I am sick of Ernest! If he 
 wanted to marry you, he should not go shooting people, 
 and then running off to South Africa. Don't you be so 
 silly as to pin your faith to a boy like that. He was all 
 very well to flirt with while he was here; now he has made 
 a fool of himself and gone, and there is an end of him. " 
 
 " But, Florence, I love Ernest. I think I love him more 
 dearly every day, and I detest Mr. Plowden. " 
 
 " Very likely. I don't ask you to love Mr. Plowden; I 
 ask you to marry him. What have love and marriage got 
 to do with each other, I should like to know? If people 
 were always to marry the people they loved, things would 
 soon get into a pretty mess. Look here, Eva, as you know, 
 I do not often obtrude myself or my own interests, but I 
 think that I have a right to be considered a little in this 
 matter. You have now got an opportunity of making a 
 home for both of us. There is nothing against Mr. Plow- 
 den. Why should you not marry him as well as anybody 
 else? Of course if you choose to sacrifice your own ultimate 
 
THE witch's head. 149 
 
 happiness and the comfort of us both to a silly whim, I can 
 not prevent you, you are your own mistress. Only I beg 
 you to disabuse your mind of the idea that you could not be 
 happy with Mr. Plowden, because you happen to fancy 
 yourself in love with Ernest. Why, in six months you 
 will have forgotten all about him." 
 
 " But I don't want to forget about him." 
 
 "I dare say not. That is your abominable egotism 
 again. But whether you want to or not, you will. In a 
 year or two, when you have your own interests and your 
 children — " 
 
 " Florence, you may talk till midnight if you like, but 
 once and for all, I will not marry Mr. Plowden," and she 
 swept out of the room in her stately way. 
 
 Florence laughed softly to herself as she said after her: 
 
 " Ah, yes yon will, Eva. I shall be pinning a bride's 
 veil on to that proud head of yours before you are six 
 months older, my dear." 
 
 Florence was quite right, it was only a question of time 
 and cunningly appHed pressure. Eva yielded at last. 
 
 But there is no need for us to follow the hateful story 
 through its various stages. If by chance any of the 
 readers of this history are curious about them, let them go 
 and study from the life. Such cases exist around them, and, 
 so far as the victims are concerned, there is a painful mon- 
 otony in the development of their details and their con- 
 clusion. 
 
 And so it came to pass that one afternoon in the early 
 summer, Florence, coming in from walking, found Mr. 
 Plowden and her sister together in the little drawing-room. 
 The latter was very pale, and shrinking with scared eyes 
 and trembling limbs up against the mantel-piece, near 
 which she was standing. The former, looking big and vul- 
 gar, was standing over her and trying to take her hand. 
 
 " Congratulate me. Miss Florence," he said. " Eva has 
 promised to be mine." 
 
 "Has she?" said Florence, coldly. "How glad you 
 must be that Mr. Jones is out of the way!" 
 
 It was not_ a kind speech, but the fact was, there were 
 few people in the world for whom Florence had such a 
 complete contempt, or whom she regarded with such in- 
 tense dislike as she did Mr. Plowden. The mere presence 
 of the man irritated her beyond all bearing. He was an 
 
150 THE witch's head. 
 
 instrument suited to her purposes, so she used him, but she 
 could find it in her heart to regret that the instrument was 
 not more pleasant to handle. 
 
 Mr. Plowden turned pale at her taunt, and even in the 
 midst of her fear and misery Eva smiled, and thought to 
 herself that it was lucky for her hateful lover that some- 
 body else was " out of the way." 
 
 Poor Eva! 
 
 " Poor Eva!" you think to yourself, my reader; " there 
 was nothing poor about her; she was weak, she was con- 
 temptible. " 
 
 Oh, pause awhile before you say so! Kemember that cir- 
 cumstances were against her; remember that the idea of 
 duty, drilled into her breast and the breasts of her ances- 
 tresses from generation to generation by the superior animal 
 man, and fated as often as not to prove more of a bane 
 than a blessing, was against her; remember that her sister's 
 ever-present influence overshadowed her, and that her 
 suitor's vulgar vitality crushed her to the ground. 
 
 " Yet with it all she was weak," you say. AVell, she was 
 weak, as weak as you must expect women to be after cen- 
 turies of tyranny have bred weakness into their very nature. 
 Why are women weak? Because men have made them so. 
 Because the law that was framed by men, and the public 
 opinion which it has been their privilege to direct, have 
 from age to age drilled into them the belief that they are 
 naught but chattels, to be owned and played with, existing 
 for their pleasure and their passion, and ranking in value 
 somewhere between their houses and their oxen. Because 
 men, being the stronger animals, have crushed and forced 
 them into certain molds, saying, "Thus shalt-ChW be." 
 Because men have systematically stunted their mtsntal 
 growth and denied them their natural rights, and that 
 equality which is theirs before high Heaven. Weak! — 
 women have become weak because weakness is the passport 
 to the favor of our sex. They have become foolish because 
 education has been withheld from them and ability discour- 
 aged; they have become frivolous because frivolity has been 
 declared to be the natural mission of woman. There is no 
 male simpleton who does not like to have a bigger simple- 
 ton than he is to lord it over. What would the empty- 
 headed donkeys do if there were none emptier-headed than 
 they to re-echo their brays.'' Truly the triumph of the 
 
THE witch's head. 151 
 
 stronger sex has been complete, for it has even succeeded 
 in ealisting its victims in its service. The great instru- 
 ments in the suppression of women, and in their retention 
 at their present level, are women themselves. And yet 
 before we go home and bully our wives and daughters, or 
 to the club and sneer at the weaknesses and failings of 
 those of others, let us be for a minute just. Which is the 
 superior of the two — the woman or the man? In brute 
 strength we have the advantage, but in intellect she is 
 probably our equal, if only we will give her fair play. And 
 in purity, in tenderness, in long-suffering, in fidelity, in all 
 the Christian virtues, which is the superior in these things? 
 Oh, man! whoever you are, think of your mother and your 
 sisters; think of the eyes that first looked love upon you, 
 and the heart that dreams it still; think of her who 
 nursed you in sickness, of her who stood by you in trouble 
 when all others would have none of you, and then answer. 
 
 Woman, divinest of God's creatures, golden vessel turned 
 to common uses, sweet star made to serve as the drunkard's 
 lamp and the profligate's plaything: yes, pluckedfrom your 
 native skies to be worn alike by the fool, the knave, and 
 the self-seeker, and yet faithful to them all; to be trod into 
 the dirt by the earthy brute, and jeered at by the heartless 
 cynic— how immeasurable is the injustice, how vast the 
 wrong that has been and is daily being heaped upon you! 
 
 How much we hear of woman's duty to man, how little 
 of man's duty to woman! how hard we are upon your sins 
 and weaknesses, how tender you are to ours! 
 
 Surely it will be a happy day for the civilized world 
 when, freed at last by the growth of knowledge and the in- 
 creased sense of justice, woman takes her place as man's 
 equal, no longer his vassal and the minister to his wants 
 and pleasures only, but as his equal; when she brings her 
 fine intellect and enlarged capacity to bear upon the ques- 
 tions which hitherto he has been pleased to consider his ex- 
 clusive right, and her trained intelligence to their solution; 
 when the social barriers are broken down and she is un- 
 trammeled in the exercise of her natural rights, except by 
 the truer sense of virtue and the stronger sense of duty 
 which even now often elevate her far above our heads. 
 
 Poor Eva! Yes, give her all your pity, but purge it of 
 your contempt. It requires that a woman should possess a 
 mind of unusual robustness to stand out against circum- 
 
153 THTE witch's HEAD. 
 
 stances .such as hemmed her in, and this she did not possess. 
 Nature, which had showered physical gifts upon her with 
 such a lavish hand, had not given her that most useful of 
 all gifts, the power of self-defense. She was made to 
 yield; but this was her only fault. For the rest she was 
 pure as the mountain snow, and with a heart of gold. 
 Herself incapable of deceit, it never occurred to her to im- 
 agine it in others. She never suspected that Florence could 
 have a motive in her advocacy of Mr. Plowden's cause. On 
 the contrary, she was possessed to the full with that idea of 
 duty and self-sacrifice which in some women amounts 
 almost to madness. The notion so cleverly started by 
 Florence, that she was bound to take this opportunity of 
 giving her sister a home and the permanent protection of a 
 brother-in-law, had taken a firm hold of her mind. As for 
 the cruel wrong and injustice which her marriage with Mr. 
 Plowden would work to Ernest, it, strange as it may seem, 
 never occurred to her to consider the matter in that h'ght. 
 
 She knew what her own sufferings were and always must 
 be; she knew that she would rather die than be false to 
 Ernest; but somehow she never looked at the other side of 
 the picture, never considered the matter from Ernest's 
 point of view. After the true womanly fashion she was 
 prepared to throw herself under her hideous Juggernaut 
 called duty, and let her inner life, the life of her heart, be 
 crushed out of her; but she never thought of the twin life 
 which was welded with her own, and which must be crushed 
 too. How curious it is that when women talk so much of 
 their duties they often think so little of the higher duty which 
 they owe to the man whose whole love they have won, and 
 whom they cherish in their misguided hearts! The only 
 feasible explanation of the mystery is, that one of the ideas 
 that has been persistently drilled into the female breast is 
 that men have not any real feelings. It is vaguely sup- 
 posed that they will " get over it." However this may be, 
 when a woman decides to do violence to her natural feel- 
 ings and contracts herself into an unholy marriage, the 
 lover whom she deserts is generally the last person to be 
 considered. Poor wretch! he will, no doubt, " get over 
 it." 
 
 Fortunately, many do. 
 
THE witch's head. 153 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 OVER THE W ATEE. 
 
 Me. Alstos" and Ernest carried out their plans as re- 
 gards sport. They went up to Lydenburg and had a 
 month's wilderbeeste and blesbok shooting within three 
 days' " trek " with an ox-wagon from that curious little 
 town. The style of life was quite new to Ernest, and he 
 enjoyed ib much. They had an ox-wagon and a span of 
 sixteen "salted" oxen, that is, oxen who will not die of 
 lung-sickness, and in this lumbering vehicle they traveled 
 about wherever fancy or the presence of buck took them. 
 Mr. Alston and his boy Eoger slept in the wagon, and 
 Ernest in a little tent which was pitched every night along- 
 side, and never did he sleep sounder. There was a fresh- 
 ness and freedom about the life which charmed him. It is 
 pleasant after the day's shooting or traveling to partake of 
 the hearty meal, of which the piece de resistance generally 
 consists of a stew compounded iudiscriminately of wUder- 
 beeste-beef, bustard, partridges, snipe, rice, and compressed 
 vegetables — a dish, by the wa3% which is, if properly 
 cooked, fit to set before a king. And then comes the pipe, 
 or rather a succession of pipes, and the talk over the day's 
 sport, and theefEect of that long shot, and the hunting-yarn 
 that it " reminds me " of. And after the yarn the well- 
 known square bottle is produced, and the tin pannikins, 
 out of which you have been drinking tea, are sent to the 
 spring down in the hollow to be washed by the Zulu " voor- 
 looper," who objects to going because of the "spooks" 
 (ghosts) which he is credibly informed inhabit that hollow; 
 and you indulge in your evening " tot," and smoke more 
 pipes, and talk or ruminate as the fancy takes you. And 
 then at last up comes the splendid African moon like a 
 radiant queen rising from a throne of inky cloud, flooding 
 the whole wide veldt with mysterious light, and reveals the 
 long lines of game slowly traveling to their feeaing-grounds 
 along the ridges of the rolling plam. 
 
 Well, " one more drop," and then to bed, having come 
 to the admirable decision (so easy to make overnight, so 
 hard to adhere to when the time comes) to " trek from the 
 
154 THE witch's head. 
 
 yoke" at dawn. And then, having undressed yourself 
 outside, all except the flannel shirt in which you are going 
 to sleep, for there is no room to do so inside, you stow your 
 clothes and boots away under your mackintosh sheet, for 
 clothes, wet through with dew are unpleasant to wear be- 
 fore the sun is up, and creep on your hands and knees iato 
 your little tenement and wriggle between the blankets. 
 
 For awhile, perhaps, you lie so, your pipe still between 
 your lips, and gazing up through the opening of the little 
 tent at two bright particular stars shining in the blue 
 depths above, or watching the waving of the tall tambouki- 
 grass as the night wind goes sighing through it. And then, 
 behold ! the cold far stars draw near, grow warm with life, 
 and change to Eva's eyes — if you have an Eva — and the 
 yellow tambouki-grass is her waving hair, and the sad whis- 
 pering of the wind her voice, which speaks and tells you 
 that she has come from far across the great seas to tell you 
 that she loves you, to lull you to your rest. 
 
 What was it that frighted her so soon? The rattling of 
 chains and the deep lowing of the oxen, rising to be ready 
 for the dawn. It has not come yet, but it is not far off. 
 See, the gray light begins to gleam upon the oxen's horns, 
 and far away, there in the east, the gray is streaked with 
 primrose. Away with dreams, and up to pull the shiver- 
 ing Kafirs from their snug lair beneath the wagon, and to 
 give the good nags, which must gallop wilderbeeste all to- 
 day, a double handful of mealies before you start. 
 
 All neii-yak-trek ! the great wagon strains and starts, 
 and presently the glorious sun comes up, and you eat a 
 crust of bread as you sit on the wagon-fjox, and wash it 
 down with a mouthful of spirit, and feei that it ig a splen- 
 did thing to get up early. 
 
 Then, about half past eight, comes the halt for break- 
 fast, and the welcome tub in the clear stream that you 
 have been making for, and after breakfast, saddle up the 
 nags, take your bearings by the kopje, and off after that 
 great herd of wilderbeeste. 
 
 And so, my reader, day adds itself to-day, and each day 
 will find you healthier, happier, and stronger than the last. 
 No letters, no newspapers, no duiis, and no babies. Oh, 
 think of the joy of it, effete Caucasian, and go buy an ox- 
 wagon and do likewise. 
 After a month of this life, Mr. Alston came to the con- 
 
THE witch's head. 155 
 
 elusion that there would now be no danger in descending 
 into the low country toward Delagoa Bay in search of large 
 game. Accordingly, having added to their party another 
 would-be TSIinirod, a gentleman just arrived from England 
 in search of sport, they started. For the first month or so 
 things went very well with them. They killed a good 
 quantity of buffalo, koodoo, eland, and water-buck, also 
 two giraffe, but to Ernest's great disappointment did not 
 come across any rhinoceros, and only got a shot at one lion, 
 which he missed, though there were plenty round them. 
 But soon the luck turned. First their horses died of the 
 terrible scourge of all this part of South Africa, the horse- 
 sickness. They had given large prices for them, about 
 seventy pounds each, as " salted " animals, that is, ani- 
 mals that, having already had the sickness and recovered 
 from it, were supposed to be proof against its attacks. But 
 for all that they died one after another. This was only the 
 beginning of evils. The day after the last horse died, the 
 companion who had joined them at Lydenburg was taken 
 ill of the fever. Mr. Jeffries, for that was his name, was 
 a very reserved English gentleman of good fortune, some- 
 thing over thirty years of age. Like most people who came 
 into close relationship with Ernest, he had taken a consid- 
 erable fancy to him, and the two were, comparatively speak- 
 ing, intimate. During the first stages of his fever, Ernest 
 nursed him like a brother, and was at length rewarded by 
 seeing him in a fair way to recovery. On one unlucky day, 
 however, Jeffries being so much better, Mr. Alston and 
 Ernest went out to try and shoot a buck, as they were short 
 of meat, leaving the camp in charge of the boy Roger. For 
 a long while they could find no game, but at last Ernest 
 came across a fine bull-eland standing rubbing himself 
 against a mimosa-thorn-tree. A shot from his express, 
 planted well behind the shoulder, brought the noble beast 
 down quite dead, and having laden the two Kafirs with 
 them with the tongue, liver, and as much of the best meat 
 as they could carry, they started back for camp. 
 
 Meanwhile one of the sudden and tremendous thunder- 
 storms pecuHar to South Africa came swiftly up against 
 the wind, heralding its arrival by a blast of ice-cold air; 
 and presently they were staggering along in the teeth of a 
 fearful tempest. The whole sky was lurid with lightning, 
 the hills echoed with the continuous roll of thunder, and 
 
15« THE witch's head. 
 
 the rain came down in sheets. In the thick of it all, ex- 
 hausted, bewildered, and wet to the skin, they reached tha 
 camp. There a sad sight awaited them. In front of the 
 tent which served as a hospital for Jeffries was a large ant- 
 heap, and on this ant-heap, clad in nothing but a flannel 
 shirt, sat Jeffries himself. The rain was beating on his 
 bare head and emaciated face, and the ice-cold breeze was 
 tossing his dripping hair. One hand he kept raising to the 
 sky to let tlie cold water fall upon it; the other the boy 
 Eoger held, and by it vainly attempted to drag him back to 
 the tent. But Jeffries was a man of large build, and the 
 little lad might as well have tried to drag an ox. 
 
 " Isn't it glorious?" shouted the delirious man, as they 
 came up; " I've got cool at last." 
 
 " Yes, and you will soon be cold, poor fellow!" muttered 
 Mr. Alston as they hurried up. 
 
 They got him back into the tent, and in half an hour he 
 was beyond all hope. He did not rave much, but kept re- 
 peating a single word in every possible tone. That word 
 was — 
 "Alice." 
 
 At dawn on the following morning he died with it on his 
 lips. Ernest often wondered afterward who "Alice" 
 could be. 
 
 Next day they dug a deep grave under an ancient thorn- 
 tree, and reverently laid him to his rest. On his breast they 
 piled great stones to keep away the jackals, filling in the 
 cracks with earth. 
 
 Then they left him to his sleep. It is a sad task that, 
 burying a comrade in the lonely wilderness. 
 
 As they were approaching the wagon again, little Eoger 
 sobbing bitterly, for Mr. Jeffries had been very kind to 
 him, and a first experience of death is dreadful to the young, 
 they met the Zulu voorlooper, a lad called Jim, who had 
 been out all day watching the cattle as they grazed. He 
 saluted Mr. Alston after the Zulu fashion, by lifting the 
 right arm and saying the word " Inkoos," and then stood 
 still. 
 
 " Well, what is it, boy?" asked Mr. Alston. " Have 
 you lost the oxen?" 
 
 " No, Inkoos, the oxen are safe at the yoke. It is this. 
 When I was sitting on the kopje yonder, watching that the 
 oxen of the Inkoos should not stray, an lutombi (young 
 
THE witch's head, 157 
 
 girl) from the kraal under the mountain yonder came to 
 me. She is the daughter of a Zulu mother who fell into the 
 hands of a Basutu dog, and my half -cousin. " 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " Inkoos, I have met this girl before, I have met her 
 when I have been sent to buy ' maas ' (buttermilk) at the 
 kraal." 
 
 " Good!" 
 
 " Inkoos, the girl came to bring heavy news, such as wiU 
 
 Sress upon your heart. Sikukuni, chief of the Bapedi, who 
 ves over yonder under the Blue Mountains, has declared 
 war against the Boers. " 
 
 "I hear." 
 
 " Sikukuni wants rifles for his men such as the Boers 
 use. He has heard of the Inkosis hunting here. To-night 
 he will send an Impi to kill the Inkosis and take their 
 guns." 
 
 " These are the words of the Intombi?" 
 
 " Yes, Inkoos, these are her very words. She was sitting 
 outside the tent grinding " imphi ' (Kafir corn) for beer, 
 when she heard Sikukani's messenger order her father to 
 call the men together to kill us to-night." 
 
 " I hear. At what time of the night was the killing to 
 be?" 
 
 " At the first break of the dawn, so that they may have 
 light to take the wagon away by. " 
 
 " Good J we shall escape them. The moon will be up in 
 an hour, and we can trek away." 
 
 The lad's face fell. 
 
 " Alas!" he said, " it is impossible; there is a spy watch- 
 ing the camp now. He is up there among the rocks; I saw 
 him as I brought the oxen home. I£ we move he will re- 
 port it, and we shall be overtaken in an hour. " 
 
 Mr. Alston thought for a moment, and then made up his 
 mind with the rapidity that characterizes men who spend 
 their life in dealing with savage races. 
 
 " Mazooku!" he called to a Zulu who was sitting smok- 
 ing by the camp-fire, a man whom Ernest had hired as his 
 particular servant. The man rose and came to him, and 
 saluted. 
 
 He was not a very tall man; but, standing there nude 
 except for the " moocha " round his center, his propor- 
 tions, especially those of the chest and lower limbs, looked 
 
158 THE WITCH S HEAD. 
 
 gigantic. He had been a soldier in one of Cetywayo's 
 regiments, but having been so indiscreet as to break through 
 some of the Zulu marriage laws, had been forced to fly for 
 refuge to Natal, where he had become a groom, and picked 
 up a peculiar language which he called English. Even 
 among a people where all the men are fearless, he bore a 
 reputation for bravery. Leaving him standing awhile, Mr. 
 Alston rapidly explained the state of the case to Ernest, 
 and what he proposed to do. Then turning, he addressed 
 the Zulu. 
 
 " Mazooku, the Inkoos here, your master, tells me that 
 he thinks you a brave man." 
 
 The Zulu's handsome face expanded into a smile that 
 was positively alarming in its extent. 
 
 " He says that you told him that when you were Cety- 
 wayo's man in the Undi Eegiment, you once killed four 
 Basutus, who set upon you together." 
 
 Mazooku lifted his right arm and saluted, by way of an- 
 swer, and then glanced slightly at the assegai-wounds on 
 his chest. 
 
 " Well, I tell your master that I do not believe you. It 
 is a lie you speak to him; you ran away from Cetywayo be- 
 cause you did not like to fight and be killed as the king's 
 ox, as a brave man should." 
 
 The Zulu colored up under his dusky skin, and again 
 glanced at his wounds. 
 
 "Ow-w!" he said. 
 
 " Bah! there is no need for you to look at those scratches; 
 they were left by women's nails. You are nothing but a 
 woman. Silence! who told you to speak? If you are not 
 a woman, show it. There is an armed Basutu among those 
 rocks. He watches us. Your master can not eat and 
 sleep in peace when he is watched. Take that big ' bang- 
 wan ' (stabbing assegai) you are so fond of showing, and 
 kill him, or die a coward! He must make no sound, re- 
 member." 
 
 Mazooku turned toward Ernest for confirmation of the 
 order. A Zulu always likes to take his orders straight from 
 his own chief. Mr. Alston noticed it, and added: 
 
 " I am the Inkoosi's mouth, and speak his words." 
 
 Mazooku saluted again, and turning, went to the wagon 
 to fetch his assegai. 
 
 " Tread softly, or you will wake him; and he will run 
 
She witch's head. l59 
 
 from so great a man," Mr. Alston called after him sarcas- 
 tically. 
 
 " 1 go among the rocks to seek ' mouti ' " (medicine), 
 the Zulu answered, with a smile. 
 
 " We are in a serious mess, my boy," said Mr. Alston to 
 Ernest, " and it is a toss-up if we get out of it. I taunted 
 that fellow so that there may be no mistake about the spy. 
 He must be killed, and Mazooku will rather die himself 
 than not kill him now.." 
 
 " Would it not have been safer to send another man with 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes; but I was afraid that if the scout saw two men 
 coming toward him he would make off, however innocent 
 they might look. Our horses are dead, aricl if that fellow 
 escapes we shall never get out of this place alive. It w.,uld 
 be folly to expect Basutus to distinguish between P oers and 
 Englishmen when their blood is up; and besidpo, Sikukuui 
 has sent orders that we are to be killed, and t'ley would not 
 dare to disobey. Look, there goes Mr. Mf.,zooku with an 
 assegai as big as a fire-shovel." 
 
 The kopj6, or stony hill, where the spy was hid, was 
 about three hundred yards from the little hollow in which 
 the camp was formed, and across the st. , i,?h of bushy plain 
 between the two, Mazooku was quietly strolliiig, his assegai 
 in one hand aud two long sticks in the other, pi-esently he 
 vanished in the shadow, for the sun was rapidly setting, 
 and after what seemed a long pau^e to Ernest, wlio was 
 watchiag his movements through a pair of field-glasses, 
 reappeared walking along the s'aoulder of the hill right 
 against the sky-line, his eyes jxed upon the ground as 
 though he were searching among the crevices of the rocks 
 for the medical herbs which Zulus prize. 
 
 All of a sudden Ernest saw the stalwart figure straighten 
 itself and spring, with the asisegai in its hand raised to the 
 level of its head, down into .'i dip, which hid it from sight. 
 Then came a pause, lastinjf perhaps for twenty seconds. 
 On the further side of the dip was a large flat rock, which 
 was straight in a line with ihe fiery ball of the setting sun. 
 Suddenly a tall figure sprung up out of the hollow on to 
 this rock, followed by another figure, in which Ernest 
 recognized Mazooku. For a moment the two men, looking 
 from their position like figares afire, struggled together on 
 the top of the flat stone, and Ernest could clearly distin- 
 
160 THE witch's head, 
 
 guish the quick flash of their spears as they struck at each 
 other, then they vanished together over the edge of the 
 stone. 
 
 " By Jove!" said Ernest, who was treml^ling with excite- 
 ment. " I wonder how it has ended?" 
 
 " We shall know presently," answered Mr. Alston, 
 coolly. " At any rate the die is cast one way or other, and 
 we may as well make a bolt for it. Now, you Zulus, down 
 with those tents and get the oxen inspanned, and' look 
 quick about it, if you don't want a Basutu assegai to send 
 you to Join the spirit of Chaka. " 
 
 The voorlooper Jim had by this time communicated his 
 alarming intelligence to the driver and other Kaflrs, and 
 Mr. Alston's exhortation to look sharp was quite unneces- 
 sary. Ernest never saw camp struck or oxen inspanned 
 with such rapidity before. But before the first tent was 
 fairly down, they were all enormously relieved to see 
 Mazooku coming trotting cheerfully across the plain, dron- 
 ing a little Zulu song as he ran. His appearance, however, 
 was by no means cheerful, for he was perfectly drenched 
 with blood, some of it flowing from a wound in his left 
 shoulder, and the r£st evidently till recently the personal 
 property of somebody else. Arrived in front of where Mr. 
 Alston and Ernest were standing, he raised his broad as- 
 segai, which was still dripping blood, and saluted. 
 
 " I hear," said Mr. Alston. 
 
 " I have done the Inkoosi's bidding. There were two of 
 them; the firafcl killed easily in the hollow, but the other, 
 a very big man, fought well for a Basutu. They are dead, 
 and I threw them into a hole, that their brothers might not 
 find them easily." 
 
 " Good! go wash yourself and get your master's things 
 into the wagon. Stop! let me sew up that cut. How 
 came you to be so awkward as to get touched by a Basutu?" 
 
 " Inkoos, he was very quick with his spear, and he fought 
 like a cat." 
 
 Mr. Alston did not reply, but taking a stout needle and 
 some silk from a little huswife he carried in his pocket, he 
 quickly stitched up the assegai-gash, which fortunately was 
 not a deep one. Mazooku stood without flinching till the 
 job was finished, and then retired to wash himself at the 
 spring. 
 
 The short twilight rapidly faded into darkness, or rather 
 
THE witch's head. 161 
 
 into what would have been darkness had it not been for the 
 half-grown moon, which was to serve to light, them on their 
 path. Then a large fire having been lit on the site of the 
 camp, to make it appear as though it were still pitched 
 there, the order was given to start. The oxen, obedient to 
 the voice of the driver, strained at the trek-tow, the wagon 
 creaked and jolted, and they began their long flight for 
 life. The order of march was as follows: Two hundred 
 yards ahead of the wagon w?,lked a Kafir, with strict orders 
 to keep his eyes very wide open indeed, and report in the 
 best way possible under the circumstances if he detected 
 any signs of an ambush, At the head of the long line of 
 cattle, leading the two front oxen by a " rim," or strip of 
 buffalo-hide, was the Zulu boy Jim, to whose timely dis- 
 covery they owed their lives, and by the side of the wagon 
 the driver, a Cape Hottentot; plodded al«ng in fear and 
 trembling. On the wagon-box itself, each with a Win- 
 chester repeating rifle on his knees, and keeping a sharp 
 lookout into the shadows, sat Mr. Alston and Ernest. In 
 the hinder part of the wagon, also armed with a rifle and 
 keeping a keen lookout, sat Mazooku. The other servants 
 marched alongside, and the boy Eoger was asleep inside, 
 on the " cartle," or hide bed. 
 
 And so they traveled on hour after hour. Now they 
 bumped down terrific hills strewn with bowlders, which 
 would have smashed anything less solid than an African ox- 
 wagon to splinters; now they crept along a dark valley, 
 that looked weird and solemn in the moonlight, expecting 
 to see Sikukuni's Impi emerging from every clump of bush; 
 and now again they waded through mountain-streams. At 
 last, about midnight, they epierged on to a plain dividing 
 two stretches of mountainous country, and here they halted 
 for awhile to give the oxen, which were fortunately in good 
 condition and fat after their long rest, a short breathing- 
 time. Then on again through the long, quiet night, on, 
 still on, till the dawn found them the other side of the 
 wide plain at the foot of the mountain-range. 
 
 Here they rested for two hours, and let the oxen fill them- 
 selves with the lush grass. They had traveled thirty miles 
 sine* the yokes were put upon their necks, not far accord- 
 ing to our way of journeying, .but very far for cumbersome 
 oxen over an almost impassable country. As soon as the 
 
 sun was well up they inspanned again, and hurried for- 
 s 
 
163 THE witch's head. 
 
 ward, bethinking them of the Basutu horde who would 
 now be pressing on their spoor; on with brief halts 
 through all that day and the greater part of the following 
 night, till the cattle began to fall down in the yokes — till 
 at last they crossed the boundary and were in Transvaal 
 territory. 
 
 When dawn broke, Mr. Alston took the glasses and ex- 
 amined the track over which they had fled. There was 
 nothing to be seen except a great herd of hartebeest. 
 
 " I think that we are safe now," he said at last, " and 
 thank God for it. Do you know what those Basutu devils 
 would have done if they had caught us?" 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " They would have skinned us, and made our hearts and 
 livers into ' mouti ' (medicine), and eaten thsm to give 
 them the couragje of the white man." 
 
 " By Jove!" said Ernest. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A HOMERIC COMBAT. 
 
 Whbk Mr. Alston and Ernest found themselves' safe 
 upon Transvaal soil, they determined to give up the idea 
 of following any more big game for the present, and to 
 content themselves with the comparativCiy humble wilder- 
 beeste, blesbok, springbok, and otFier small antelopes. The 
 phin they pursued was to slowly journey from one point of 
 the country to another, stopping wherever thjy found the 
 buck particularly plentiful. In this way they got excellent 
 sport, and spent several months very agreeably, with the 
 further advantage that Ernest obtained consiclerable knowl- 
 edge of the country and its inhabitants, the Boers. 
 
 It was a wild, rough Hfe that they led, but by no means 
 a lowering one. The continual contact with Isature in all 
 her moods, and in her wildest shapes, was to a man of im- 
 pressionable mind, like Ernest, an education in itself. His 
 mind absorbed something of the greatness round him, and 
 seemed to grow wider and deeper during those mouths of 
 lonely travel. The long struggle, too, with the hundred 
 difficulties which arise in wagon-journeys, and the quick- 
 ness of decision necessary to avoid danger oi- ciiBC-omfort in 
 such a mode of life, were of great service to him in shaping 
 
THE witch's head. 163 
 
 liis character. Nor was ho left without suitable society, for 
 in his companion he found a friend for whose talents and 
 intelligence he had the highest respect. 
 
 Mr. Alston was a very quiet individual; he never said a 
 thing unless he had first considered it in all its bearings; 
 but when he did say it it was alwaj's well wqrtli listening 
 to. He was a man who had spent his life in the closest 
 observation of human nature in the rough. Now you, my 
 reader, may think that there is a considerable difference be- 
 tween human nature " in the rough," as exemplified by a 
 Zulu warrior stalking out of his kraal in a kaross and 
 brandishing an assegai, and yourself, say, strolling up the 
 steps of your club in a frock-coat and twirling one of 
 Brigg's umbrellas. But as a matter of fact the difference 
 is of a most superficial character, bearing the same propor- 
 tion to the common substance that the furniture polish 
 does to the table- Scratch the polish, and there you have 
 best raw Zulu human nature. Indeed, to anyboJy who 
 has taken the trouble to study the question, it is simply 
 absurd to observe how powerless high civilization has been 
 to do anything more than veneer that raw material, v, hich 
 remains identical in each case. 
 
 To return, the i-esult of Mr. Alston's observations hud 
 been to make him an extremely shrewd companion, and an 
 excellent Judge of men and their affairs. Tliere were few- 
 subjects which he ha,d not quietly considered during all the 
 years that he had been trading or shootitig or serving (he 
 government in one capacity or another; and Ernest was 
 astonished to find that, although he had only spent some 
 four months of his life in England, how intimate was his 
 knowledge of the state of political parties, of the great social 
 questions of the day, and even of matters connected with 
 literature and art. It is not too much to say that it was 
 from Mr. Alston that Ernest imbibed principles on all these 
 subjects which he never deserted in after-life, and which 
 subsequent experience proved to be for the most part 
 sound. 
 
 And thus, between shooting and philosophical discussion, 
 the time passed on pleasantly enough, till at length Ihey 
 drew near to Pretoria, the capital of the Transvaal, where 
 they had decided to go and rest the oxen for a month or 
 two before making arrangements for a real big game excur- 
 sion UD toward Central Africa. They struck into the Pre- 
 
164 THE witch's head. 
 
 toria road Just above a town called Heidelberg, about sixty 
 miles from the former place, and proceeded by easy stages 
 toward their destination. 
 
 As they went on, they generally found it convenient to 
 oatspan at spots which it was evident had been used for 
 the sfime purpose by some wagon which was traveling one 
 stage ahead of them. So frequently did this happen, that 
 during their first five or six outspans they were able on no 
 less than three occasions to avail themselves of the dying 
 fires of their predecessors' camp. This was a matter of 
 lively interest to Ernest, who always did cook; and a very 
 good cook he became. One of the great bothers of South 
 African traveling is the fire question. Indeed, how to make 
 sufficient fire to boil a kettle when you have no fuel to make 
 it of is </ie great question of South African travel. A ready- 
 made fire is, therefore, peculiarly acceptable, and for the 
 last half hour of the trek Ernest was always in a great 
 state of expectation as to whether the wagon before them 
 had or had not been considerate enough to leave theirs 
 burning. Thus, when it came to pass chat one morning, 
 ■when they were about fifteen miles from Pretoria, which 
 they expected to reach the same evening, and the wagon 
 was slowly drawing up to the outspan-place, Ernest, accom- 
 panied by Mazooku, who lounged abont after him like a 
 black shadow, run forward to see if their predecessors had 
 or had not been considerate. In this instance energy was 
 rewarded, for the fire was still burning. 
 
 " Hoorah!" said Ernest; " get the sticks, Mazooku, and 
 go and fill the kettle. By Jove! there's a knife. " 
 
 Tliere was a knife, a many-bladed knife with a buckhorn 
 handle and a corkscrew in it, left lying by the dying fire, 
 Errest took it up and looked at Jt; somehow it seemed 
 familiar to him. He turned it round and looked at the 
 silver plate upon it, and suddenly started. 
 
 " What is the matter, Ernest?" said Mr. iilston, who 
 had joined them. 
 
 " Look there," he answered, pointing to two initials cut 
 on the knife. 
 
 " Well, I see, some fellow has left his knife; so much 
 the better for the finder." 
 
 ■' Vou have heiird uie spiiak of my friend Jeremy. That 
 is his knife; I gave it to him years ago. Look — J. J." 
 
THE witch's head. 163 
 
 " Nonsense! it is sume knife like it; I have seen hun- 
 dreds of that make." 
 
 " I believe that it is the same. He must be there. " 
 
 Mr. Alston shrugged his shoulders. " Not probable,'" 
 he said. . 
 
 Ertii^st made no answer. He stood staring at the knife 
 
 " Have you written to your people lately, iLruest!"' 
 
 " Ko; the last letter I wrote was down there is Siku- 
 kuiii's country; you remember I__seiit it by the Basutu h ho 
 v/as going to Lydenburg, jast before Jeffries died." 
 
 "Like enough he never got to Lydenburg. He would 
 not have dared to go to Lydenburg after the war broke out. 
 You should write." 
 
 " I mean to, from Pretoria; but somehow I have had uo 
 heart for writing." 
 
 Nothing more was said about the matter, and Ernest 
 put ihe knife into his pocket. 
 
 That evening they trekked down through the " Poort " 
 that commands the most charming of the South African 
 towns, and, on the plain below, Pretoi'ia, balhed in the 
 bright glow of the evening sunshine, smiled its welcome to 
 them. Mr. Alston, who knew the tojvn, determined to trek 
 straight through it and outspan the wagon on the further 
 side, where he thought there would be better grazing for the 
 cattle. Accordingly, they rumbled on past the jiul, past 
 the pleasant white building which af tersvard became Govern- 
 ment House, and which was at that moment oceapiiid by 
 the Enghsh special commissioner and his staff, about »hose 
 doings all sorts of rumors had reached them during their 
 journey and on to the market-square. This area was at the 
 moment crowded with Boor wagons, whose owners had 
 trekked in to celebrate thier " nachtmaal " (communion), 
 of which it is their habit, in company with their wives and 
 children, to partake four times a year. The " Volks- 
 raad," or local Parliament, was also in special session to 
 consider the proposals made to it on behalf of the imperial 
 government, so that the little town was positively choked 
 with visitors. The road down which they were passing ran 
 past the building used as government offices, and between 
 this and the Dutch church a considerable crowd was 
 gathered, which, to judge from, the shouts and. volleys of 
 oaths — Dutch and English — that proceeded from it, was 
 working itself up into a state of excitement. 
 
166 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Hold on," shouted Ernest to the voorlooper, and then, 
 taming to Mr. Alston, " There is a jolly row going on 
 there; let us go ami see what it is." 
 
 " All right, my boy, where the fighting is there will the 
 Englishmen be gathered together," and they climbed down 
 off the wagon and made for the crowd. 
 
 The row was this. Among the Boers assembled for the 
 " nachtmaal " festival was a well-known giant of the name 
 of Van Zyl. This man's strength was a matter of public 
 notoriety all over the country, and many were the feats 
 which were told of him. Among others it was said that he 
 could bear the weight of the after part of an African buck- 
 wagon on his shoulders, with a load of three thousand 
 pounds of corn upon it, while the wheels were greased. 
 He stood about six foot seven high, weighed eighteen stone 
 and a half, and had a double row of teeth. On the even- 
 ins in question this remarkable specimen of humanity was 
 sitting on his wagon-box with a pipe, of which the size was 
 proportionate to his own, clinched firmly between his double 
 row of teeth. About ten paces from him stood a young 
 Englishman, also of large size, though he looked quite 
 small beside the giant who was contemplating the phe- 
 nomenon on the wagon-box, and wondering how many 
 inches he measured round the chest. That young English- 
 man had just got off a newly arrived wagon, and his name 
 was Jeremy Jones. 
 
 To these advance a cringing Hottentot boy of small size. 
 The Hottentot is evidently the servant or" slave of the giant, 
 and a man standing by Jeremy, who understands Dutch, 
 informs him that he is telling his master that an ox has 
 strayed. Slowly the giant rouses iiimself, and descending 
 from the wagon-box seizes the trembling Tottie with one 
 hand, and, taking a rim of buffalo-hide, lashes him to the 
 wagon- wheel. 
 
 " Now," remarked Jeremy's acquaintance, "you will 
 see hnw a Boer deals with a nigger." 
 
 "You don't mean to say that gieat brute is going to 
 beat the poor little devil?"' 
 
 Just; then a small fat woman put her head out of a tent 
 pitched by the wagon, and inquired what the matter was. 
 She was the giant's wife. On being informed of the stray- 
 ing Oi the ox, her wrath knew no bounds. 
 
THE witch's head. 1 G7 
 
 " Slaat em! slaat de swartsel!" (Thrash him! thrash 
 the black creature), she cried out in a shrill voice, running 
 to the wagon, and with her own fair hands drawing out a, 
 huge " sjambock," that is, a strip of prepared hippopota- 
 mus-hide, used to drive the after-oxen with, and giving it 
 to her spouse, " Cut the liver out of the black devil!" she 
 went on, " but mind you don't hit his head, or he won't be 
 able to go to work afterward. K'ever mind about'making 
 the blood come; I have got lots of salt to rub in." 
 
 Her harangue, and the sight of the Hottentot tied to the 
 wheel, had b}' this time attracted quite a crowd of Boers 
 and Englishmen who were idling about the market-square. 
 
 " Softly, Vrouw, softly, I will thi'ash enough to satisfy 
 even you, and we all know that must be very hard where a 
 black creature is in question." 
 
 A roar of laughter from the Dutch people round greeted 
 this sally of wit, and the giant, taking the sjambock with 
 a good-humored smile, for he was, like most giants, eas^- 
 tempered by nature, lifted it, whirled his great arm, as 
 thick as the leg of an average man, round his head, and 
 brought it down on the back of the miserable Hottentot. 
 The poor wretch yelled with pain, and no worder, for the 
 greasy old shirt he wore \^as divided clean in two, together 
 with the skin beneath it, and the blood was pouring from 
 the gash. 
 
 " AUamachter! dat is eenlecker slaat " (Almighty! that 
 was a^nice one), said the old woman, at which the crowd 
 laughed again. 
 
 But there was one man who did not laugh, and that man 
 was Jeremy. On the contrary, his clear eyes flashed, and 
 his Jbrown cheek burned with indignation. Nor did he stop 
 at that. Stepping forward he placed himself between the 
 giant and the howling Hottentot, and said to the former in 
 the most nervous English, " You are a damned coward!" 
 
 "The Boer stared at him and smiled and then, turning, 
 asked what the " English fellow " was saying. Somebody 
 translated Jeremy's remark, whereupon the Boer, who was 
 not a bad-natured fellow, smiled again, and remarked that 
 Jeremy must be madder than the majority of " accursed 
 Englishmen." Then he turned to continue thrashing the 
 Hottentot, but, lo! the mad Englishman was still there. 
 This p(it him out. 
 
 "Eootsack, carl; ik is Van Zyl!" (Get out, fellow; I 
 
168 THE witch's head. 
 
 am Van Zyl!) This was interpreted to Jeremy by the by- 
 standers. 
 
 "All right, and tell him that I am Jones, a name he 
 may have heard before," was the reply. 
 
 " What does this brain-sick fellow want?" shouted the 
 giant. 
 
 Jeremy explained that he wanted him to stop his 
 brutality. 
 
 " And what will the little man do if I refuse?" 
 
 " I shall try to make you," was the answer. 
 
 This remark was received with a shout of laughter from 
 the crowd which had now collected, in which the giant 
 joined very heartily when it was interpreted to him. 
 
 Giving Jeremy a shove to one side, he again lifted the 
 great sjambock, with the purpose of bringing it down on 
 the Hottentot. Another second and Jeremy had snatched 
 the whip from his band, and sent it flying fifty yards a,way. 
 Then realizing that his antagonist was really in earnest, the 
 great Dutchman solemnly set himself to crush him. 
 Doubling a fist which was the size of a Welsh leg of mut- 
 ton, he struck with all his strength straight at the English- 
 man's head. Had the blow caught Jeremy, it would in all 
 firobability have killed him; but he was a practiced boxer, 
 and without moving his body, he swung his head to one 
 side. The Boer's fist passed him harmlessly, and, striking 
 the panel of the wagon, went clean through it. Next in- 
 stant several of the giant's double row of teeth were rolling 
 loose in his mouth. Jeremy had returned the stroke by a 
 right-hander, into which he put all his power, and which 
 would have knocked any other man backward. 
 
 A great shout from the assembled Englishmen followed 
 this blow, and a counter-shout from the crowd of Dutch- 
 men, who pointed triumphantly to the hole in the stout 
 yellow-wood panel made by their champion's fist, and asked 
 who the madman was who dared to stand against him. 
 
 The Boer turned and spat out some of his superfluous 
 teeth, and at the same instant a young Englishman came 
 and caught hold of Jeremy by the arm. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, my dear fellow, be careful! That 
 man will kill you; he is the sti'ongest man in the Trans- 
 vaal. You are a fellow to be proud of, though. " 
 
 "He may try," said Jeremy, laconically, stripping off 
 his coat and waistcoat. " Will you hold these for mer" 
 
THE witch's head. 169 
 
 " Hold them!" answered the young fellow, who was a, 
 good sort; " ay, that I will, and I would give half I have to 
 see you lick him. Dodge him; don't let him strike you, 
 or he will kill you. I saw him stuu an ox once with a blow 
 of his fist." 
 
 Jeremy smiled. 
 
 " Stop," he said. " Ask that coward, if I best him, if 
 he will let off that miserable beggar?" and he pointed to 
 the trembling Hottentot. 
 
 The question was put., and the great man answered, 
 " Yah, yah!" ironically, and then expressed his intention of 
 knocking Jeremy into small pieces in the dourse of the next 
 two minutes. 
 
 Then they faced one another. The giant was a trifle 
 over six foot seven high; Jeremy was a trifle under six foot 
 two and a half, and looked short beside him. Bat one or 
 two critical observers, looking at the latter now that he was 
 stripped for the encounter, shrewdly guessed that the 
 Dutchman would have his work cut out. Jeremy did not, 
 it is true, scale more than fourteen stone six, but his pro- 
 portions were perfect. The great deep chest, the brawny 
 arms, not very large, but a mass of muscle, the short 
 strong neck, the quick eye, and massive leg, all bespoke 
 the strength of a young Hercules. It was evident too that 
 though he was so young, and not yet come to his full 
 power, he was in the most perfect training. The Boer, on 
 the other hand, was enormous, but his flesh was somewhat 
 soft. Slill, knowing his feats, the Englishmen present 
 sighed foi; their champion, feeling that he had no chance. 
 
 For a moment they stood facing each other, then Jeremy 
 made a feint,- and, getting in, planted a heavy blow with 
 his left hand on his adversary's chest. But he was to pay 
 for it, for the next second the Dutchman got in his right 
 hand, and Jeremy was lifted clean off his feet, and sent fly- 
 ing backward among the crowd. 
 
 Tbe Boers cheered, the giant smiled,' and the English- 
 men looked sad. They knew how it vvould be. 
 
 But Jeremy picked himself up little the worse. The 
 stroke had struck the muscles of his chest, and had not 
 hurt' him greatly. As he advanced the grad ually increas- 
 ing crowd of Eng-lisbmen cheeicd him warmly, and he 
 swore in his heart that he would justify those cheers or die 
 for it. 
 
170 THE witch's head. 
 
 It was at this juncture that Ernest and Mr. Alston came 
 up. 
 
 " Good Heavens!" exclaimed the former, " it is Jeremy. '^ 
 
 Mr. Alston took in the situation at a glance. 
 
 " Don't let him see you, you will put him off," he said. 
 "Get behind me." 
 
 El-nest obeyed, overwhelmed. Mr. Alston shook his 
 head. He recognized that Jeremy had a poor chance, but 
 he did not say so to Ernest. 
 
 Meanwhile Jeremy came up and faced the Dutchman. 
 Encouraged by his late success, presently his adversary 
 struck a tremendous blow at him. Jeremy dodged, and 
 next instant succeeded in landing such a fearful right and left 
 full on the giant's face that the latter went reeling backward. 
 
 A yell of frantic excitement arose from the English por- 
 tion of the crowd. This was indeed a David. 
 
 The Dutchman soon recovered, however, and in his turn, 
 rendered more cautious, kept out of Jeremy's reach, trying 
 to strike him down from a distance. For a round or two 
 no important blow was struck, till at last a brilliant idea 
 took possession of the young fellow who had charge of 
 Jeremy's coat. 
 
 " Hit him about the body," he whispered; " he's soft." 
 
 Jeremy took the advice, and next round succeeded in 
 getting in two or three blows straight from the shoulder, 
 and every one of them bruised the huge body sadly, and 
 made it rather sliort of wind. 
 
 Next round he repeated the same tactics, receiving him- 
 self a stroke on the shoulder that for a moment rendered 
 his left arm helpless. Before another second was over, 
 however, he had his revenge, and the blood was pouring 
 from his adversary's lips. 
 
 And now did tlie popular excitement on both sides grow 
 intense, for to the interest attaching to the encounter was 
 added that of national feeling, which was then at a high 
 state of tension. Englishmen, Dutchmen, and a mob of 
 Kafirs yelled and shouted, and each of the former two felt 
 that the honor of his people was on the issue. And j'et it 
 was an unequal fight. 
 
 " I believe that your friend will be a match for Van 
 Zyl," said Mr. Alston, coolly, but the flash of his eye be- 
 lied his coolness; " and I tell you what, he's a devilish fine 
 fellow, too." 
 
THE witch's head. ]71 
 
 At that moment, however, au untoward thing happened. 
 The giant struck out his strongest, and Jeremy could not 
 succeed in entirely warding ofi the blow, though he broke 
 its force. Crashing through his guard it struck him on the 
 forehead, and for a moment he dropped senseless. His 
 second rushed up and dashed some water over him, and in 
 another instant he was on his legs again; but for the rest 
 of that round he contented himself with dodging his ad- 
 versary's attack, at which the Dutchmen cheered, thinking 
 that his iron strength was broken. 
 
 But presently, when for the sixth time Jeremy came up 
 with the same quiet look of determination in his eyes, and, 
 except that the gaping of the nostrils and the twitching of 
 the lip showed a certain measure of distress, looking but 
 little the worse, they turned with anxiety to examine the 
 condition of the giant. It was not very promising. He 
 was perspiring profusely, and his enormous chest was rising 
 and falling irregularly. Wherever Jeremy's strokes had 
 fallen, too, a great blue bruise had risen. It was evident 
 that his condition was the worst of the two, but still the 
 Boers had little doubt of the issue. It could not be that 
 the man who had once for a bet quelled the struggles of a 
 wild ox, holding it for the space of five minutes by the 
 horn, could be worsted by au English lad. So they called 
 on him to stop playing with the boy and crush him. 
 
 Thus encouraged, the giant came on, striking out with 
 fearful force but wildly, for he could not box. For thirty 
 seconds or more Jeremy contented himself with avoiding 
 the blows; then, seeing an opportunity, he planted a heavy 
 one on his adversary's chest. This staggered him and 
 threw him off his guard, and, taking the oEEensive, Jeremy 
 dodged in right under the huge fists, and hit upward with 
 all his power. " Thud, thud!" The sound of the blows 
 could be heard fifty yards off. Nor were they without their 
 eHect. The giant staggered, and, amidst fearful shouts 
 and groans, fell like an ox struck with a pole-ax. But it 
 was not over yet. In another moment he was on his legs 
 again, and, spitting out blood and teeth, came reeling 
 straight at Jeremy, a fearful and alarming spectacle. As 
 he came, Jeremy again hit him in the face, but it did not 
 stop him, and in another second the huge arms had closed 
 round him and held him like a vise. 
 
 "Not fair I no holding!" shouted the Englishmen, but 
 
173 THE ^vitch's head. 
 
 the Boer held on. Indeed, he did more. Putting all his 
 vast strength iato the effort, he strained and tugged, mean- 
 ing to lift Jeremy up and dash him on the ground. But 
 lo! amid frantic shouts from the crowd, Jeremj' stood firm, 
 moving not an inch. "Whereupon the Boers called out, say- 
 ing that he was not a mortal, but a man possessed with a 
 devil. Again the Dutchman gripped him, and this time 
 succeeded in lifting him a few inches from the ground. 
 
 " By George, he will throw him. next time," said Mr. 
 Alston to Ernest, who was slialsiug like a leaf with the ex- 
 citement; " look! he is turning white; the grip is choking 
 him." 
 
 And, indeed, Jeremy was in evil case, for his senses were 
 fast being crushed out of him in tliat fearful embrace, and 
 he was thinking with bitter sorrow that he must fail after 
 all, for an Englishman does not like to be beat eren when 
 he has fought his best. Just then it was, when things were 
 beginning to swim around him, that a voice he loved, and 
 wliich he had been listening for these many months, rang 
 ill his ears; whether it was fancy or whether he really 
 heard it he knew not: 
 
 " Eemember ' Marsh Joe,' Jeremy, and lift Mm. Don't 
 be beat. For God's sake, lift. him!" 
 
 Now there was a triok, svhich I will not tell you, my 
 reader, but which a famous Eastern counties wrestler, 
 known as Marsh Joe, had taught to Jerenay. So well had 
 he taught him, indeed, that at the age of seventeen Jeremy 
 had hoisted his teacher with his own trick. 
 
 Just at the moment that Jeremy lieard the voice, the 
 giant shifted his hold a little, preparatory to making a 
 fresh effort, and thus enabled his antagonist to fill his lungs 
 with air. Ernest saw the broad white chest heave with re- 
 lief (for by this time most of the upper clothing of the 
 combatants had been wrenched away), and the darkening 
 eye grow bright again, and he knew that Jeremyhad heard 
 him, and that he would conquer or die where he was. 
 
 And then, lo and behold! Just as the Boer, leisurely 
 enough — feeling that at last he was master of the situation 
 — prepared himself for the final struggle, suddenly the 
 Englishman advanced his right leg a few inches, and with 
 the rapidity of lightning entirely shifted his grip; and then 
 he gathered himself for the effort. What mighty reserve of 
 strength he drew on, who can say? but Ernest's voice had 
 
THE witch's head. 173 
 
 excited ifc, and it came ab his call; and he did a thing that 
 few Hving men could have done, and the fame whereof 
 will go down in South Africa from generation to genera- 
 tion. For the lithe arms tightened and gripped till they 
 sunk ill almost level with the flesh of his mighty foe, and 
 then slowly he began to gather purchase, swaying back- 
 ward and forward. 
 
 " Make an end of him! Make an end of him!" shouted 
 the Boers; but behold! their champion's eyes are starting 
 from his blackened face; he can not stir. 
 
 To and fro sways Jeremy, and now the giant's feet are 
 lifted from the ground. And then oiie mighty effort — Oh, 
 gallant Jeremy! — up, still up above the gasping of the 
 wonder-stricken crowd, up to his shoulder — by Heaven, 
 over it ! 
 
 Crash ! Van Zyl fell, to be carried away by six strong 
 men, a cripple for life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Ernest's lote-letter. 
 
 Cheer after cheer arose from the Englishmen around > 
 Lud angry curses from the Dutchmen, as Jeremy turned to 
 look at the senseless carcass of the giant. But, even as he 
 turned, exhausted Nature gave out, and he fell fainting 
 into Ernest's arms. 
 
 Then did selected individuals of his fellow-countrymen 
 come forward and bear him reverently to a restaurant 
 called the " European," where the proprietor — himself an 
 old Eton fellow — met him, and washed and clothed and 
 restored him, and vowed with tears in his eyes that he, 
 Jeremy, should live at his expense for as long as he liked 
 — ay, even if he chose to drink nothing meaner than cham- 
 pagne all day long; for thus it is that Englishmen greet 
 one who ministers to that deepest rooted of all their feel- 
 ings — national pride. And then, when at length he had 
 been brought to, and refreshed with a tumbler-full of dry 
 Mnnopole, and wonderingly shaken Ernest by the hand, 
 the enthusiasm of the crowd outside burst its bounds, and 
 they poured into the restaurant, and, seizing Jeremy and 
 the chair whereon he sat, they bore him in triumph round 
 the market-square to the tune of " G<>d Save the Queen," 
 
l/'4 THE witch's head. 
 
 a proceeding that would have ended in provoking a riot 
 had not an aide-de-camp from his Excellency the Special 
 Commissioner, who sent a message begging that they would 
 desist, succeeded in persuading them to return to their 
 restaurant. And hsXB they a:ll dined, and forced Jeremy 
 to drink a great deal more dry Monopole than was good 
 for him, with the result that for the first and last time in his 
 life he was persuaded into making an aftef-dinuer speech. 
 As far as it was reported it ran something hke this: 
 
 " Dear friends (cheers) and Englishmen " (renewed 
 cheers) pause — "all making great fuss about nothing 
 (cheers, and shouts of ' No, no!'). Fight the Dutchman 
 again to-morrow — very big, but soft as putty — anybody 
 fight him (frantic cheering). Glad I wasn't thrashed, as 
 you all seem so pleased. Don't know why you are pleased; 
 'spose you didn't like the Dutchman. 'Fraid he hurt him- 
 self over my shoulder. Wonder what he did it for? Sit 
 down, now. Dear friends, dear old Ernest, been looking 
 for you for long while," and he turned his glassy eye on to 
 Ernest, who cheered frantically, under the impression that 
 Jeremy had Just said something very much to the point. 
 " Sit down, now (' No, no; go on!'). Can't go on, quite 
 pumped — very thirsty, too (' Give him some more cham- 
 pagne; open a fresh case '). Wish Eva and Doll were here, 
 don't you (loud cheers)? Gemman (cheers), no, not gem- 
 man, friends (louder cheers)— no, not gemman, friends — 
 English brothers (yet louder cheers), I give you a toast. 
 Eva and Doll, you all know 'em and love 'em, or if you 
 don't you would, you see;»if you did, yon know." (Fran- 
 tic outburst of cheering, during which Jeremy tries to re- 
 sume his seat, but gracefully drops on to the floor, and be- 
 gins singing " Auld Lang Syne " under the table, where- 
 upon the whole company rises, and, with the exception of 
 Ernesb and a jovial member of the Special Commissioner's 
 staff, who get npon the table to lead the chorus, join hands 
 and sing that beautiful old song with all the solemnity of 
 intoxication, after which they drink more champagne and 
 jointly and severally swear eternal friendship, especially 
 Ernest and the member of his excellency's staff, who shake 
 hands and bless each other, till the warmth of their emo- 
 tions proves too much for them, and they weep in chorus 
 there upon the table. 
 
 For the rest, Ernest had some vague recollection of help- 
 
THE witch's head. 175 
 
 ing to drive his newly found friend home in a wheelbarrow 
 that would persist in upsetting in every sluice or ditch, 
 especially if it had running water in it; and that was about 
 all he did remember. 
 
 In the morning he woke up, or rather first became con- 
 scious of pain in his head, iii a hfctle double-bedded room 
 attached to the hotel. On the pillow of the bed opposite to 
 him lay Jeremy's battered face. 
 
 For awhile Ernest could make nothing of all this. Why 
 was Jeremy there? Where were they.'' Everything turned 
 round and seemed phantasmagoriaL; the only real, sub- 
 stantial thuig was that awful paia in the head. But pres- 
 ently things began to come back to him, and the sight of 
 Jeremy's bruised face recalled the fight, and the fight ro- 
 called the dinner, and the dinner brought back a vague rec- 
 ollection of Jeremy's speech and of something he had said 
 about Eva. What could it have been.'' Ah, Eva! Per- 
 haps Jeremy knew something about her; perhaps he had 
 brought the letter that had been so long in coming. Oh, 
 how his heart went out toward her! But how came Jer- 
 emy there in bed before him; how came he to be in South 
 Africa at all? 
 
 At that moment his reflections were interrupted by the 
 entry of Mazooku, bearing the cofl;ee, which it is the na- 
 tional habit in South Africa to drink early in the morning. 
 The martial-looking Zulu, who seemed curiously out of 
 place carrying cups of coffee, seeing that his master was 
 awake, saluted him with the customary " Koos," lifting 
 one of the cups of coffee to give emphasis to the word, and 
 nearly upsetting it in the effort. 
 " Mazooku," said Ernest seveMy, " how did we get here?" 
 The substance of the retainer's explanation was as fol- 
 lows: When the moon was getting low, vanishing, indeed, 
 behind the " horned house " yonder (the Dutch church 
 with pinnacles on it), it occurred to him, waiting on the 
 veranda, that his master must be weary; and as most 
 had departed from the " dance " in the " tin house " (res- 
 taurant), evidently made happy by the " twala " (drink), 
 he ehtered into the tin house to look for him, and found 
 him overcome by sleep under the table, lying next to the i 
 " Lion-who-threw-oxen-over-his-shoulder " {i.e., Jeremy), 
 so overcome by sleep, indeed, that it was quite impossible 
 to conduct him to the wagon. This being so, he (Miizookii) 
 
176 THE witch's head. 
 
 considered what was bis duty uudef the cii'cnmstanees, and 
 came to the accurate conclusion that the best Ihing to do 
 was to put them into tiie white man's bed, since he knew 
 tliat his msister did not love the floor to lie on. Acconl- 
 ingly, having discovered that this was a room of beds, he 
 aid aiioLher Zulu entered., but were perplexed to find the 
 lisls already occupied by two white men, who had Iain 
 down to rest with their clothes on. But, under all these 
 cii\nrnstances, he and the other Zulu, considering that their 
 first thoLigiit should be toward their own master, had taken 
 ihe liberty of lifting up the two white men, who were sluni- 
 bc-riiig profoundly after the " dance," by the head and by 
 tbe liec'la, and putting tliem out in the sweet cool air of 
 the iiiglit. Having thus " made a place,"" they then con- 
 veye.l iirot Ernest, and having removed his clothes, put 
 him into one bed, and next, in consideration of his un- 
 doubtid greatness, they ventured to take the " Lion-who, 
 etc., hinisulf, and put him in Ihe other. He was a very 
 great man, the "Lion," and his art of throwing greater 
 men over his shoulder could only be attributed to witch- 
 craft, ile, himself (Mazooku), had tried it on that morn- 
 ing with a Basutu, witli whom he had had a slight differ- 
 ence of opinion, but the result bad not been all that could 
 be desired, inasmuch as the Basutu had kicked him in the 
 stomach, and forced him to drop him. 
 
 Ernest laughed as heartily as his headache would allow 
 at this story, and in doing so woke up Jeremy, who at once 
 clap;!od his hands to hin head and looked round, whereupon 
 Mazooku, having saluted the awakened " Lion " with much 
 fervor, and spilled a considerable quantity of hot coffee 
 over him in doing so, took his departure abashed, and at 
 length the two friends were left alone. Thereupon, rising 
 from their respective pallets, they took a step in all the 
 glory of their undress uniform into the middle of the little 
 room, and, after the manner of Englishmen, shook hands 
 and called each other " old fellow." Then they went back 
 to bed and began to converse. 
 
 " I say, old fellow, what ou earth bronght you out here?" 
 " Well, you see, I came out to look you up. You did 
 not write any letters, and they began to get anxious about 
 you at home, so I packed up my duds and started. Your 
 uncle stands unlimited tin, so I am traveling like a prince 
 in a wagon of my own. I heard of you down, in MariLz- 
 
THE witch's head. 177 
 
 harg, and guessed that I had best make for Pretoria, and 
 here I am and there you are, and I am devilitli glad to see 
 you agaiu, old chap. " By Jove, what a head I have! Bat, 
 I say, why didn't you write? Doll half broke her heart 
 about it, and so did your uncle, only he would not say so." 
 
 "I did write. I wrote from Sjkulvuni's country," but I 
 suppose the letter did not fetch," answered Ernest, feeling 
 very guilty. " The fact is, old fellow, I had not the heart 
 to write much, I have been so cpnfouudedly down on my 
 luck ever since that duel business." 
 
 "Ah!" interposed Jeremy, "that shot was a credit to 
 you. I didn't think you could have done it." 
 
 ."A credit! I'll tell you . what, it is tin awful thing to 
 kill a man like that. I often see his face as he fell, at 
 • night in my sleep." 
 
 '•' I was merely looking at it as a shot," replied Jeremy, 
 innocently; " and considered as a shot at twenty paces and. 
 under trying circumstances, it ivas a credit to you." 
 
 " And then, you see, Jeremy, there was another thing, 
 you know — about --about Eva. Well, I wrote to her, and 
 she has never answered my letter, unless," with a gleam of 
 hope, ""you have brought an answer." 
 
 Jeremy shook his aching head. 
 
 " Ah, no such luck. Well, it put me off, and that's the 
 fact. Since she has chucked me up, I don't care twopence 
 about anything. I don't say but what -she is right; 1 dare 
 say that I am not worth sticking to. She can do much 
 better elsewhere;" and Ernest groaned, and realized that 
 his head was very bad indeed; " but there it is. I hadn't 
 the heart to write any more letters, and I was too proud to 
 write again to her. Confound her! let her go. I am not 
 going to grovel to any woman under heaven, no, not even 
 to her!" and he kicked the bed-clothes viciously. 
 
 " I. haven't learned much Zulu yet," repued Jeremy, 
 sententiously; " but I know two words — ' hamba gachle ' 
 (go softly).'' 
 
 " Well, what of them?" said Ernest, testily. 
 
 " They mean, I am told, ' take it easy,' or ' look before 
 you leap,' or ' never jump to conclusions,' or, ' don't be in 
 a confounded hurry;' very fine mottoes, I think." 
 
 " Of course they do; but what have they got to do with 
 Eva?" 
 
178 THE witch's head. 
 
 ," Well, jast this. I said I had got no letter. I never 
 said—" 
 
 " What?" shouted Ernest. 
 
 " Hamba gachle," replied Jeremj', the imperturbable, 
 gazing at Ernest out of his blackened eyes. " I never said 
 that I had not got a message." 
 
 Ernest sprung clean out of the little truckle-bed, shak- 
 ing with excitement. 
 
 "What is it, man?" 
 
 " Just this. She told me to tell you that ' she loved you 
 dearly.'" 
 
 Slovvly Ernest sat down on the bed again, and, throwing 
 a blanket over his head and shoulders, remarked in a tone 
 befitting a sheeted ghost: 
 
 " The devil she did! Why couldn't you say so before?" 
 
 Then he got up again and commenced walking, blanket 
 and all, up and down the little" room with long strides, and 
 knocking over the water-Jug in his excitement. 
 
 " Hamba gachle," again remarked Jeremy, rising and 
 picking up the water-jug. " How are we going to get any 
 more water? I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 And he did, including the story of Mr. Plowden's shak- 
 ing, at which Ernest chuckled fiercely. 
 
 " I wish I had been there to kick him " he remarked, 
 parenthetically. 
 
 " I did that, too, I kicked him hard," put in Jeremy; 
 at which Ernest chuckled again. 
 
 " I can't make it all out," said Ernest at length, " but 
 I will go home at once." 
 
 " You can't do that, old fellow. Your respected uncle. 
 Sir Hugh, will have you run in." 
 
 "Ah! I forgot. Well, I will write to her to-day." 
 
 " That's better; and now let's dress. My head is better. 
 By George, though, I am stiff! It is no joke fighting a 
 giant." 
 
 But Ernest answered not a word. He was already, after 
 his quick-brained fashion, employed in concocting his let- 
 ter to Eva. 
 
 In the course of the morning he drafted it. It, or rather 
 that part of it with which we need concern ourselves, ran thus: 
 
 " Such, then, my dearest Eva, was the state of my mind 
 toward j'ou. I thought — God forgive me for the treason ! 
 
THE witch's head. ly^ 
 
 —that perhaps you were, as so many women ai'e, a fair- 
 weather lover, anu that now that I am in trouble you 
 wished to slip the cable. If that was so, I felt that it waa 
 not for me to remonstrate. I wrote to you, and I knew 
 that the letter came safely to your hands. You did not an- 
 swer it, and I could only come to one conclusion. Hence 
 my own silence. And in truth I do not at this moment 
 quite understand why you have never written. But Jeremy 
 has brought me your dear message, and with that I am 
 content, for no doubt you have reasons which are ■ satisfac- 
 tory to yourself, and if that is so, no doubt, too, they 
 would be equally satisfactory to me if only I knew them. 
 You see, my heart's love, the fact is that I trust and be- 
 lieve in you utterly and entirely. What is right and true, 
 what is loyal and sincere to me and to yourself — those are 
 the things that you will do. Jeremy tells me a rather 
 amusing story about the new clergyman who has come to 
 Kesterwick', and who is, it appears, an aspirant for your 
 hand. Well, Eva, I am sufficiently conceited not to be 
 jealous; although I am in the unlucky position of an ab- 
 sent man, and worse still, an absent man under a cloud, I 
 do not believe that he will cut me out. But on the day 
 that you can put your hand upon your heart, and look me 
 straight in the eyes (ah! Eva, I can see your. eyes now), 
 and tell me, on your lienor as a lady, that you love this or 
 any other man better than you do me, on that day I shall 
 be ready to resign you to him. But till that day comes — 
 and there is something in my heart which tells me that it 
 is as impossible for it to come as for the mountain-range I 
 look on as I write to move toward the town and bury it — I 
 am free from jealousy, for I htiow that it is also impossible 
 that you should be faithless to your love. 
 
 " Oh, my sweet, the troth we plighted was not for days, 
 or years, or times — it was forever. Nothing can dissolve 
 it; Death himself will be powerless against it. With each 
 new and progressive existence it will rearise as .surely as 
 the flowers in spring, only, unlike them, more fragrant and 
 beautiful than before. Sometimes I think that it has al- 
 ready existed through countless ages. Strange thoughts 
 come into a man's mind out there on the great veldt, rid- 
 ing alone hour after hour, and day after day, through sun- 
 light* and through moonlight, till the spirit of Nature 
 broods upon him, and h-f begins to learn the rudiments of 
 
180 THE witch's head. 
 
 truth. Some d, y I shall tell them all to you. Kot that 1 
 have ever been quite alone, for I can say honestly that you 
 have always been at my side since I left you; there has been 
 no hour of the day or night when you have not been in my 
 thoughts, and I believe that till death for a period blots cut 
 my senses, no such hour will ever comB. 
 
 " Day by day, too, my love hns grown stronger even in 
 its despair. Day by day it has taken shape and form and 
 color, and become more and more a living thing, more and 
 more an entity, as distinct as soul and body, and yet as in- 
 extricably blended and woven into the substance of each. 
 If ever a woman was beloved, you are that woman, Eva 
 Ceswick; if ever a man's life, present and to come, lay m 
 a woman's hands, my life lies in yours. It is a germ which 
 you can cast away or destroy, or which you can nourish till 
 it bursts into bloom, and bears fruit beautiful beyond im- 
 agining. You are my fate, my other part. With you 
 my destiny is intertwined, and you can mold it as you will. 
 There is no height to which I can not rise by 3'our side; 
 there is no depth to which I may not sink without you. 
 
 " And now, what does all this lead up to? Will you 
 make a sacrifice for me, who am ready to give .ill my life 
 to you — no, v,'ho have already given it? That sacrifice is 
 this: I want you to come out here and marry mo; as you 
 know, circumstances prerent me from returning to you. If 
 you will come, I will meet you at the Capo and marry you 
 there. Ah! surely you will come! Asformcuey, I have 
 plenty from home, and can make as much more as we thall 
 want here, so that need be no obstacle. It is long to wait 
 for your answer — three months— but I hope that the faith 
 that will, as the Bible tells us, enable people to move 
 mountains — and my faith in you is as great as that — will 
 also enable me to bear ihe suspense, and in the end prove its 
 own reward. Oh, how life has changed for me since yes- 
 terday!" 
 
 Ernest read selected portions of this composition to Mr. 
 Alston and Jeremy. Both listened in solemn silence, and 
 at the conclusion Jeremy scratched his head and remarked 
 that it was deep enough to " fetch " any girl, though for 
 his part he did not understand it. Mr. Alston relighted 
 his pipe, and for awhile said nothing; but to himself he 
 thought ttiat it was a remarkable letter for bo young a man 
 
THE witch's head. 181 
 
 to have written, and revealed a curious turn of mind. One 
 remark he did make, however, and that was rather a rude 
 one: 
 
 " The girl won't understand what you are driving at. 
 Master Ernest; she will think that you have gone off your 
 head in these savage parts. All you say may or may not 
 be true; on that point I express no opinion — but to write 
 sucb things to a woman is to throw your pearls before 
 swine. You should ask her about her bonnets, my boy, 
 and tell her what sort of dresses she should bring out, and 
 that the air is good for the complexion. She would come 
 then." 
 
 Here Ernest fired up. 
 
 " You are beastly cynical, Alston, and you should not 
 speak of Miss Ceswick like that to me. Bonnets indeed!" 
 , " All right, my lad — all right. Time will show. Ah, 
 you boys! you go building up your ideals of ivory and gold 
 and fine liuen, only to find them one day turned into the 
 commonest of clay, draped in the dirtiest of rags. Well, 
 well, it is the way of the world; but you take my advice, 
 Ernest; burn that letter, and go in for an Intombi (Kafir 
 girl). It is not too late yet, and there is no mistalce about 
 the sort of clay she is made of." 
 
 Here Ernest stamped out of the room in a passion. 
 
 " Too cock-sure, wanted cooling down a little," re- 
 marked Mr. Alston to Jeremy: " should never be cock- 
 sure where a woman is concerned; women are fond of play- 
 ing dirty tricks, and saying they could not help it. I know 
 them. Come on; let u-; go and find him, and go for a 
 walk." 
 
 They found Ernest silting on the box of the wagon, 
 which was outspanued together with Jeremy's, Just outside 
 the town, and looking rather sulky. 
 
 " Come on, Ernest," said Mr. Alston, apologetically; 
 " I will throw no more mud at your ideal. In the course 
 of the last thirty years I have seen so many fall to pieces of 
 their own accord, that I could not help warning you. But, 
 perhaps they make them of better stufE in England than 
 we do in these parts." 
 
 Ernest descended, and soon forgot his pique. It was but 
 rarely that he bore malice for more than half an hour. As 
 they walked along one of the by-streecs they met the young 
 fellow who had acted as second to Jeieiny in the big fight 
 
182 THE witch's head. 
 
 of the previous day. He informed them that he had just 
 been to inquire how the giant was. It appeared that he 
 had received an injury to the spine, the effect of Jeremy's 
 " lift," from which there was little hope of his recovery. 
 He was not, however, in much pain. This intelligence dis- 
 tressed Jeremy not a little. He had earnestly desired to 
 thrash the giant, but he had had no wish to injure him. 
 With his usual promptitude he announced his intention of 
 going to see his fallen enemy. 
 
 " You are likely to meet with a warm reception if you 
 do," said Mr. Alston. 
 
 " I'll risk it. I should like to tell him that I am sorry." 
 
 " Very good ; come along — that is the house. " 
 
 The injured man had been carried to the house of a rela- 
 tive just outside the town, a white thatched building that 
 had been built five-and-thirty years before, when the site of 
 Pretoria was a plain inhabited only by quaggas, eland, and 
 wilderbeeste. In front of the door was a grove of orange- 
 trees, which smelled sweet and. looked golden with hanging 
 fruit. 
 
 The house itself was a small, white building, with a 
 double-swinging door like those used in stables in this coun- 
 try. The top half of the door was open, and over the lower 
 portion of it leaned a Boer, a rough-looking customer, 
 smoking a huge pipe. 
 
 " ' Dagh, Oom ' " (good-day, uncle), said Mr. Alston, 
 stretching out his hand. 
 
 The other looked at him suspiciously, and then held out 
 a damp paw to each in turn, at the same time opening the 
 door. As Ernest passed the threshold he noticed that the 
 clay flooring was studded with peach-stones well trodden into 
 its substance to prevent wear and tear of passing feet. 
 The door opened into a fair-sized room with whitewashed 
 walls called the " sit-kame " (sitting-room), and furnished 
 with a settee, a table, and several chairs seated with 
 " rimpi," or strips of hide. On the biggest of these chairs 
 sat a woman of large size, the mother of the family. She 
 did not rise on their entry, but without speaking held out a 
 limp hand, which Mr. Alston and the others shook, address- 
 ing her affectionately as " tanta " (aunt). Then they 
 shook hands with six or seven girls and young men, the 
 latter sitting about in an aimless sort of way, the former 
 dealing off the remains of Iho family meal, vvluch had con- 
 
THE witch's head. 183 
 
 sisfced of huge bones of boiled fresh beef. So fresh was it, 
 indeed, that oa the floor by the side of the table lay the 
 gory head and skin of a newly killed ox, from which the 
 beef had been cut. Ernest, noticing this, wondered at the 
 superhuman strength of stomach that Could take its food 
 -under such circumstances. 
 
 The preliminary ceremony of hand-shaking having been 
 got through, Mr. Alston, who spoke Dutch perfectly, ex- 
 plained the object of their visit. The faces of the Dutch- 
 men darkened as he did so, and the men scowled at Jeremy 
 with hatred not unmingled with terror. When he had 
 done, the oldest man said that he would ask his cousin if 
 he would see them, adding, however, that he. was so ill that 
 he did, not think it likely. Raising a curtain, which served 
 as a door, he passed from the sitting-room into the bed- 
 room C' slaap kame "). Presently he returned, and beck- 
 oned to the Englishmen to enter. They passed into a small 
 chamber about ten feet square, which was, after the'fashiori 
 of these people in cases of any illness, hermetically sealed 
 from air. On a large bed that blocked up most of the 
 room, and on which it was the usual habit of the master of 
 the house and his wife to sleep *'« their clothes, lay the fallen 
 giant. So much as could be seen of his face was a mass of 
 hideous bruises, and one of his hands, which lay on the bed, 
 was ill splints; the chief injury, however, was to his back, 
 and from this he could never expect to recover. By his 
 side sat his little wife, who had on the previous day urged 
 the thrashing of the Hottentot. She glared fiercely at 
 Jeremy, but said nothing. On catching sight of his victor, 
 the giant turned his face to the wall, and asked what he 
 wanted. 
 
 "I have come," said Jeremy, Mr. Alston interpreting 
 for him, " to say that I am sorry that you are injured so 
 much, that I wanted to beat you, but had no idea that I 
 should hurt you so. I know that the trick of throwing a 
 man as I threw you is very dangerous, and I only used it as 
 a last resource, and because yon would have killed me if I 
 had not. " 
 
 The Boer muttered something in reply about its being 
 very bitter to be beaten by such a little man. 
 
 It was evident to Ernest that the man's pride was utterly 
 broken. He had believed himself the strongest man, white 
 
184 THE witch's head.^ 
 
 or black, in Africa, and now an English lad had thrown 
 him over his shoulder like a plaything. 
 
 Jeremy next said that he hoped that he bore no malice, 
 and would shake hands. 
 
 The giant hesitated a little, and then stretched out his 
 uninjured hand, which Jeremy took. 
 
 "Englishman," he said, "you are a wonderful man, 
 and you will grow stronger yet. You have made a baby of 
 me for life, and turned iny heart to a baby's too. Perhaps 
 one day some man will do the same for you. Till then you 
 can never know what I feel. They will give you the Hot- 
 tentot outside. jS"o, you must take him; you won him in 
 fuir fight. He is a good driver, though he is so small. 
 Now go. " 
 
 The sight was a painful one, and they were not sorry to 
 get away from it. Outside they found one of the young 
 Eocrs waiting with the Hottentot boy, whom he insisted on 
 handing over to Jeremy. 
 
 Any scruples the latter had about accepting him were 
 overcome by Lhe look of intense satisfaction on the features 
 of the poor wretch himself. 
 
 His name was " Aasvogel " (vulture), and he mad© 
 Jeremy an excellent and most faithful servant. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A WAT OF ESCAPE. 
 
 Whek Mr. Alston, Jeremy, and Ernest emerged from 
 the back street in which was the house they had visited into 
 one of the principal thoroughfa'res of Pretoria, they came 
 upon a curious sight. In the middle of the street stood, 
 or rather danced, a wiry Zulu, dressed in an old military 
 great-coat, and the ordinary native " moocha," or scanty 
 kilt, and having a red \<'orsted comforter tied round one 
 arm. He was shouting nut something at the top of his 
 voice, and surrounded by a crowd of other natives, who at 
 intervals expressed their approval of what he was saying in 
 deep, guttural exclamations. 
 
 " What is the lunatic after?" asked Jeremy. 
 
 Mr. Alston listened for a minute, and answered: 
 
 " I know the man well. His name is Goza. He is the 
 
THE witch's head. 185 
 
 fleetest runne* in Natal, and cau go as fast as a horse; in- 
 deed, there are few horses that he can not tire out. By 
 profession he is a ' praiier. ' He is now singing the praisus 
 of the BiDecial coinmissinner, ' bongering ' they call it. 1 
 will translate what he is tayiug: 
 
 " ' Listen to the foot of the great elephant Somptseii. 
 Feel how the earth siiakes beneath the tread of the white 
 t'Chaka, father of the Zulus, foremost among the great 
 white people. Ou! ho is here; ou! he is coming. See how 
 the faces of the " Amaboona " (the Boers) turn pale before 
 him. He will eat them up; he will swallow them, the 
 huge vulture, who sits still till the ox is dead, who fights 
 the fight of " sit down." Oh, he is great, the lion; where 
 he turns his eye the people melt away, their hearts turn to 
 fat. Where is there one like Somptseu, the man who is 
 not afraid of Death; who looks at Death and it runs from 
 him; who has the tongue of honey; who reigns like the first 
 star at uinht; who is heloved and honored of the great 
 white mother (the queen); who loves his children, (he 
 Amazulu, and shelters them under his wide wing; who 
 hfted Cetywayo out of the dirt, and can put him back in 
 the dirt again: Abase yourselves, you low people, doctor 
 yourselves with medicine, lest his fierce eyes should burn 
 you up. Oh, harii! he comes, the father of kings, (he 
 Chaka; oh! be still; oh! be silent; oh! shake in your 
 knees. He is here, the elephant, the lion, the fierce one, 
 the patient one, the strong one. See, he deigns to talk to 
 little children; he teaches them wisdom; he gives light like 
 the sun — he is the suu — he is t'Somptseu. ' " 
 
 At this juncture a quiet-looking, oldish gentleman, en- 
 tirely unlike either an elephant, a lion, or a vulture, of 
 medium height, with gray whiskers, a black coat, and a 
 neat black tie fastened in a bow, came round the corner 
 leading a little girl by the hand. As he came the praiser 
 lifted up his right hand, and in the most stentorian tones 
 gave the royal salute, " Bayete," which was re-echoed by 
 all the other natives. 
 
 The oldish gentleman, who was none other than the 
 special commissioner himself, turned upon hisextoller vviLli 
 a look of intense annoyance, and adoPessed him very sharp- 
 ly in Zulu: 
 
 " Be still," he sai3. " Why do you always annoy me 
 with your noise? Be' still, I say, you loud-tongued dog, or 
 
186 THE WITf-H's HEAD. 
 
 I will send you back to Natal. My head aplies with yoar 
 empty words." 
 
 " Oh, elephant! I am silent as the dead. Bay^ete. Oh, 
 Somptseu! I am quiet, ' Bayete. ' " 
 
 "Go! Begone!" 
 
 With a final shout of Bayete the Zulu turned and fled 
 down the street with the swiftness of the wind, shouting his 
 praises as he went. 
 
 "How do you do, sir?" said Mr. Alston, advancing. 
 " I was just coming up to call upon you." 
 
 " Ah, Alston, I am delighted to see you. I heard that 
 you were gone on a hunting trip. Given up work and 
 taken to hunting, eh? Well, I should like to do the same. 
 If I could have found you when I came np here, I should 
 have been tempted to ask you to come with us." 
 
 At this point Mr. Alston introduced Ernest and Jeremy. 
 The special commissioner shook hands with them. 
 
 " I have heard of you," he said to Jeremy; " but I must 
 ask you not to fight any more giants here j ust at present, 
 the tension between Boer and Englishman is too great to 
 allow of its being stretched any more. Do you know, you 
 nearly provoked an outbreak last night with your fighting? 
 I trust that you will not do it again." 
 
 He spoke rather severely, and Jeremy colored. Present- 
 ly, however, he made amends by asking them all to dinner. 
 
 On the following morning Ernest sent off his letter to 
 Eva. He also wrote to his uncle and to Dorothy, explain- 
 ing his long silence as best he could. The latter, too, he 
 for the first time took into his confidence about Eva. At a 
 distance he no longer felt the same shyness in speaking to 
 her about another woman that had always overpowered him 
 when he was by her side. 
 
 Now that he had been away from England for a year or 
 so, many things connected with his home life had grown 
 rather faint amid the daily change and activity of his new 
 life. The rush of fresh impressions had to a great extent 
 overlaid the old onss, and Dorothy, and Mr. Card us, and 
 all the old Kesterwick existence and surroundings seemed 
 faint and far away. They were indeed rapidly assuming 
 that unreality that i uptime the wanderer finds will gather 
 round his old associations. He feels tliat tljey know liim. 
 no more, very likely he imagines that they have forgotten 
 him, and so they become like the shades of the dead. It is 
 
THE witch's head. 187 
 
 almost a shock to such a one to come back and .find, after 
 an absence of many years, that though he has been living 
 his rapid, vigorous life, and storing, his time with many 
 acts goud, bad, and indifferent, though he thinks that he 
 has changed so completely, and developed greatly in one 
 direction or another, yet the old spots, the old familiar sur- 
 roundings, and the old sweet faces have changed hardly one 
 whit. They have been hving their quiet Enghsh hfe, in 
 which sensation, incident, and excitement are things un- 
 familiar, and have varied not at all. 
 
 Most people, as a matter of fact, change very little ex- 
 cept in so far as they are influenced by the cyclic variations 
 of their life, the passage from youth to maturity, and from 
 maturity to age, and the attendant modes of thought and 
 action befitting each period. But even then the change is 
 superficial rather than real. What the child is, that the 
 midle-aged person and the old man will be also. The rea- 
 son of this appears to be sufficiently obvious; the unchang- 
 ing personality that grows not old, the animating spiritual 
 " ego," is there and practically identical, at all periods of 
 life. 
 
 The body, the brain, and the subtler intellect may all 
 vary according to the circumstances, mostly physical, of 
 personal existence; but the effect that the passage of a few 
 years, more or less active or stormy, can prodilce iipoiTa 
 principle so indestructible, so immeasurably ancient, and 
 the inheritor of' so far-reaching a desti.'iy as the individual 
 human soul, surely must be small. 
 
 Already Ernest began to find it something of a labor to 
 indite epistles to people in England, and yet he had the pen 
 of a ready writer. The links that bound them together 
 were fast breaking loose. Eva, and Eva alone, remained 
 clear and real to the vision of his mind. She was always 
 ■with him, and to her, at any period of his life, he never 
 found any difficulty in writing. For in truth their very 
 natures were interwoven, and the rapport between them 
 was not produced merely by the pressure of external cir- 
 cumstances, or by the fact of continual contact and mutual 
 attraction arising from physical causes, such as the natural 
 leaning of youth to youth and beauty to beauty. 
 
 These causes no doubt had to do with its production, and 
 pBrhaps were necessary to its mundane birth, as the battery 
 is necessary to the creation of the electric spark. Thus, 
 
188 THE witch's head. 
 
 had E^a been old instead of a young and lovely girl, the 
 rapport would perhiips uever have come into being here. 
 In short, they former! the cable along which the occult 
 conimunicalion could pas?, but there their function ended. 
 Having once established that communication, and provided 
 a means by which the fusion of spirit coidd be effected, 
 youth and beauty and the natural attraction of sex to sex 
 had done their part. The great dividing river that rolls so 
 fast and wide between our souls in their human shape had 
 been safely passed, and the two fortunate travelers had 
 been allowed before their time to reap advantages— the 
 measureless advantage of real love, so rare on earth, and at 
 its best so stained by passion; the divine privilege of suffer- 
 ing for that love's sake that will bring such endless bless- 
 ings in its train, which will only come to most of us, and 
 then perhaps imperfectly, in a different world to this. 
 
 Yes, the bridge might now be broken down; it had served 
 its purpose. Come age, or loss of phj^sical attraction, or 
 separation and icy silence, or the change called death itself, 
 and the sonls (hus subtly blended can and will and do defy 
 them. For the real life is not here; here only is the blind 
 beginning of things, may bo the premature beginning. 
 
 And so Ernest posted his letters, and then, partly to em- 
 ploy his tlionghts, and partly because it was his nature to 
 throw liimself into whatever stream of life was flowing past 
 him, he set himself to master the state of political affairs 
 in the country in which he found himself. 
 
 This need not be entered into here, further than to say 
 that it was such as might with advantage have employed 
 wiser heads thau his, and indeed did employ them. Suffice 
 it to say that he contrived to make himself of considerable 
 use to the English partj^, both before and after the annexa- 
 tion of the Transvaal to the dominions of the Crown. 
 Among other things he went on several missions in con- 
 junction with Mr. Alston, with a view of ascertaining the 
 real stiite of feeling among the Boers. He also, together 
 with Jeremy, joined a volunteer corps which was organized 
 for the defense of Pretoria when it was still a matter of 
 doubt whether or not the contemplated annexation would 
 or would not result in an attack being made upon the town 
 by the Boers. It was a most exciting time, and once or 
 twice Ernest and Jeremy had narrow escapes of being mur- 
 dered. However, nothing worthy of note happened to 
 
TUB WITCH'S HEAD. 189 
 
 them, and aL last (he long-expec;ted annexation came oS 
 snccessEuIly, to the intense joy of all the Englishmen in 
 the couutiy, and to the great relief of the vast majority of 
 the Boers. 
 
 Now, together with the proclamation by which the 
 Transraal was annexed to her majesty's domains, was 
 issued another that was to have a considerable bearing upon 
 our hero's fortunes. This Was none other than a prduise 
 of her majesty's gradons pardon to all such as had been 
 resilient in the Transvaal for a period of six months previous 
 to the date of annexation, being former British subjects 
 and offenders against the English criminal law, who would 
 register their names and ofEense within a given time. The 
 object of this proclamation was to give immunity from 
 prosecution to many individuals formerly deserters from! 
 the English army,, and other people who had in some way 
 traiisgressed the laws, but were now occupying respectable 
 positions in their adopted country. 
 
 Mr. Alston read this proclamation attentively when it 
 came out in a special number of the " Gazette." Then, 
 afcer thinliing for awhile, he handed it to Ernest. 
 
 " You have read this amnesty proclamation?" he said. 
 
 " Yes," answered Ernest; " what of it?" 
 
 " What of it? Ah, the stupidity of youth! Go down, 
 -go down on your knees, young man, and render thinks to 
 the Power that inspired Lord Carnarvon with the idea of 
 annexing the Transvaal. Can't you very well see that it 
 takes your neck from the halter? Off with you, and regis- 
 ter your name and ofEense with the secretary to govern- 
 ment, and you will be clear forever from any consequences 
 that might; ensue frotri the slight indiscretion of shooting 
 your own first cousin." 
 
 " By Jove, Alston! you don't mean that?" 
 
 " Mean it? of course I do. The proclamation does not 
 specify any particular ofEense to which pardon is to be de- 
 nied, and you have lived more than six months on Transvaal 
 territory. Off you go." 
 
 And Ernest went like an arrow. 
 
190 THE witch's head. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVII. 
 
 FOUND WANTING. 
 
 * 
 
 Ernest reached the government office and registered his 
 name, and in due course received " her majesty's gracious 
 pardon and indemnity from and against all actions, pro- 
 ceedings, and prosecutions at law, having arisen, arising, 
 or to arise, by whomsoever undertaken, etc., etc., conveyed 
 through his excellency, the administrator of said territory 
 of the Transvaal." 
 
 When this precious document was in his pocket, Ernest 
 thought that he now for the first time fully realized \diat 
 the feelings of a slave unexpectedly manumitted must be. 
 Had it not been for this fortunate accident, the conse- 
 quenoes of that fatal duel must have continually over- 
 shadowed him. He would, had he returned to England, 
 have been liable at any period of his life to a prosecution 
 for murder. Indeed, the arm of the law is long, and he 
 lived in continual apprehension of an application for his 
 extradition being made to the authorities of whatever coun- 
 try he was in. But now all this was gone from him, and 
 he felt that he would not be afraid to have words with an 
 attorney-geneial, or shudder any more at the sight of a 
 policeman. 
 
 His first idea on getting his pardon was to return stra'ght- 
 wny to England; but that silent fate which directs men's 
 lives, driving them whither they would not, and forcing 
 their bare and bleeding feet to stumble along the stony 
 paths of its hidden purpose, came into his mind, and made 
 him see that it would be better to delay awhile. In a few 
 weeks Eva's answer would surely reach him. If he were 
 to go now it was even possible that he might puss her in 
 mid-ocean, for in his heart he never doubted but that she 
 would come. 
 
 And indeed the very next mail there came a letter from 
 Dorothy, written in answer to that which he had posted oa 
 the same day thnt he had written to Eva. It was only a 
 short letter; the last post that could catch the mail was just 
 
THE witch's head. 191 
 
 going out, and his welcome letter had only just arrived 
 but slie had twenty minutes, and she would send one line. 
 She told, him how grateful, they were to hear that he was 
 well and safe, and reproaohed him gently for not writing. 
 Then she thanked him for making her his confidante about 
 Eva Oeswick. She had guessed it long befrire, she said ; 
 and she thought they were both lucky in each other, and 
 hoped and prayed that when the time came they would be 
 as completely happy as it was possible for people to be. 
 She had never spoken to Eva about him; but she should no 
 longer feel any diffidence in doing so now. She should go 
 and see her very soon and plead his cause; not that it 
 wanted any pleading, however, she was sure of that. Eva 
 looked sad now that he was gone. There had been some 
 talk awhile back of Mr. Plowden, the new clergyman; but 
 she supposed that Eva 'had given him his quietus, as she 
 heard no more of it now; and so on, till the " postman is 
 at the door waiting for this letter." 
 
 Little did Ernest gness what it cost poor Dorothy to 
 write her congratulations and wishes of happiness. A man 
 — the nobler animal, remember — could hardly have done i(; 
 only the inferior woman would show such unselfishness. 
 
 This letter filled Ernest with a sure and certain hope. 
 Eva, he clearly saw, had not had time to write by that mail; 
 by the next her answer would oome. It can be imaghied 
 that he waited for its advent with some anxiety. 
 
 Mr. Alston, Ernest, and Jeremy had taken a house in 
 Pretoria, and for the past month or two had been living in 
 it very comfortably. It was a pleasant, one-storied house, 
 ■with a veranda and a patch of flower-garden in front of it, 
 in which grew a large gardenia-bush covered with hundreds 
 of sweet-scented blooms, and many rose-trees, that in the 
 divine climate of Pretoria flourish like thist'es in our own. 
 Beyond the flowers was a patch of vines, covered at this 
 season of the year with enormous bunches of grapes, ex- 
 tending down to the line of waving willov/-trees, inter- 
 spersed with clumps of bamboo that grew along the edge 
 of the sluit and kept the house private from the road. On 
 the other side of the narrow path which led to the gate was 
 a bed of melons, now rapidly coming to perfection. This 
 garden was Ernest's especial pride and occupation, and just. 
 then he was much troubled in his mind about the melons, 
 which were getting scorched- by the bright rays of the sun. 
 
19^ THE witch's head. 
 
 To obviate this he had designed cunning frame-works of lit- 
 tle willows twigs, which he stuck over the melons and cov- 
 ered with dry grass — " parasols" he called them. 
 
 One morning— it was a particularly lovely morning — 
 Ernest was standing after breakfast on this path smoking 
 and directing Mazookii as to tbe erection of his " parasols " 
 over his favorite melons. It was not a job at all suited to 
 the capacity of the great Zulu, whose assegai, stuck in the 
 ground behind him in the middle of a small bundle of 
 knob-sticks, seemed a tool curiously unlike those used by 
 gardeners of other lands. However, " needs must wiien 
 the dovil drives," and there was the brawny fellow on his 
 knees, puffing and blowing and trying to fix the tuft of 
 grass to Ernest's satisfaction. 
 
 '' Mazooku, you lazy hound," said the latter at last, " if 
 you dnn't put that tuft right in two shakes, by the heaven 
 you will never reach, I'll break your head vviiii your own 
 kerrie!" 
 
 " Ovv Iiikoos," replied the Zulu, sulkily, again trying to 
 prop up the tufc, and muttering to himself meanwhile. 
 
 " Do you catch what that fellow of yours is saying?" 
 asked Mr. Alston. " He is saying that all Englishmen are 
 mad, and that you ai-e thti maddest of the mad. He con- 
 siders that nobody who was not a lunatic would bother his 
 head with those 'weeds that stink' (dowers), or these 
 fruits which, even if you succeed in growing them— and 
 surely the things are bewitched or they would grow with- 
 out ' hats ' " (Ernest's parasols) — " must lie very cold on 
 the stomach." 
 
 At that moment the particular "hat " which Mazooku 
 was trying to arrange fell down again, whereupon the 
 Zulu's patience gave out, and cursing it for a witch in the 
 most vigorous language, he empliasized his words by 
 bringing his fist straight down on the melon, smashing it 
 to pieces. Whereupon Ernest made for him, and he van- 
 ished swiftly. 
 
 Mr. Alston stood by laughing at J3 scene, and awaited 
 Ernest's return. Presently he came strolling back, not 
 liaving caught Mazooku. Indeed, it would not have great- 
 ly mattered if he had, for, as that swarthy gentleman very 
 well knew, great, indeed, must be the provocation that 
 could induce Ernest to touch a native. It was a thiua' to 
 
THE witch's head. 193 
 
 which he had au almost uiiconqnertible aversion, ia the 
 same way that he objected to the word " niggei- " as ap- 
 plied to a people who, whatever their faults may be, are, 
 as a rule, gentlemen in the truest sense of the word. 
 
 As he Ciime strolling down the path toward him, his face 
 a little flashed with the exertion, Mr. Alston, thought to 
 himself that Ernest was growing into a very handsome fel- 
 low. The tall frame, narrow at the waist and broad at the 
 shoulders, the eloquent dark eyes, which so far surpass the 
 loveliest gray or blue, the si&en hair which curled over his 
 head like that on a Grecian statue, the curved lips, the 
 quick intelligence and kindly smile that lighted the whole 
 face, all these things helped to make his appearance not so 
 much handsome as charming, and to women captivating to 
 a dangerous extent. His dress, too, which consisted of rid- 
 ing-breeches, boots and spurs, a white waistcoat and linen 
 coat, with a very broad, soft felt hat looped up at one side, 
 so as to throw the face into alternate light and rhadow, 
 helped the general effect considerably. Altogether Ernest 
 was a pretty fellow in those days. 
 
 Jeremy was lounging on an easy-chair in the veranda, in 
 company with the boy Roger Alston, and intensely inter- 
 ested in watching a furious battle between two lines of ants, 
 black and red, who had* their homes somewhere in the 
 stonework. For a long while the issue ot the battle re- 
 mained doubtful, victory inclining, if anything, to the side 
 of the thin red line, when suddenly, from the entrance to 
 the nest of the black ants, there emerged a battalion of 
 giants, great fellows, at least six times the size of the others, 
 who fell upon the red ants and routed them, taking mai\y 
 prisoners. Then followed the most curious spectacle, 
 namely, the deliberate execution of the captive red ants, 
 by having their heads bitten off by the great black soldiers. 
 Jeremy and Eoger knew what was coming very well, for 
 these battles v/ere of frequent occurrence, and the casualties 
 among the red ants simply frightful. On this occasion 
 they determined to save the prisoners, which was effected 
 by dipping a match in some of the nicotine at the bottom 
 of a pipe, and placing it in front of the black giants. The 
 ferocious insects would thereupon abandon their captives, 
 and rushing at the strange intruder, hang on like bull-ilogs, 
 till the" poison did its work, and they dropped off senseless, J 
 to recover presently and stagger off home, holding their i 
 
194 THE witch's head. 
 
 legs to their antenna and exhibiting every other symptom 
 of frightful headache. 
 
 Jeremy was sitting on a chair oih'ng the matches, and 
 Roger, kneeling on the pavement, was employed in beguil- 
 ing the giants into biting them, when suddenly they heard 
 the sound of galloping horses and the rattle of wheels. 
 The lad, lowering his head still more, looked out toward 
 the market-square thi'ough a gap between the willow-stems. 
 
 " Hurrah, Mr. Jones!" he said, " here comes the mail." 
 
 Next minute, amid loud bla'Sts from the bugle, and en- 
 veloped in a cloud of dust, the heavy cart, to the sides and 
 seats of which the begrimed, worn-out passengers were 
 clinging like drowning men to straws, came rattling along 
 as fast as the six grays reserved for the last stage could 
 gallop, and vanished toward the post-office. 
 
 " There's the mail, Ernest," hallooed Jeremy; " she will 
 bring the English letters. " 
 
 Ernest nodded, turned a little pale, and nervously 
 knocked out his pipe. No wonder; that mail-cart carried 
 his destiny, and he knew it. Presently he walked across 
 the square to the post-office. The letters were not sorted, 
 and he was the first person there. Very soon one of his 
 excellency's staff came riding dowH to get the government- 
 house bag. It was the same gentleman with wliom he had 
 sung"Auld Lang Syne " so enthusiastically on the day 
 of Jeremy's encounter with the giant, and had afterward 
 been wheeled home in the wheelbarrow. 
 
 " Halloo, Kershaw, here we are, ' primes inter omnes,' 
 ' prinios primi primores,' which is it.? Come, Kershaw, 
 you are the last from school — which is it? I don't believe 
 you know, ha! ha! ha! What are you doing down here so 
 soon? Does the 'expectant swain await the postman's 
 knock'? Why, my dear fellow, you look pale; you must 
 be in love, or thirsty. So am I — the latter, not the former. 
 Love, I do abjure thee. ' Quis sepavabit,' who will have 
 a split? I think that the sun can't be far from the line. 
 Shall we, my dear Kershaw, shall toe take an observation? 
 Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " No, thank you, I never drink anything between 
 meals." 
 
 " Ah, my boy, a bad habit; give it up before it is too 
 late. Break it off, my dear Kershaw, and always wet your 
 
' THE -witch's head, 195 
 
 whistle in the strictest moderation, or you will die young. 
 What says the poet? — 
 
 '"He who drinks strong beer and goes to bed mellow, 
 Lives as he ought to live, lives as he ought to live, 
 Lives as he ought to live, and dies a ioUy good fellow.' 
 
 Byron, I think, is it not! ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 Just then some others came up, and, somewhat to 
 Ernest's relief, his friend turned the light of his kindly 
 countenance to shine elsewhere and left him to his 
 thoughts. 
 
 At last the little shutter of the post-ofi&ce was thrown 
 up, and Ernest got his own letters, together with those of 
 Mr. Alston and Jeremy. He turned into the shade of a 
 neighboring veranda, and rapidly sorted the pile. There 
 was no letter in Eva's handwriting. But there was one in 
 that of-her sister Florence. Ernest knew the writing well; 
 there was no mistaking its peculiar upright, powerful-look- 
 ing characters. This he opened hurriedly. Inclosed in the 
 letter was a note, which was in the writing he had expected 
 to see. He rapidly unfolded it, and as he did so a iiash of 
 fear passed through his brain. 
 
 " Why did she write in this way?" 
 
 The note could not have been a long one, for in another 
 minute it was lying on the ground, and Ernest, pale-faced, 
 and with catching breath, was clinging to the veranda-post 
 with both hands to save himself from falling. In a few 
 seconds he recovered, and picking up the note, walked 
 quickly across the square toward his house. Half-way 
 across he was overtaken by his friend on the stafE cantering 
 gayly along on a particularly Wooden-looking pony, from the 
 sides of which his legs projected widely, and waving in one 
 hand the colonial office bag addressed 'to the administrator 
 of the government. 
 
 " Halloo, my abstemious friend," he hallooed, as he 
 pulled up the wooden pony with a jerk that sent each of its 
 stiff legs sprawling in a different direction, "Was 
 patience rewarded? Is Chloe over the water kipd? If 
 not, take my advice, and don't trouble your head about 
 her. Quant on a pas ce qu'on aime, the wise man aimes 
 ce qu'il a. Kershaw, I have conceived a great affection for 
 yon, and I will let you into a secret. Come with me this 
 afternocu, and I will introduce you to two charming speci- 
 
19 S THE witch's hea». 
 
 mens of indigenous beauty. Like roses they bloom upon 
 the veldt, and waste their sweetness on the desert air. 
 Matre pulchra, puella pulcherrima, as Virgil says. I, as 
 befits my years, will attach myself to the mater, for your 
 sweet youth shall be reserved the puella. Ha! ha! ha!" 
 and he brought the dispatch-bag down with a sounding 
 whack between the ears of the wooden pony, with the result 
 that he was nearly sent flying into the sluit, being landed 
 by a sudden plunge well on to the animal's crupper. 
 
 " Woho! Buchephalus, woho! or your mealies shall be 
 cut off." Just then he for the first time caught sight of 
 the face of his companion, who was plodding along in 
 silence by his side. 
 
 "Halloo! what's up, Kershaw?" he said, in an altered 
 tone; " you don't look well. Nothing wrong, I hope?" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," answered Ernest, quietly; " that 
 is, I have got some bad news, that is all. Nothing to 
 speak of, nothing." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I am so sorry, and I have been trou- 
 bling you with my nonsense. Forgive me. There, you wish 
 to be alone. Good-bye." 
 
 A few seconds later Mr. Alston and Jeremy, from their 
 point of vantage on the veranda, saw Ernest coming with 
 swift strides up the garden path. His face was drawn with 
 pain, and there was a fleck of blood upon his lip. He 
 passed them without a word, and, entering the house, 
 slammed the door of his own room. Mr. Alston and 
 Jeremy looked at one another. 
 
 " What's up?" said the laconic Jeremy. 
 
 Mr. Alston thought awhile before he answered, as was 
 his fashion. 
 
 " Something gone wrong with ' the ideal,' I should say," 
 he said at length; " that is the way of ideals." 
 
 " Shall we go and see?" said Jeremy, uneasily. 
 
 " No, give him a minute or two to pull himself together. 
 Lots of time for consolation afterward." 
 
 Meanwhile Ernest, having got into his room, sat down 
 upon the bed, and again read the note which was inclosed 
 in Florence's letter. Then he folded it up and put it 
 down, slowly and methodically. Next he opened the other 
 letter, which he had not yet looked at, and read that too. 
 After he had done it he threw himself face downward on 
 the pillow and thought awhile. Presently he arose, and 
 
THB •WITCH*S HEAD. 1»7 
 
 going to the other side of the room, took down a revolver- 
 case which hung to a nail, and drew out the revolver, which 
 ■was loaded. Eeturning, he again sat down upon the bed 
 and cocked it. So he remained for a minube or two, and 
 then slowly lifted the pistol toward his head. At that mo- 
 ment he heard footsteps approaching, and with a q^uick 
 movement threw the weapon under the bed. As he did so 
 Mr. Alston and Jeremy entered. 
 
 " Any letters, Ernest?" asked the former. 
 
 " Letters! Oh, yes, I beg your pardon; here they are," 
 and he took a packet from the pocket of his white coat and 
 haaded them to him. 
 
 Mr. Alston took them, looking all the while fixedly at 
 Ernest, who avoided his glance. 
 
 " What is the matter, my boy?" he said kindly at last; 
 "nothing wrong, I hope?" 
 
 Ernest looked at him blankly. 
 
 " What is it, old chap?" said Jeremy, seating himself on 
 the bed beside him, and laying his hand on his arm. 
 
 Then Ernest broke out into a paroxysm of grief painful 
 to behold. Fortunately for all concerned, it was brief. 
 Had it lasted much longer, something must have given 
 way. Suddenly his mood changed, and he grew hard and 
 bitter. 
 
 " Nothing,- my dear fellows, nothing," he said; "that 
 is, only the sequel to a pretty little idyl. You may re- 
 member a letter I wrote — to a woman — some months 
 back. There, you both of you know the story. Now you 
 shall hear the answer, or, to be more correct, the answers. 
 That — woman has a sister. Both she and her sister 
 have written to me. My — her sister's letter is the longest. 
 We will take it first. I think that we may skip the first 
 page, there is nothing particular in it, and I do not wish. to 
 —waste your time. Now listen: 
 
 " ' By the way, I have a piece of news for you which will 
 interest you, and which you will I am sure be glad to hear; 
 for, of course, you will have by this time got over any little 
 tendresse you may have had in that direction. Eva ' (that 
 is the woman to whom I wrote, and to whom I thought I 
 was engaged) ' is going to be married to a Mr. Plowden, a 
 
 fentleman who has been acting as locum tenens for Mr. 
 Ealford.'" Here Jeremy sprung up and swore a great 
 
198 THE witch's head. 
 
 oath. Ernest motioned hira down and went on: " ' I saj* 
 I am certain that you will be glad to hear this, because the 
 match is in every respect a satisfactory one, and will, I am 
 sure, bring dear Eva happiness. Mr. Plowden is well off, 
 and, of course, a clergyman, two great guarantees for the 
 success of their matrimonial venture. Eva tells me that 
 she had a letter from you last mail ' (the letter I read you, 
 gentlemen), ' and asks me to thank you for it. If she can 
 find time she will send you a line shortly; but, as you will 
 understand, she has her hands very full just at present. 
 The wedding is to take place at Kesterwick Church on the 
 17th of May ' (that is to-morrow, gentlemen), ' and, if this 
 letter reaches you in time, I am sure that you will think of 
 us all on that day. It will be very quiet, owing to our dear 
 aunt's death being still so comparatively recent. Indeed, 
 the engagement has, in obedience to Mr. Plowden's wishes, 
 for he is very retiring, been kept quite secret, and you are 
 absolutely the first person to whom it has been announced. 
 I hope that you will feel duly flattered, sir. We are very 
 busy about the trousseau, and just now the burning ques- 
 tion is, of what color the dress in which Eva is to go away 
 in after the wedding shall be. Eva and I are all for gray. 
 Mr. Plowden is for olive-green, and, as is natural under 
 the circumstances, I expect that he will carry the day. 
 They are together in the drawing-room settling it now. 
 You always admired Eva (rather warmly once; do you re- 
 member how cut up you both were when you went away? 
 Alas for the fickleness of human nature!); you should see 
 her now. Her happiness makes her look lovely; but I hear 
 her calling me. No doubt they have settled the momentous 
 question. Good-bye. I am not clever at writing, but I 
 hope that my news will make up for my want of skill. 
 " 'Always yours, 
 
 " ' Floeence Ceswick..' 
 
 " Now for the inclosure," said Ernest. 
 
 " ' Deae Efnest, — I got your letter. Florence will 
 tell you what there is to tell. I am going to be married. 
 Think what you will of me; I can not help myself. Be- 
 lieve me, this has cost me great suffering, but my duty 
 seems clear. I hope that you will- forget rne, Ernest, as 
 henceforth it will be my duty to forget you. Good-bye, 
 my dear Ernest, oh, good-bye! E. * 
 
THE -witch's head. 199 
 
 "Humph!" murmured Mr. Alston beneath his breath, 
 ** as I thought, clay, and damned bad clay, too!" 
 
 Slowly Ernest tore the letter into small fragments, threw 
 them down, and stamped upon them with his foot as though 
 they were a living thing. 
 
 " I wish that 1 had shaken the life out of that devil of a 
 parson!" groaned Jeremy, who was in his way as much 
 affected by the news as his friend. 
 
 " Curse you!" said Ernest, turning on him fiercely, 
 " why didn't you stop where you were and look after her, 
 instead of coming humbugging after me?" 
 
 Jeremy only groaned by way of answer. Mr. Alston, as 
 was his way when perplexed, filled his pipe and lit it. 
 Ernest paced swiftly up and down the little room, the white 
 walls of which he had decorated with pictures cut from 
 illustrated papers, Christmas cards, and photographs. 
 Over the head of the bed was a photograph of Eva herself, 
 which he had framed in some beautiful native wood. He 
 reached it down. 
 
 "Look," he. said, "that is the lady herself. Hand- 
 some, isn't she, and pleasant to look on? Who would have 
 thought that she was such a devil? Tells me to forget 
 her, and talks about 'her duty!' "Women love a little 
 joke!" 
 
 He hurled the photograph on to the floor, and treated it 
 as he had treated the letter, grinding it to pieces with his 
 heel. 
 
 " They say," he went on, "that a man's curses are 
 sometimes heard wherever it is they arrange these pleasant 
 surprises for us. Now you fellows bear witness to what I 
 say, and watch that woman's life. I curse her before God 
 and man! May she lay down her head in sorrow night by 
 night, and year by year! May her-^" 
 
 " Stop, Ernest," said Mr. Alston, with a shrug, " you 
 may be taken at your word, and you wouldn't like that, 
 you know. Besides, it is cowardly to go on cursing at a 
 woman. " 
 
 He paused, standing for a moment with his clinched fist 
 still raised above his head, his pale lips quivering with in- 
 tense excitement, and his dark eyes flashing and blazing 
 like stars. 
 
 " You are right," he said, dropping his fist on to the 
 table. " It is with the man that I have to deal." 
 
200 THE witch's head. 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 " This Plowden. I fear that I shall disturb his honey- 
 moon." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean that I am going to kill him, or he is going to 
 kill me, it does not much matter which." 
 
 " Why, what quarrel have you with the man? Of course 
 he looked after himself. You could not expect him to con- 
 sider your interests, could you?" 
 
 " If he had cut me out fairly, I should not have a word 
 to say. Every man for himself in this pleasant world. 
 But, mark my words, this parson and Florence have forced 
 her into this unholy business, and I will have his life in 
 payment. If you don't believe me, ask Jeremy. He saw 
 something of the game before he left." 
 
 " Look here, Kershaw, the man's a parson. He will take 
 shelter behind his cloth, he won't fight. What shall you 
 do then?" 
 
 " I shall shoot him," was the cold reply. 
 
 " Ernest, you are mad; it won't do, you shall not go, 
 and that is all about it. You shall not ruin yourself over 
 this woman, who is not fit to black an honest man's shoes. " 
 
 " Shall not! shall not! Alston, you use strong language. 
 Who will prevent me?" 
 
 " I will prevent you. I am your superior officer, and the 
 corps you belong to is not disbanded. If you try to leave 
 this place you shall be arrested as a deserter. Now don't 
 be a fool, lad ; you have killed one man, and got out of the 
 mess. If you kill another, you will not get out of it. Be- 
 sides, what will the satisfaction be? If you want revenge, 
 be patient. It will come. I have seen something of life; 
 at least, I am old enough to be your father, and I know 
 that you think me a cynic because I laugh at your ' high- 
 falutin' about women. How justly I warned you, you see 
 now. But, cynic or no, I believe in the God above us, and 
 I believe, too, that there is a rough justice in this world. 
 It is in the world principally that people expiate the sins of 
 the world, and if this marriage is such a wicked thing, as 
 you think, it will bring its own trouble with it, without any 
 help from you. Time will avenge you. Everything comes 
 to him who can wait. " 
 
 Ernest's eyes glittered coldly as he answered: 
 
 " I can not wait. I am a ruined man already, aJl my 
 
THE witch's head. 301 
 
 life is laid waste. I wish to die, but I wish to kill him be- 
 fore I die. " 
 
 " So sure as my name is Alston .you shall not go!" 
 " " So sure as my name is Kershaw I toill go!" 
 
 For a moment the two men faced one another; it would 
 have been hard to say which looked the most determined. 
 Then Mr. Alston turned and left the room and the house. 
 On the \?eranda he paused and thought for a moment. 
 
 " The boy means business," he thought to himself. 
 " He will try and bolt. How can I stop him? Ah, I have 
 it," and he set off briskly toward Government House, say- 
 iag aloud as he went, " I love that lad too well to let him 
 destroy himself over a jilt. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 EEKTEST EUN.S AWAY. 
 
 When Alston left the room, Ernest sat down on the bed 
 again. 
 
 " I am not going to be domineered over by Alston," he 
 said, excitedly; " he presumes upon his friendship." 
 
 Jeremy came and sat beside him, and took hold of his 
 arm. 
 
 " Jyiy dear fellow, don't talk like that. You know he 
 means kindly by you. You are not yourself just yet. By 
 and by you will see things in a different light." 
 
 " Not myself, indeed! Would you be yourself, I won- 
 der, if you knew that the woman who had pinned all your 
 soul to her bosom as though it were a ribbon, was going to 
 marry another man to-morrow.'" 
 
 " Old fellow, you forget, though I can't talk of it in as 
 pretty words as you can, I loved her too. I could bear to 
 give her up to you, especially as she didn't care a brass 
 farthing about me; but when I think about this other fel- 
 low, with his cold gray eye and that mark on his confounded 
 forehead — ah, Ernest, it makes me sick!" 
 
 And they sat on the bed together and groaned in chorus, 
 looking, to tell the truth, rather absurd. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Jeremy," said Ernest, when he 
 had finished groaning at the vision of his successful rival as 
 painted by Jeremy, "you are a good fellow, and I am a 
 selfish beast. Here have I been kicking up all this devil's 
 
302 THE 
 
 delight, and you haven't said a word. You are a more 
 decent chap than 1 am, Jeremy, by a long chalis. And I 
 dare say you are as fond of her as I am. No, I don't 
 think you can be that, though." 
 
 " My dear fellow, there is no parallel between our cases. 
 I never expected to marry her. You did, and had every 
 right to do so. Besides, we are differently made. You 
 feel things three times as much as I do. " 
 Ernest laughed bitterly. 
 
 " I don't think that I shall ever feel anything again," he 
 said. " My capacities for suffering will be pretty nearly 
 used up. Oh, what a sublime fool is the man who gives all 
 his life and heart to one woman I No man would have done 
 it; but what could you expect of a couple of boys like we 
 were? That is why women like boys; it is so easy to take 
 them in — like puppies going to be drowned, in love and 
 faith they lick the hand that will destroy them. It must 
 be amusing — to the destroyers. By Jove, Alston was right 
 about his ideals! Do you know I am beginning to see all 
 these things in quite a different light? I used to believe in 
 women, Jeremy — actually I used to believe in them — I 
 thought they were better than we are," and he laughed 
 hysterically. " Well, we buy our experience; I sha'n't 
 make the mistake again. " 
 
 " Come, come, Ernest, don't go on talking like that. 
 You have got a blow as bad as death, and the only thing to 
 do is to meet it as you would meet death — in silence. You 
 will not go after that fellow, will your It will only make 
 things worse, you see. You won't have time to kill him 
 before he marries her, and it really would not be worth 
 while getting hung about it when the mischief is done. 
 There is literally nothing to be done except grin and bear 
 it. We won't go back to England at all, but right up to 
 the Zambesi, and hunt elephant; and as things have turned 
 out, if you should get knocked on the head, why, you won't 
 mind it so much, you know." 
 
 Ernest made no answer to this consolatory address, and 
 Jeremy left him alone, thinking that he had coLrinced 
 him. But the Ernest of midday was a very different man 
 from the Ernest of the morning, directing the erection of 
 " parasols " over melons. Tlie cruel news that the mail 
 had brought him, and which from force of association 
 caused him for years afterward to hate the sight of a letter. 
 
THE witch's head. 203 
 
 had, figuratively speaking, destroyed him. He could never 
 recover from it, though he would certainly survive it. 
 Sharp, indeed, must be the grief which kills. But all the 
 bloom and beauty had gone from his life; the gentle faith 
 which he had placed in women was gone (£or so narrow- 
 minded are we all, that we can not help judging a class by 
 our salient experiences of individuals), and he was from 
 that day forward, for many years, handed over to a long 
 drawn-out pain, which never quite ceased, though it fre- 
 quently culminated in paroxysms, and to which death itself 
 would have been almost preferable. 
 
 But as yet he did not quite realize all these things; what 
 he did realize was an intense and savage thirst for revenge, 
 so intense, indeed, that he felt as though he must put him- 
 self in a way to gratify it, or his brain would go. To-mor- 
 row, he thought, was to see the final act of his betrayal. 
 To-day was the eve of her marriage, and he as powerless to 
 avert it as a child. Oh, great God! And yet through it 
 all he knew she loved him. 
 
 Ernest, like many other pleasant, kindly tempered men, 
 was, if once stung into action by the sense of overpowering 
 wrong, extremely dangerous. Ill, indeed, would it have 
 fared with Mr. Plowden if he could have come across him 
 at that moment. And he honestly meant that it should 
 fare ill with that reverend gentleman. So much did he 
 mean it, that before he left his room he wrote his resigna- 
 tion of membership of the volunteer corps to which he be- 
 longed, and took it up to the government office. Then, re- 
 membering that the Potchefstroom post-cart left Pretoria 
 at dawn on the following morning, he made his way to the 
 office, and ascertained that there were no passengers booked 
 to leave by it. But he did not take a place; he was too 
 clever to do that. Leaving the office, he went to the bank, 
 and drew one hundred and fifty pounds in gold. Then he 
 went home again. Here he found a Kafir messenger dressed 
 in the government white uniform, waiting for him with an 
 official letter. 
 
 The letter acknowledged receipt of his resignation, but 
 " regretted that in the present unsettled state of affairs his 
 excellency was, in the interest of the public service, unable 
 to dispense with his services." 
 
 Ernest dismissed the messenger, and tore the letter 
 across. If the government could not dispense with him, he 
 
804 THE witch's head. 
 
 would dispense with tlie government. His aim was to go to 
 Potchefstroom, and thence to the diamond fields. Once 
 there, he could take the post-cart to Cape Town, where he 
 would meet the English mail-sleamer, and in one month 
 from the present date be once more in England. 
 
 That evening he dined with Mr. Alston, Jeremy, and 
 Roger as usual, and no allusion was made to the events of 
 the morning. About eleven o'clock he went to bed, but 
 not to sleep. The post-cart left at four. At three he rose 
 very quietly, and put a few things into a leather saddle- 
 bag, extracted his revolver from under the bed where he 
 had thrown it when, in the first burst of his agony, he had 
 been interrupted in his contemplated act of self-destruction, 
 and buckled it round his waist. Then he slipped out 
 through the window of his room, crept stealthily down the 
 garden-path, and struck out for the Potchefstroom road. 
 But, silently and secretly as he went, there went behind 
 liim one more silent and secret than he — one to whose 
 race, through long generations of tracking foss and wild 
 beasts, silence and secrecy had become an instinct. It was 
 the Hottentot boy, Aasvogel. 
 
 The Hottentot followed him in the dim light, never more 
 than fifty paces behind him, sometimes not more than ten, 
 and yet totally invisible. Now he was behind a bush or a 
 tuft of rank grass; now he was running down a ditch; and 
 now again creeping over the open on his belly like a two- 
 ligged snake. As soon as Ernest got out of the town, and 
 l.egan to loiter along the Potchefstroom road, the Hotten- 
 tot halted, uttering to himself a guttural expression of sat- 
 isfaction. Then watching his opportunity, he turned and 
 ran swiftly back to Pretoria. In ten minutes he was at 
 Ernest's house. 
 
 In front of the door were five horses, three with white 
 riders, two being held by Kafirs. On the veranda, as 
 usual smoking, was Mr. Alston, and with him Jeremy, the 
 hitter armed and spurred. 
 
 The Hottentot made his report and vanished. 
 
 Mr. Alston turned and addressed Jeremy in the tone of 
 one giving^n order. 
 
 ■' Now go," he said at last, handing him a paper, and 
 Jeremy went, and mounting one of the led horses, a pow- 
 erful cream-colored animal with a snow-white mane and 
 
THE witch's head. 205 
 
 tail, galloped off into the twilight, followed by the three 
 white men. 
 
 Meanwhile Ernest walked quietly along the road. Once 
 he paused, thinking that he heard the sound of galloping 
 horses, half a mile or so to the left. It passed, and he 
 went on again. Presently the mist began to lift, and the 
 glorious sun came up; then caine a rumble of wheels run- 
 ning along the silent road, and the post-cart with six fresh 
 horses was hard upon him. He halted, and held up his 
 hand to the native driver. The man knew him, and 
 stopped the team at once. 
 
 " I am going with you to Potchefstroom, Apollo," he 
 said. 
 
 " All right, sar; plenty of room inside, sar. No pas- 
 senger this trip, sar, ahd damn good job too." 
 
 Ernest got up and otf they went. He was safe now. 
 There was no,' telegraph to Potchefstroom, and nothing 
 could catch the post-cart if it had an hour's start. 
 
 A mile further on there was a hill, up which the un- 
 lovely Apollo walked his horses. At the top of the hill 
 was a clump of mimosa-bush, out of which, to the intense 
 astonishment of both Ernest and ..^i polio, there emerged 
 four mounted men with a led horse. One of these men 
 was Jeremy; it was impossible to mistake his powerful 
 form, sitting on his horse with the grip of a Centaur. 
 
 They rode up to the post-cart in silence. Jeremy mo- 
 tioned to Apollo to pull up. He obeyed, and one of the 
 men dismounted and seized the horse's head. 
 
 " Tricked, by Heaven!" said Ernest. 
 
 " You must come back with me, Ernest," said Jeremy, 
 quietly. " I have a warrant for your arrest as a deserter,' 
 signed by the governor. " 
 
 " And if I refuse?" 
 
 " Then my orders are to take you back." 
 
 Ernest drew his revolver. 
 
 " This is a trick," he said, " and I shall not go back." 
 
 " Then I must take you," was the reply; and Jeremy 
 coolly dismounted. 
 
 Ernest's eyes flashed dangerously, and he lifted tha 
 pistol. * 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can shoot me if you like; but if you do, 
 the others will take you;" and he continued to walk to- 
 ward him. 
 
306 THE WITCa'S HEAt>. 
 
 Ernest cocked his revolver and pointed it. 
 
 " At your peril!" he said. 
 
 " So be it/' said Jeremy, and he walked up to the cart. 
 
 Ernest dropped his weapon. 
 
 " It is mean of you, Jeremy," he said. " You know I 
 can't fire at you." 
 
 " Of course you can't, old fellow. Come, skip out of 
 that; you are keeping the mail. I have a horse ready for 
 you, a slow one; you won't be able to run away on him." 
 
 Ernest obeyed, feeling rather small, and in half an hour 
 was back at his own house. 
 
 Mr. Alston was waiting for him. 
 
 " Good-morning, Ernest," he said, cheerfully. " Went 
 out driving and come back riding, eh?" 
 
 Ernest looked at him, and his brown cheek flushed. 
 
 " You have played me a dirty trick," he said. 
 
 "Look here, my boy," answered Mr. Alston, sternly, 
 " I am slow at making a friend ; but when once I take his 
 hand I hold it till one of the two grows cold. I should 
 have been no true friend to you if I had let you go on this 
 fool's errand, this wicked errand. Will you give me your 
 word that you will not attempt to escape, or must I put 
 you under arrest?" 
 
 "I give you my word," answered Ernest, humbled; 
 " and I ask your forgiveness." 
 
 Thus it was that, for the first time in his life, Ernest 
 tried to run away. 
 
 That morning Jeremy, missing Ernest, went into his 
 room to see what he was doing. The room was shuttered 
 to keep out the glare of the sun; but when he got used to 
 the light he discovered Ernest sitting at the table, and 
 staring straight before him with a wild look in his eyes. 
 
 " Come in, old fellow, come in," he called out with bit- 
 ter jocularity, " and assist at this happy ceremony. Eather 
 dark, isn't it? but lovers like the dark. Look!" he went 
 on, pointing to his watch, which lay upon the table before 
 him, " by English time it is now about twenty minutes 
 past eleven. They are being married now, Jeremy, my 
 boy, I can feel it. By Heaven! I have only to shut my 
 eyes and I can see it. " 
 
 " Come, come, Ernest," said Jeremy, " don't go on likfo 
 that. You are not yourself, man. " 
 
 He laughed, and answered: 
 
THE witch's head. 207 
 
 It ■ 
 
 ' I am sure I wish I wasn't. I tell you I can see it all. 
 I can see Kesterwick church full of people, and before the 
 altar, in her white dress, is Eva; but her face is whiter than 
 her dress, Jeremy, and her eyes are very much afraid. And 
 there is Florence, with her dark smile, and your friend Mr. 
 Plowdeu, too, with his cold eyes and the cross upon his 
 forehead. Oh, I assure you, I can see them all. It is a 
 pretty wedding, very. There, it is over now, and I think I 
 will go away before, the kissing." 
 
 " Oh, hang it all, Ernest, wake up," said Jeremy, shak- 
 ing him by the shoulder. "You will drive yourself mad if 
 you give your imagination so much rein." 
 
 ''Wake up, my boy? I feel more inclined to sleep. 
 Have some grog. Won't you? Well, I will." 
 
 He rose and went to the mantel-piece, on which stood a 
 square bottle of Hollands and a tumbler. Eapidly filling 
 the tumbler with raw spirit, he drank it as fast as the con- 
 tractions of his throat would allow. He filled it again, 
 and drank that too. Then lie fell insensible upon the bed. 
 
 It was a strange scene, and in some ways a coarse one, 
 but yet not without a pathos of its own. 
 
 "Ernest," said Mr. Alston, three weeks later, "you 
 are strong enough to travel now; what do you say to six 
 months or a year among the elephants? The oxen are in 
 first-rate condition, and we ought to get to our ground in 
 six or seven weeks. " 
 
 Ernest, who was lying back in a low cane-chair, looking 
 very thin and pale, thought for a moment before he an- 
 swered: 
 
 " All right, I'm your man; only let's get off soon. I 
 am tired of this place, and want something to think about." 
 
 " You have given up the idea of returning to England?" 
 
 "Yes, quite." 
 
 " And what do you say, Jeremy?" 
 
 " Where Ernest goes, there will I go also. Besides, to 
 shoot an elephant is the one ambition of my life." 
 
 " Good! then we will consider that settled. We shall 
 want to pick up "another eight-bore; but I know of one a 
 fellow wants to sell, a beauty, by Eiley.' I will begin to 
 make arrangements at once. " 
 
3©l THE TTITCH'S HIAB. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ME. PLOWDEN ASSERTS HIS EIGHTS. 
 
 When last we saw Eva she had just become privately 
 engaged to the Rev. James Plowdeii. But the mar- 
 riage was not to take place till the following spring, and 
 the following spring was a long way ofE. Vaguely she 
 hoped something might occur to prevent it, forgetting that, 
 as a rule, in real life it is only happy things that accidents 
 occur to prevent. Rare, indeed, is it that the Plowdens of 
 this world are prevented from marrying the Evas; Fate 
 has suflBcient to do in thwarting the Ernests. And, mean- 
 while, her position was not altogether unendurable, for 
 she had made a bargain with her lover that the usual 
 amenities of courtship were to be dispensed with. There 
 were to be no embracings or other tender passages, she was 
 not even to be forced to call him James. " James!" how 
 she detested the name! Thus did the wretched giii try to 
 put off the evil day, much as the ostrich is supposed to hide 
 her head in a bush and indulge in dreams of fancied secu- 
 rity. Mr. Plowden did not object, he was too wary a 
 hunter to do so. While his stately prey was there with her 
 head in the thickest of the bush he was sure of her. She 
 ■would never wake from her foolish dreams till the ripe mo- 
 ment came to deliver the fatal blow, and all would be over. 
 But if, on the contrary, he startled her now, she might 
 take flight more swiftly than he could follow, and leave 
 him alone in the desert. 
 
 So when Eva made her little stipulations, he acquiesced 
 in them after only just so much hesitation as he thought 
 ■would seem lover-like. " Life, Eva," he said, senten- 
 tiously, " is a compromise. I yield to your wishes." But 
 in his heart he thought that a time would come when she 
 would have to yield to his, and his cold eye gleamed. Eva 
 saw the gleam, and shuddered prophetically. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Plowden did not suffer much distress 
 at the coldness with which he was treated. He knew that 
 his day would come, and was content to wait for it like a 
 wise man. He was not in love with Eva. A nature like 
 his is scarcely capable of any such feeling as that, for iu- 
 
THE witch's head. S0# 
 
 stance, which Eva and Ernest bore to each other. True 
 Love, crowned with immortality, veils his shining face from 
 such men as Mr. Plowden. He was fascinated by her 
 beauty, that was all. But his cunning was of a superior 
 order, and he was quite content to wait. So he contrived 
 to extract a letter from Eva, in which she talked of " our 
 engagement," and alluded to " our forthcoming mar- 
 riage," and waited. 
 
 And thus the time went on all too quickly for Eva. She 
 was quietly miserable, but she was not acutely unhappy. 
 That was yet to come, with other evil things. Christmas 
 came and went, the spring came, too, and with the daffo- 
 dils and violets came Ernest's letter. 
 
 Eva was down the first one morning, and was engaged in 
 making the tea in the cottage dining-room, when that 
 modern minister to the decrees of Eate, the postman, 
 brought the letter. She recognized the writing in a mo- 
 ment, and the tea-caddy fell with a crash on to the floor. 
 Seizing it, she tore open the sealed envelope and read it 
 swiftly. . Oh, what a wave of love surged up in her heart 
 as she read! Pressing the senseless paper to her lips, she 
 kissed it again and again. 
 
 "Oh, Ernest!" she murmured; "oh, my love, my 
 darling!" 
 
 Just then Florence came down, looking cool and com- 
 posed, and giving that idea of quiet strength which is the 
 natural attribute of some women. 
 
 Eva pushed the letter into her bosom. 
 
 " What is the matter, Eva?" she said, quietly, noting 
 her flushed face, " and why have you upset the tea.'"' 
 
 " Matter!" she answered, laughing happily— she had 
 not laughed so for months; " oh, nothing — I have heard 
 from Ernest, that is all." 
 
 " Indeed!" answered her sister, with a troubled smile on 
 her dark face; " and what has our runaway to say for him- 
 seK?" 
 
 " Say! oh, he has a great deal to say, and I have some- 
 thing to say too. I am going to marry him." 
 
 "Indeed! And Mr. Plowden?" 
 
 Eva turned pale. 
 
 " Mr. Plowden! I have done with Mr. Plowden." 
 
 " Indeed!"-- said Florence again; " really this is quite ro- 
 mantic But please pick up that tea. whoever you mar- 
 
SlO int witch's head. 
 
 ry, let us have some breakfast in the meanwhile. Excuse 
 me for one moment, I have forgotten my handkerchief." 
 
 Eva did as she was bid, and made the tea after a fash- 
 ion. 
 
 Meanwhile Florence went to her room and scribbled a 
 note, inclosed it in an envelope, and rang the bell. 
 
 The servant answered. 
 
 " Tell John to take this to Mr. Plowden's lodgings at 
 once, and if he should be out to follow him till he finds 
 him, and deliver it." 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 Ten minutes later Mr. Plowden got the following note: 
 
 " Come here at once. Eva has heard from Ernest Ker- 
 shaw, and announces her intention of throwing you over 
 and marrying him. Be prepared for a struggle, but do 
 not show that you have heard from me. You must find 
 means to hold your own. Burn this. " 
 
 Mr. Plowden whistled as he laid the paper down. Going 
 to his desk he unlocked it and extracted the letter he had 
 received from Eva, in which she acknowledged her engage- 
 ment to him, and then seizing his hat walked swiftly to- 
 ward the cottage. 
 
 Meanwhile Florence made her way down-stairs again, 
 saying to herself as she went: " An unlucky chance. If I 
 had seen the letter first, I would have burned it. But we 
 shall win yet. She has not the stamina to stand out against 
 that man. " 
 
 As soon as she reached the dining-room, Eva began to 
 say somethiug more about her letter, but her sister stopped 
 her quickly. 
 
 " Let me have my breakfast in peace, Eva. We will 
 talk of the letter afterward. He does not interest me, your 
 Ernest, and it takes away my appetite to talk business at 
 meals. ■" 
 
 Eva ceased and sat silent; breakfast had no charms for 
 her that morning. 
 
 Presently there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Plow- 
 den entered with a smile of forced gayety on his face. 
 
 " How do you do, Florence?" he said; " how do you do, 
 dear Eva? You see I have come to see you early this 
 morning. I want a little refreshment to enable me to get 
 
THE ■WlTCfi's HEAD. 311 
 
 through my day's duty. The early suitor has come to pick 
 up the worm of his affections," and he laughed at his joke. 
 
 Florence shuddered at the simile, and thought to herself 
 that there was a fair chance of the affectionate worm disa- 
 greeing with the early suitor. 
 
 Eva said nothing. She sat quite still and pale. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter with you both? -Have you 
 seen a ghost?" 
 
 " Not exactly; but I think that Eva has received a mes- 
 sage from the dead," said Florence, with a nervous laugh. 
 
 Eva rose. " I think, Mr. Plowden," she said, " that I 
 had better be frank with you at once. I ask you to Usten 
 to me for a few moments." 
 
 " Am I not always at your service, dear Eva?" 
 
 " I wish," began Eva, and broke down — " I wish," she 
 went on again, " to appeal to your generosity and to your 
 feelings as a gentteman. " 
 
 Florence smiled. 
 
 Mr. Plowden bowed with mock humility and smiled too 
 — a very ugly smile. 
 
 " You are aware that, before I became engaged to you, 
 I had had a previous — affair." 
 
 " With the boy who committed a murder," put in Mr. 
 Plowden. 
 
 " With a gentleman who had the misfprtune to kill a 
 man in a duel," explained Eva. 
 
 " The Church and the law call it murder." 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Plowden, we are dealing neither with 
 the Church nor the law; we are dealing with the thing as 
 it is called among gentlemen and ladies. " 
 
 " Go on," said Mr. Plowden. 
 
 " Well, misunderstandings, which I need not now enter 
 into, arose with reference to that affair, though, as I told 
 you, I loved the man. To-day I have heard from him, 
 and his letter puts everything straight in my mind, and I 
 see how wrong and unjust has been my behavior to him, 
 and I know that I love him more than ever. " 
 
 "Curse the fellow's impudence!" said the clergyman, 
 furiously; " if he were here, I would give him a bit of my 
 
 mind." • ,~„ , . 
 
 Eva's spirit rose, and she turned on hun with flashing 
 eyes, looking like a queen in her imperial beauty. 
 
 " If he were here, Mr, Plowden, you would not dare to 
 
21 S THE witch's head. 
 
 look him in the face. Men like you only take advantage 
 of the absent. " 
 
 The clergyman ground his teeth. He felt his furious 
 temper rising and did not dare to answer, though he was a 
 bold man in face of a woman. He feared lest it should get 
 beyond him; but beneath his breath he muttered, "You 
 shall pay for that, my lady!" 
 
 " Under these circumstances," went on Eva, " I appeal 
 to you as a gentleman to release me from an engagement 
 into which, as you know, I have been drawn more by force 
 of circumstances than by my own wish. Surely, it is not 
 necessary for me to say any more. " 
 
 Mr. Plowden rose and came and stood quite close to her, 
 so that his face was within a few inches of her eyes. 
 
 " Eva," he said, " I am not going to be trifled with like 
 this. You have promised to marry me, and I shall keep 
 you to your promise. You laid yourself out to win my 
 affection, the affection of an honest man." 
 
 Again Florence smiled, and Eva made a faint motion of 
 dissent. 
 
 " Yes, but you did, you encouraged me. It is very well 
 for you to deny it now, when it suits your purpose, but you 
 did, and you know it, and j-our sister there knows it.''' 
 
 Florence bowed her head in assent. 
 
 "And now you wish, in order to gratify ^n unlawful 
 passion for a shedder of blood — you wish to throw me over, 
 to trample upon my holiest feelings, and to rob me of the 
 prize which I have won. No, Eva, 1 will not release you." 
 
 "Surely, surely, Mr. Plowden," said Eva, faintly, for 
 she was a gentle creature, and tlie man's violence over- 
 whelmed her, "you will not force me into a marriage 
 which I tell you is repugnant to me? I appeal to your 
 generosity to release me. You can never oblige me to 
 marry yon when I tell you that 1 do not love you, and that 
 my whole heart is given to another man." 
 
 Mr. Plowden saw that his violence was doing its work, 
 and determined to follow it up. He raised his voice till it 
 was almost a shout. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I will; I will not submit to such wick- 
 edness. Love! that will come. I am quite willing to take 
 my chance of it. No, I tell you fairly that I will not let 
 you off; and if you try to avoid f ulfiUing your engagement 
 to me I will do more; I will proclaim you all over th« 
 
THE witch's head. 213! 
 
 country as a jilt; I will bring an action for breach of prom- 
 ise of marriage against you — perhaps you did not know 
 that men can do that as well as women — and cover your 
 name with disgrace! Look, I have your written promise 
 of marriage/'' and he produced her letter. 
 
 Eva turned to her sister. 
 
 " Florence," she said, " can not you say a word to help 
 me? I am overwhelmed." 
 
 " I wish I could, Evap dear," answered her sister, kind- 
 ly; " but how cau I? What Mr. Plowden says is just and 
 right. You are engaged to him, and are in honor bound 
 to marry him. Oh, Eva, do not bring trouble and disgrace 
 upon us all by your obstinacy! You owe something to your 
 name as well as to yourself, aud something to me too. I 
 am sure that Mr. Plowden will be willing to forget all about 
 this if you will undertake never to allude to it again." 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly. Miss Florence. I am not revenge- 
 ful; I only want my rights." 
 
 Eva looked faiiitlyfrom one to the other; her head sunk, 
 and great black rings painted themselves beneath her eyes. 
 The hly was broken at last. 
 
 * " You are very cruel," she said, slowly; " but I suppose 
 it must be as you wish. Pray God I may die first, that is 
 all!" and she put her hands to her head and stumbled from 
 the room, leaving the two conspirators facing each other. 
 
 " Come, we got over that capitally," said Mr. Plowden, 
 rubbing his hands. "There is nothing like taking the 
 high hand with a woman. Ladies must sometimes be taught 
 that a gentleman has rights as well as themselves." 
 
 Florence turned on him with bitter scorn. 
 
 " Gentlemen! Mr. Plowden, why is the word so often 
 on your lips? Surely, after the part you have just played, 
 you do not presume to rank yourself among gentlemen? 
 Listen: it suits my purposes that you should marry Eva; 
 and you shall marry her; but I will not stoop to play the 
 hypocrite with a man like you. You talk of yourself as a 
 gentleman, and do not scruple to force an innocent girl into 
 a wicked marriage, and to crush her spirit with your cun- 
 ning cruelty. A gentleman, forsooth! — a satyr, a devil in 
 disguise!" 
 
 "I am only asserting my rights," he said, furiously; 
 " and whatever I have done, you have done more." 
 
 *' Do not try your violence on me, Mr. Plowden; it will 
 
314 THE WITCHES HEAD. 
 
 not do. I am not made of the same stuff as your victim. 
 Lower your voice, or leave the house and do not enter it 
 again." 
 
 Mr. Plowden's heavy under-jaw fell a little; he was ter- 
 ribly afraid of Florence. 
 
 "Now," she said, "listen! I do not choose that you 
 should labor under any mistake. I hold your hand in this 
 business, though to have to do with you in any way is in it- 
 self a defilement, " and she wiped her delicate fingers on a 
 pocket-handkerchief as rhe said the word, " because I 
 liave an end of my own to gain. Not a vulgar end like 
 yours, but a revenge, which shall be almost divine or dia- 
 bolical, call it which you will, in its completeness. Per- 
 haps it is a madness, perhaps it is an inspiration, perhaps 
 it is a fate. Whatever it is, it animates me body and soul, 
 and I will gratify it, though to do so I have to use a tool 
 like you. I wished to explain this to you. I wished, too, 
 to make it clear to you that I consider you contemptible. 
 I have done both, and I have now the pleasure to wish you 
 good-morning. ■'■' 
 
 Mr. Plowden left the house white with fury, and cursing 
 in a manner remarkable in a clergyman. 
 
 " If she wasn't so handsome, hang me if T would not 
 throw the whole thing up!" he said. 
 
 Needless to say, he did nothing of the sort; he only kept 
 out of Florence's way. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 THE VIKGIK MAETYE. 
 
 DoEOTHT, in her note to Ernest that he received by the 
 mail previous to the one that brought the letters which at 
 a single blow laid the hope and proinise of his life in the 
 dust, had, it may be remembered, stated her intention of 
 going to see Eva in order to plead Ernest's cause; but what 
 with one thing and another, her visit was considerably de- 
 layed. Twice she was on the point of going, and twice 
 something occurred to prevent her. The fact of the mat- 
 ter was, the errand was distasteful, and she was in no hurry 
 to execute it. She loved Ernest herself, and, however deep 
 that love might be trampled down, however fast it might 
 be chained in the dungeons of her secret thoughts, it was 
 
THE WITCS'S HEAD. 215 
 
 still there, a living thing, an immortal thin^. She could 
 tread it down and chain it; she could not kill it. Its shade 
 would rise and walk in the upper chambers of her heart, 
 and wring its hands and cry to her, telling what it suffered 
 in those subterranean places, whispering how bitterly it 
 envied the bright and nappy life which moved in the free 
 air, and had usurped the love it claimed. It was hard to 
 have to ignore those pleadings, to disregard those cries for 
 pity, and to say that there was no hope, that it must always 
 oe chained, till- time eat away the_ chains. It was harder 
 still to have to be one of the actual ministers to the suffer- 
 ing. Still, she meant to go. Her duty to Ernest was not 
 to oe forsaken because it was a painful duty. 
 
 On two or three occasions she met Eva, but got no op- 
 portunity of speaking to her. Either her sister Florence 
 was with her, or she was obliged to return immediately. 
 The fact was that, after the scene described in the last chap- 
 ter, Eva was subjected to the closest espionage. At home 
 Florence watched her as a cat watches a mouse; abroad Mr. 
 Plowden seemed to be constantly hovering on her flank, or, 
 if he was not there, then she became aware of the presence 
 of the ancient and contemplative mariner who traded in 
 Dutch cheeses. Mr. Plowden feared lest she should run 
 away, and so cheat him of his prize; Florence, lest she 
 should confide, in Dorothy, or possibly Mr. Cardus, and 
 supported by them find the courage to assert herself and 
 defraud her of her revenge. So they watched her every 
 movement. 
 
 At last Dorothy made up her mind to wait no longer for 
 opportunities, but to go and see Eva at her own home. 
 She knew nothing of the Plowden imbroglio; but it did 
 strike her as curious that no one had said anything about 
 Ernest. He had written — it was scarcely likely the letter 
 had miscarried. How was it that Eva had not said any- 
 thing on the subject? Little did Dorothy guess that, even 
 as these thoughts were passing through her mind, a great 
 vessel was steaming out of Southampton docks, bearing 
 those epistles of final renunciation which Ernest, very little 
 to his satisfaction, received in due course. 
 
 Full of these reflections, Dorothy found herself one lovely 
 spring afternoon knocking at the door of the cottage. Eva 
 was at home, and she was at once ushered into her pres- 
 ence. She was sitting on a low chair — ^the same on which 
 
216 THE witch's head. 
 
 Eruest always pictured her with that confounded Skye ter- 
 rier she was so fond of kissing- — an open book upon her 
 knee, and looking out at the little garden and the sea be- 
 yond. She looked pale and thhi, Dorothy thought. 
 
 On her visitor's entrance, Eva rose and kissed her. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you," she said; " I was feeling 
 lonely." 
 
 " Lonely!" answered Dorothy, in her straightforward 
 way, "v/hy, I have been trying to find you alone for the 
 last fortnight, and have never succeeded. " 
 
 Eva colored. " One may be lonely with ever so many 
 people round one. ' ' 
 
 Then for a minute or so they talked about the weather; 
 so persistently did they discuss it, indeed, that the womanly 
 instinct of each told her that the other was fencing. 
 
 After all, it was Eva who broke the ice first. 
 
 " Have you heard from Ernest lately?" she said, neiT- 
 ously. 
 
 " Yes; I got a note by last mail. " 
 
 " Oh," said Eva, clasping her hands involuntarily, 
 " what did he say?" 
 
 " Nothing much. But I got a letter by the mail before 
 that, in which he said a good deal. Among other things, 
 he said he had written to you. Did you get the letter?" 
 
 Eva colored to her eyes. " Yes," she whispered. 
 
 Dorothy rose, and seated herself again on a footstool by 
 Eva's feet, and wondered at the trouble in her eyes. How 
 could she be troubled when she had heard from Ernest — 
 "like that?" 
 
 " What did you answer him, dear?" 
 
 Eva covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " Do not talk about it," she said; " it is too dreadful to 
 me!" 
 
 " What can you mean? He tells me you are engaged to 
 him." 
 
 " Yes — that is, no. I tvas half engaged. Now I am 
 engaged to Mr. Plowden. " 
 
 Dorothy gave a gasp of horrified astonishment. 
 
 "Engaged to that man when you were engaged to 
 Ernest! You must be joliing." 
 
 " Oh, Dorothy, I am not joking; I wish to Heaven I 
 were. I am engaged to him- I am to marry him in less 
 than a month. Oh, pity me, I am wretched." 
 
THE witch's head. Si?" 
 
 "You mean to tell me/' said Dorothy, rising, "that 
 you are engaged to Mr. Plowdeu when you love Ernest?" 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes, I can not help — " 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Florence entered, 
 •attended by Mr. Plowden. 
 
 Herjseen eyes saw at once that something was wrong; 
 and her intelligence told her what it was. After her bold 
 fashion, slie determined to take the bull by the horns. Un- 
 less something were done, with Dorothy at her back, Eva 
 might prove obdurate after all. 
 
 Advancing, she shook Dorothy cordially by the hand. 
 
 " I see from your face," she said, " that you have just 
 heardr the good news. Mr. Plowden is so shy that he would 
 not consent to announce it before; but here he is to receive 
 your congratulations." 
 
 Mr. Plowden took the cue, and advanced effusively on 
 Dorothy with outstretched hand. "Yes, Miss Jones, I 
 am sure you will congratulate me; and I ought to be con- 
 gratulated; I am the luckiest — " 
 
 Here he broke off. It really was very awkward. His 
 hand remained limply hanging in the air before Dorothy, 
 but not the slightest sign did that dignified little lady show 
 of taking it. On the contrary, she drew herself up to her 
 full height — which was not very tall — and fixing her steady 
 blue eyes on the clergyman's shifty orbs, deliberately placed 
 her right hand behind her back. 
 
 " I do not shake hands with , people who play such 
 tricks," she said, quietly. 
 
 Mr. Plowden's hand fell to his side, and he stepped back. 
 He did not expect such courage in anything so small. 
 Florence, however, sailed in to the rescue. 
 
 " Eeally, Dorothy, we do not quite understand." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think you do, Florence, or if you do not, 
 then I will explain. Eva here v/as engaged to marry Ernest 
 Kershaw. Eva here has just with her own lips told me 
 that she still loves Ernest, but that she is obliged to marry 
 --rthat man," and she pointed with her little forefinger at 
 Plowden, who recoiled another step. " Is not that true, 
 Eva?" 
 
 Eva bowed her head, by way of answer. She still sat in 
 the low chair, with her hands over her face. 
 
 " Really, Dorothy, I fail to see what right you have to 
 interfere in this matter," said Florence. 
 
218 THE witch's head. 
 
 " I have the right of common justice, Florence — the 
 right a friend has to protect the absent. Oh, are you not 
 ashamed of such a wicked plot to wrong an absent man? Is 
 there no way " (addressing Mr. Plowden) "in which I can 
 appeal to your feelings, to induce you to free this wretched 
 girl you have entrapped?" 
 
 " I only ask my own," said Mr. Plowdeu, sulkily. 
 
 "For shame! for shame! and you a minister of God's 
 word! — And you too, Florence! Oh, now I can read 
 your heart, and see the bad thoughts looking from your 
 eyes!" 
 
 Florence for a moment was abashed, and turned her face 
 aside. 
 
 " And you, Eva, how can you become a party to such a 
 shameful thing? You, a good girl, to sell yourself away 
 from dear Ernest to such a man as that!" And again she 
 pointed contemptuously at Mr. Plowden. 
 
 " Oh, don't, Dorothy, don't; it is my duty. You don't 
 understand." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Eva, I do understand. I understand that it 
 is your duty to drown yourself before you do such a thing. 
 I am a woman as well as you, and, though I am not beauti- 
 ful, I have a heart and a conscience, and I understand only 
 too well." 
 
 " You will be lost if you drown yourself — I mean it is 
 very wicked, " said Mr. Plowden to Eva, suddenly assum- 
 ing his clerical character as most likely to be effective. 
 The suggestion alarmed him. He had bargained for a live 
 Eva. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Plowden," went on Dorothy, " you are right; 
 it would be wicked, but not so wicked as to marry you. 
 God gave us women our lives, but He put a spirit in our 
 hearts which tells us that we should rather throw them 
 away than suffer ourselves to be degraded. Oh, Eva, tell 
 me that you will not do this shameful thing; no, do not 
 whisper to her, Florence." 
 
 " Dorothy, Dorothy," said Eva, rising and wringing her 
 hands, " it is all useless. Do not break my heart with your 
 cruel words. I must marry him. I have fallen into the 
 power of people who do not know what mercy is." 
 
 " Thank you," said Florence. 
 
 Mr. Plowden scowled darkly. 
 
 "Then I have done;" and Dorothy walked toward the 
 
THE witch's head. 219 
 
 door. Before she reached it she paused and turned. " One 
 word, and I will trouble you no more. What do you all 
 expect will come of this wicked marriage?" 
 
 There was no answer. Then Dorothy went. 
 
 But her efforts did not stop there. She made her way 
 straight to Mr. Cardus-s office. 
 
 " Oh, Reginald!" she said, " I have such dreadful news 
 for you. There, let me cry a little first and I will tell 
 you." 
 
 And she did, tellings him the whole story from begin- 
 ning to end. It was entirely new to him, and he listeued 
 with some astonishment, and with a feeling of something 
 like indignation against Ernest. He had intended that 
 young gentleman to fall in love with Dorothy, and, behold, 
 he had fallen in love with Eva. Alas for the perversity of 
 youth! 
 
 " Well," he said, when she had done, " and what do you 
 wish me to do? It seems that you have to do with a heart- 
 less, scheming woman, a clerical cad, and a beautiful fool. 
 One might deal with the schemer and the fool, but no 
 power on earth can soften the cad. At least, that is my 
 experience. Besides, I think the whole thing is much bet- 
 ter left alone. I should be very sorry to see Ernest mar- 
 ried to a woman so worthless as this Eva must be. She is 
 handsome, it is true, and that is about all she is, as far as 
 I can see. Don't distress yourself, my dear; he will get 
 over it, and after he has had his fling out there, and lived 
 down that duel business, he will come home, and, if he is 
 wise, I know where he will look for consolation. " 
 
 Dorothy tossed her head and colored. 
 
 " It is not a question of consolation," she said, " it is a 
 question of Ernest's happiness in life. " 
 
 " Don't alarm yourself, Dorothy; people's happiness is 
 not so easily affected. He will forget all about her in a 
 year." 
 
 " I think that men always talk of each other like that, 
 Reginald," said Dorothy, resting her head upon her hands, 
 and looking straight at the old gentleman. " Each of you 
 likes to think that he has a monopoly of feeling, and that 
 the rest of his kind are as shallow as a milk-pan. And yet 
 it was only last night that you were talking to me about my 
 mother. You told me, you remember, that life had been 
 a worthless thing to you since she was torn from you, which 
 
320 THE witch's head. 
 
 no success had been able to render pleasant. You said 
 more, you said that you hoped that the end was not far 
 off, that you had suffered enough and waited enough, and 
 that, though you had not seen her face for five-and-twenty 
 years, you loved her as wildly as you did the day Avhen she 
 first promised to become your wife." 
 
 Mr. Cardus had risen, and was looking through the glass 
 door at the blooming orchids. Dorothy got up, and, fol- 
 lowing him, laid her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Eeginald," she said, " thinii. Ernest is about to be 
 robbed of his wife under circumstances curiously like those 
 by which you were robbed of yours. Unless it is prevent- 
 ed, what you have suffered all your life that he will suffer 
 also. Eemember you are of the same blood, and, allowing 
 for the difference between your ages, of very much the 
 same temperament, too. Think how different life would 
 have been to you if any one had staved off your disaster, 
 and then I am sure you will do all you can to stave off his. " 
 
 " Life would have been non-existent for you," he an- 
 swered, " for you would never have been born." 
 
 " Ah, well," she said, with a little sigh, " I am sure I 
 should have got on very well without. I could have spar3d 
 myself. " 
 
 Mr. Cardus was a keen man, and could see as far into 
 the human heart as most. 
 
 " Girl," he said, contracting his white eyebrows and sud- 
 denly turning round upon her, " you love Ernest yourself. 
 I have often suspected it, now I am sure you do." 
 
 Dorothy flinched. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, "1 do love him: what then?" 
 
 " And yet you are advocating my interference to secure 
 his marriage with another woman, a worthless creature who 
 does not know her own mind. You can not reaUy care 
 about him." 
 
 " Care about him!" and she turned her sweet blue eyes up- 
 ward. " I love him with all my heart and soul and strength. 
 I have always loved him; I always shall love him. I love 
 him so well that I can do my duhj to him, Reginald. It 
 is my duty to strain every nerve to prevent this marriage. 
 I had rather that my heart should ache than Ernest's. I 
 implore you to help me!" 
 
 Dorothy, it has always been my dearest wish that you 
 should marry Ernest. I told him so just before that un- 
 
THE witch's head. 231 
 
 happy duel. I love you both. All the fibers of my heart 
 that are left alive have wound themselves around you. 
 Jeremy I could naver care for. Indeed, I fear that I used 
 sometimes to treat the boy harshly. He reminds me so of 
 his falher; and do you .know, my dear, I sometimes think 
 that on that point I am not quite sane? But, because yoti 
 have asked me to do it, and because you have quoted your 
 dear mother, may peace be with her! I will do what I can. 
 This girl Eva is of age, and I will write and offer her a 
 home. She need fear no persecution here. " 
 
 " You are kind and good, Eeginald, and I thank you." 
 
 " The Tetter shall go by to-night's post. But ruu away 
 now, I see my friend De Talor coming to speak to me," 
 and the white eyebrows drew near together in a way that it 
 would have been unpleasant for the great De Talor to be- 
 hold. " That business is drawing tow;ard its end." 
 
 " Oh, Reginald," answered Dorothy, shaking her fore- 
 finger at him in her old, childish way, " haven't you given 
 up those ideas yet? They are very wrong." 
 
 " Never mind, Dorothy. I shall give them up soon, 
 
 when I have squared accounts with De Talor. A year or 
 
 two more— a stern chase is a long chase, you know — and 
 
 the thing will be done, and then I shall become a good 
 
 •Christian again." 
 
 The letter was written. It offered Eva a home and pro- 
 tection. 
 
 In due course an answer signed by Eva herself came 
 back. It tbanked him for his kindness, and regretted that 
 circumstances and '.' her sense of duty "prevented her from 
 accepting the offer. 
 
 Then Dorothy felt that she had done all that in her lay, 
 and gave the matter up. 
 
 It was about this time that Florence drew another pict- 
 ure. It represented Eva as Andromeda gazing hopelessly 
 in the dim light of a ghastly dawn out across a glassy sea; 
 and far away in the oily depths there was a ripple, and be- 
 neath the ripple a form traveling toward the chained 
 maiden. The form of a human head and cold, gray eyes, 
 and its features were those of Mr. Plowden. 
 
 A nd so, day by day. Destiny throned in space shot her 
 flaming shuttle from darkness into darkness, and the timei 
 
232 THE witch's head. 
 
 passed on, as the time must pass, till the inevitable end of 
 all things is attained. 
 
 Eva existed and suffered, and that was all she did. She 
 scarcely eat, or drank, or slept. But still she lived; she 
 was not brave enough to die, and the chains were riveted 
 too tight round her tender wrists to let her flee away. Poor 
 nineteenth-century Andromeda! No Perseus shall come 
 to save you. 
 
 The sun rose and set in his appointed course, the flowers 
 bloomed and died, children were born, and the allotted 
 portion of mankind passed onward to its rest; but no god- 
 like Perseus came flying out of the golden east. ^ 
 
 Once more the sun rose. The dragon heaved his head 
 above the quiet waters, and she was lost. By her own act, 
 of her own folly and weakness, she was undone. Behold 
 her! the wedding is over. The echoes of the loud mockery 
 of the bells have scarcely died upon the noonday air, and 
 in her chamber, the chamber of her free and happy maiden- 
 hood, the virgin martyr stands alone. 
 
 It is done. There lie the sickly scented flowers, there 
 too the bride's wliite robe. It is done. Oh, that life were 
 done too, that she might once press her lips to Ms and die! 
 
 The door opens, and Florence stands before her, pale, 
 triumphant, awe-inspiring. 
 
 " I must congratulate you, my dear Eva. You really 
 went through the ceremony very well, only you looked like 
 a statue. " 
 
 " Florence, why do you come to mock me?" 
 
 " Mock you, Eva, mock you! I come to wish you joy as 
 Mr. Plowden's wife. I hope that you will be happy " 
 
 " Happy! I shall never be happy. I detest him!" 
 
 " You detest him, and you marry him; there must be 
 some mistake." 
 
 " There is no mistake. Oh, Ernest, my darling!" 
 
 Florence smiled. 
 
 " If Ernest is your darling, why did you not marry 
 Ernest?" 
 
 " How could I marry him when you forced me into 
 this?" 
 
 " Forced you! A free woman of full age can not be 
 forced. You married Mr. Plowden of your own will. You 
 might have married Ernest Kershaw if you chose. He is 
 
THE witch's head. 233 
 
 in many ways a more desirable match than Mr. Plowdeii, 
 but you did not choose." 
 
 _ " Florence, wnat do you mean? You alwavs said it was 
 impossible. Oh, is this all some crue¥plot of "yours?" 
 
 'Impossible! there is nothing impossible to those who 
 have courage. Yes," and she turned upon her sister fierce- 
 ly, " it was a plot, and you shall know it, you poor, weak 
 fool! I loved Ernest Kershaw, and you robbed me oE 
 him, although you promised to leave him alone, and so I 
 have revenged myself upon you. I despise you, I tell you; 
 you are quite contemptible, and yet he could prefer you to 
 me. Well, he has got his reward. You have deserted him 
 vrhen he was absent and in trouble, and you have outraged 
 his love and your own. You have fallen very low indeed, 
 Eva, and you will fall lower yet. I know you well. You 
 will sink, till at last you even lose the sense of your own 
 humiliation. Don't you wonder what Ernest must think 
 of you now? There is Mr. Plowden caUing you — come, it 
 is time for you to be going.^" 
 
 Eva listened aghast, and then sunk up against the wall, 
 gobbing despairingly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 HANS'S CITT OP KEST. 
 
 Me. Alstost, Ernest, and Jeremy had very good sport 
 among the elephants, killing in all nineteen bulls. It was 
 during this expedition that an incident occurred which in 
 its eiJect endeared Ernest to Mr. Alston more than ever. 
 
 The boy Eoger, who always went wherever Mr. Alston 
 went, was the object of his father's most tender sohcitude. 
 He believed in the boy as he believed in little else in the 
 world — for at heart Mr. Alston was a sad cynic — and to a 
 certain extent the boy justified his belief." He was quick, 
 intelligent, and plucky, much such a boy as you may pick 
 up by the dozen out of any English public school, except 
 that his knowledge of men and manners was more devel- 
 oped, as is usual among young colonists. At the age of 
 twelve Master Koger Alston knew many things denied to 
 most children of his age. On the subject of education Mr. 
 Alston had queer ideas. " The best education for a boy," 
 he would say, " is to mix with grown-up gentlemen. If 
 
234 THE witch's head. 
 
 you send him to school, he learns little except mischief; if 
 you let him live with gentlemen, he learns, at any rate, to 
 be a gentleman." 
 
 But whatever Master Boger knew, he did not know much 
 about elephants, and on this point he was destined to gain 
 some experience. 
 
 One day — it was just after they had got into the elephant 
 country — they were all engaged in following the fresh spoor 
 of an apparently solitary bull. But, though an elephant is 
 a big beast, it is hard work catching him up, because he 
 never seems to get tired, and this was exactly what our 
 party of hunters found. They followed that energetic 
 elephant for hours, but they could not catch him, though 
 the spoorers told them thab he certainly was not more than 
 a mile or so ahead. At last the sun began to get low, and 
 their legs had already got tired, so they gave it up for that 
 day, determining to camp where they were. This being 
 so, after a rest, Ernest and the boy Eoger started out of 
 camp to see if they could not fehoot a buck or some birds 
 for supper. Roger had a repeating Winchester carbine, 
 Ernest a double-barreled shot-gun. Hardly had tliey left 
 the camp when Aasvogel, Jeremy's Hottentot, came run- 
 ning in, and reported that he had seen the elephant, au 
 enormous bull with a white spot npon his trunk, feeding in 
 a clump of mimosa, not a quarter of a mile away. Up 
 lumped Mr. Alston and Jeremy, as fresh as though they 
 had not walked a mile, and seizing their double-eight 
 elephant rifles, started off with Aasvogel. 
 
 Meanwhile Ernest and Roger had been strolling toward 
 this identical clump of mimosa. As they neared it, the 
 former saw some Guinea-fowl run into the shelter of the 
 trees. 
 
 " Capital!" he said; " Guinea-fowl are first-class eating. 
 Now, Roger, just you go into the bush and drive the flock 
 over me. I'll stand here and make believe they are pheas- 
 ants." 
 
 The lad did as he was bid. But in order to get well be- 
 hind the covey of Guinea-fowl, which are dreadful things 
 to run, he made a little circuit through the thickest part of 
 the clump. As he did so, his quick eye was arrested by a 
 most unusual performance on the part of one of the flat- 
 crowned mimosa-trees. Suddenly, and without the slight- 
 est apparent reason, it rose into the air, and then, behold, 
 
THE witch's head. 235 
 
 where its crown had been a moment before, appeared its 
 roots. / 
 
 Such an " Alice in Wonderland " sort of performance on 
 the part of a tree could not but excite the curiosity of an 
 intelligent youth. Accordingly, Eoger pushed forward, 
 and, getting round an intervening tree, this was what he 
 saw. In a little glade about ten paces from him, flap- 
 ping its ears, stood an enormous elephant with great wliite 
 tusks, looking as large as a house, and as cool as a cucum- 
 ber. Nobody, to look at the brute, would have believed 
 that he had given them a twenty miles' trot under a burn- 
 ing sun. He was now refreshing himself by pulling up 
 mimosa-trees as easily as though they were radishes, and 
 eating the sweet fibrous roots. 
 
 Roger saw this and his heart burned with ambition to 
 kill that elephant, the mighty great beast about a hundred 
 times as big as himself, who could pull up a large tree and 
 make his dinner oif the roots. He was a plucky boy, was 
 Eoger, and in his sportsmanlike zeal he quite forgot that, a 
 repeating carbine is not exactly the weapon one would choose 
 to shoot elephants with. Indeed, without giving the mat- 
 ter another thought, he lifted the little rifle, aimed it at 
 the great beast's head, and fired. He hit it somewhere, 
 that was very clear, for next moment the air resounded 
 with the most terrific scream of fury that it had ever been 
 his lot to hear. That scream was too much for him; he 
 turned and fled swiftly. Elephants were evidently difiicult 
 things to kill. 
 
 Fortunately for Roger, the elephant could not for some 
 seconds make out where his tiny assailant was. Present- 
 ly, however, he winded him, and came crashing after him, 
 screaming shrilly, with his trunk and tail well up. On 
 hearing the shot and the scream of the elephant, Ernest, 
 who was standing some way out in the open in anticipation 
 of a driving shot at the Guinea-fowl, had run toward the 
 spot where Roger had entered the bush, and, just as he got 
 opposite to it, out he came, scuttling along for his life, 
 with the elephant not more than twenty paces behind 
 him. 
 
 Then Ernest did a brave thing. 
 
 " Make for the bush!" he yelled to the boy, who at once 
 swerved to'the right. On thundered the elephant, straight 
 toward Ernest. But with Ernest it was evident he coa- 
 
236 THE witch's head. 
 
 sidered he had no quarrel, for presently he tried to swing 
 himself round after Koger. Then Ernest lifted his shot- 
 gun and sent a charge of No. 4 into the brute's face, sting- 
 ing him sadly. It was, humanly speaking, certain death 
 which he courted, but at the moment his main idea was to 
 save the boy. Screaming afresh, the elephant abandoned 
 the pursuit of Eoger, and made straight for Ernest, who 
 fired the other barrel of small shot in the vain hope of blind- 
 ing him. By now the boy had pulled up, being some forty 
 yards off, and seeing Ernest just about to be crumpled up, 
 wildly fired the repeating rifle in their direction. Some 
 good angel must have guided the little bullet, for it, as it 
 happened, struck the elephant in the region of the knee, 
 and, forcing its way in, slightly injured a tendon, and 
 brought the great beast thundering to the ground. Ernest 
 had only just time to dodge to one side as the huge mass 
 came to the earth; indeed, as it was,he got a tap from the 
 tip of the elephant's trunk which knocked him down, and, 
 though he did not feel it at the time, made him sore for 
 days afterward. In a moment, however, he wjis up again 
 and away at his best speed, legging it as he never legged it 
 before in his life, and so was the elephant. People have no 
 idea at what a pace an elephant can go when he is out of 
 temper, until they put it to the proof. Had it not been 
 for the slight injury to the knee, and the twenty yards' 
 start he got, Ernest would have been represented by little 
 pieces before he was ten seconds older. As it was, when, a 
 hundred and fifty yards further on, elephant and Ernest 
 broke upon the astonished view of Mr. Alston and Jeremy, 
 who were hurrying up to the scene of action, they were 
 almost one flesh, that is, the tip of the elephant's trunk 
 was now up in the air, and about six inches ofi the seat of 
 Earnest's trousers, at which it snapped convulsively. 
 
 Up went Jeremy's heavy rifle, which luckily he had in 
 his hand. 
 
 " Behind the shoulder, half-way down the ear," said 
 Mr. Alston, beckoning to a Kaffir to bring his rifle, which 
 he was carrying. The probability of Jeremy's stopping 
 the beast at that distance — they were quite sixty yards olf 
 — was infinitesimal. 
 
 There was a second's pause. The snapping tip touched 
 the retreating trousers, but did not get hold of them, an<i 
 the contact sent i. magnetic thrill up Ernest's back. 
 
THE witch's head. 227 
 
 " Boom — thud— crash!" and the elephant was down dead 
 as a door-nail." Jeremy had made no mistake: the bullet 
 went straight through the great brute's heart, aud broke 
 the shoulder on the other side. He was one of those men 
 who not only rarely miss, but always seem to hit their 
 game in the right place. 
 
 Ernest sunk exhausted on the ground, and Mr. Alston 
 and Jeremy rushed up rejoicing. 
 
 " Near go, that, Ernest," said the former. 
 
 Ernest nodded in reply, he could not speak. 
 
 "By Jove! where is Roger?" he went on, turning pale 
 as he missed his son for the first time. 
 
 But at this moment that young gentleman hove in sight, 
 and, recovering from his fright when he saw that the great 
 animal was stone-dead, rushed up with yells of exultation, 
 and, climbing on to the upper tusk, began to point out 
 where he had hit him. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Alston had extracted the story of the 
 adventure from Ernest. 
 
 " You young rascal," he said to his son, " come off that 
 tusk. Do you know that if it had not been for Mr. Ker- 
 shaw hei'e, who courted almost certain death to save you 
 from the results of your own folly, you would be as dead as 
 that elephant and as flat as a biscuit? Come domi, sir, 
 and offer up your thanks to Providence and Mr. Kershaw 
 that you have a sound square inch of skin left on your 
 worthless young body!" 
 
 Eoger descended accordingly, considerably crestfallen. 
 
 " Never you mind, Eoger, that was a most rattling good 
 shot of yours at his knee," said Ernest, who had now got 
 his breath again. " You would not do it again if you fired 
 at elephants for a week." 
 
 And so the matter passed off, but afterward Mr. Alston 
 thanked Ernest with tears in his eyes for saving his son's 
 life. 
 
 This was the first elephant they killed, and also the 
 largest, It measured ten feet eleven inches at the shoulder, 
 and the tusks weighed, when dried out, about sixty pounds 
 each. They remained in the elephant country for nearly four 
 months, when the approach of the unhealthy season forced 
 them to leave it — not, however, before they had killed a great 
 quantity of large game of all sorts. ^ It was a most success- 
 ful hunt, so successful indeed that' the ivory they brought 
 
238 THE witch's head. 
 
 down paid all the expenses of the trip and left a handsome 
 surplus over. 
 
 It was on the oocaison of their return to Pretoria that 
 Ernest made the acquaintance of a curious character in a 
 curious way. 
 
 As soon as they got to the boundaries of the Transvaal, 
 Ernest bought a horse from a Boer, on which he used to 
 ride after the herds of buck which swarnied upon the high 
 veldt. They had none with them, because in the country 
 where they had been shooting no horse would live. One 
 day, as they were traveling slowly along a little before mid- 
 day, a couple of bull-wilderbeeste 'galloped across the 
 wagon-track about two hundred yards in front of the oxen. 
 The voorlooper stopped the oxen in order to give Ernest, 
 who was sitting on the wagon-box with a rifle by his side, 
 a steady shot. Ernest fired at the last of the two galloping 
 bulls. The line was good, but he did not make sufficient 
 allowance for the pace at which the bull was traveling, 
 with the result that instead of striking it forward and kill- 
 ing it, the bullet shattered its flank and did not stop its 
 career. 
 
 " Dash it!" said Ernest, when he saw what he had done, 
 "I can't leave the poor beast like that. Bring me my 
 horse; I will go after him and finish him." 
 
 The horse, which was tied already saddled behind the 
 wagon, was quickly brought, and Ernest mounting told 
 them not to keep the wagons for him, as he would strike 
 across-country and meet them at the outspan place, about 
 a mile or so on. Then he started after his wounded bull, 
 which could be plainly discerned standing with one leg up 
 on the crest of a rise about a thousand yards away. But if 
 ever a wilderbeeste was possessed by a fixed determination 
 not to be finished off, it was that particular wilderbeeste. 
 The pace at which a wilderbeeste can travel on three legs 
 when he is not too fat is perfectly astonishing, and Ernest 
 had traversed a couple of miles of great rolling plain before 
 he even got within fair galloping distance of him. He had 
 a good horse, however, and at last he got within fifty 
 yards, and then away they went at a merry pace, Ernest's 
 object being to ride alongside and put a bullet through 
 liim. Their gallop lasted a good two miles or more. On 
 the level Ernest gained on the wilderbeeste, but whenever 
 they came to a patch of "ant-bear holes or a ridge of stones, 
 
THE witch's head. 339 
 
 the wilderbeeste had the pull and drew away again. At 
 last they came to a dry pan or lake about half a mile broad, 
 crowded with hundreds of buck of all sorts, which scam- 
 pered away as they came tearing along. Here Ernest at 
 length drew up level with his quarry, and, grasping the 
 rifle with his right hand, tried to get it so that he could 
 put a bullet through the beast and drop him. But it was 
 no easy matter, as any one who has ever tried it will know, 
 and, while he was still making up his mind, the wilderbeeste 
 slewed round and came at him bravely. Had his horse been 
 unused to the work, he must have had his inside ripped out 
 by the crooked horns, but he was an old hunter and equal 
 to the occasion. To turn was impossible, the speed wae 
 too great, but he managed to slew with the result that the 
 charging animal brushed his head, instead of landing him- 
 self in his belly. At the same moment Ernest stretched 
 out his rifle and pulled the trigger, and, as it chanced, put 
 the bullet right through the wUderbeeste and dropped him 
 dead. 
 
 Then he pulled up, and dismounting cut off some of the 
 best of the beef with his hunting-knife, stowed it away in a 
 saddle-bag, and set off on his horse, now pretty well fagged, 
 to find the wagons. But to find a wagon-track on the great 
 veldt, unless you have in the first instance taken the most 
 careful bearings, is almost as difficult as it would be to re- 
 turn from a distance to any given spot on the ocean with- 
 out a compass. There are no trees or hills to guide one, 
 nothing but a vast wilderness of land resembling a sea pet- 
 rified in a heavy swell. 
 
 Ernest rode on for three or four miles, as he thought re- 
 tracing his steps over the line of country he had traversed, 
 and at last to his Joy struck the path. There were wagon- 
 tracks on it, but he thought they did not look quite fresh. 
 However, he followed them fmde de niieux for some five 
 miles. Then he became convinced that they could not have 
 been made by his wagons. He must have overshot the 
 mark, and must hark back. So he turned his weary 
 horse's head, and made his way back along the road to the 
 spot where his spoor struck into it. The wagons must be 
 outspanned, waiting for him a little further back. He 
 went on, one mile, two, three — no wagons. A little to the 
 left of the road was an eminence. He rode to it, and up 
 and scanned the horizon. Oh, joyi there, far away, five 
 
230 THE witch's head. 
 
 or six miles off, was the white cap of a wagon. He rode to 
 it straight across-country. Once he got bogged in a vlei 
 or swamp, and had to throw himself off and drag his horse 
 out by the bridle. He struggled on, and at last came to 
 the dip in which he had seen the wagon-tent. It was a 
 great white stone perched on a mound of brown ones. 
 
 By this time he had utterly lost his reckoning. Just 
 then, to make matters worse, a thunder-shower came up 
 with a bitter wind and drenched him to the skin. The 
 rain passed, but the wind did not. It blew like ice and 
 chilled his frame, enervated with the tropical heat in wbich 
 he had been living, through and through. He wandered 
 on aimlessly, till suddenly his tired horse put his foot in a 
 hole and fell heavily, throwing him on to his head and 
 shoulder. For a few minutes his senses left him, but he 
 recovered, and, mounting his worn-out horse, wandered on 
 again. Luckily he had broken no bones. Had he done so, 
 he would probably have perished miserably in that lonely 
 place. 
 
 The sun was sinking now, and he was faint for want of 
 food, for he had eaten nothing that day but a biscuit. He 
 had not even a pipe of tobacco with him. Just as the sun 
 vanished he hit a little path, or what might once have been 
 a path. He followed it till the pitch darkness set in; then 
 he got off his horse and took on the saddle, which he put 
 down on the bare, black veldt, for a fire had recently swept 
 off the dry grass, and, wrapping the saddle-cloth round his 
 feet, laid his aching head upon the saddle. The reins of 
 his horse he hitched round his arm, lest the animal should 
 stray away from him to look for food. The wind was bit- 
 terly cold, and he was wet through; the hyenas came and 
 howled round him. He cut ofE a piece of the raw meat and 
 chewed it, but it turned his stomach and he spat it out. 
 Then he jhivered and sunk into a torpor from which there 
 was a poor chance of his awakening. 
 
 How long he lay so he did not know, it seemed a few 
 minutes, it was really an hour, when suddenly he was 
 awakened by feeUng something shaking him by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " What is it?" he said, wearily. 
 
 " Wat is it? ach Himmel! wat is it? dat is just wat I 
 wants to know. Wat do you here? You shall die so. " 
 
THE WITCH'S HEAD, 831 
 
 The voice was the voice of a German, and Ernest knew 
 German well. 
 
 " I have lost my way," he said in that language; " I can 
 not find the wagons." 
 
 " Ah, you can speak the tongue of the Vaterland," said 
 his visitor, still addressing him in English. " I will em- 
 brace you, ".and he did so. 
 
 Ernest sighed. It is a bore to be embraced- in the dark 
 by an unknown male German when you feel that you are 
 not far off dissolution. 
 
 " You are hungered?" said the German. 
 
 Ernest signified that he was. 
 
 " And athirsted?" 
 
 Again he signified assent. 
 
 " And perhaps you have no ' gui ' (tobacco)?" 
 
 " No, none. " 
 
 " Good! my little wife, my Wilhemina, shall find you all 
 these things. " 
 
 " ^\hat the devil," thought Ernest to himself, " can a 
 German be doing with his little wife in this place?" 
 
 By this time the stars had come out and gave a little 
 light. 
 
 " Come, rouse yourself, and come and see my little wife. 
 Oh, the pferd!" (horse) — " we will tie him to my wife. 
 Ah, she is beautiful, though her leg shakes. Oh, yes, you 
 will love her. " 
 
 "The deuce I shall!" ejaculated Ernest; and then, 
 mindful of the good things the lady in question was to pro- 
 vide him with, he added solemnly, " Lead on, Macduff." 
 
 " Macduffer! my name is not so, my name is Hans; all 
 ze great South Africa know me very well, and aU South 
 Africa love my wife." 
 
 " Eeally!" said Ernest. 
 
 Although he was so miserable, he began to feel that the 
 situation was interesting. A lady to whom his horse was to 
 be tied, and whom all South Africa was enamored of, could 
 hardly fail to be interesting. Eising, he advanced a step 
 or two with his friend, who he could now see was a large, 
 burly man with white hair, apparently about sixty years of 
 age. Presently they cn.me to something that in the dim 
 hght reminded him of the hand-hearse in Kesterwick 
 church, only it had two wheels instead of four, and no 
 springs. 
 
^33 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Behold my beautiful wife/' said the German. " Soon 
 I will show you how her leg shakes; it shakes, oh, horrid." 
 " Is — is the lady inside?" asked Ernest. It occurred to 
 him that his friend might be carting about a corpse. 
 
 "Inside! no, she is outside, she is all over," and step- 
 ping back the German put his head on one side in a most 
 comical fashion, and, regarding the unofficial- hearse with 
 the deepest affection, said in a low voice, " Ah, liebe vrouw, 
 ah, Wilhelmina, is you tired, my dear? and how is your 
 poor leg?" and he caught hold of a groggy wheel and 
 shook it. 
 
 Had Ernest been a little less wretched, and one degree 
 further off starvation, it is probable that he would have ex- 
 ploded with laughter, for he had a keen sense of the ludi- 
 crous; but he had not got a laugh left in him, and, besides, 
 he was afraid of offending the German. So he merely 
 murmured, " Poor, poor leg!" sympathetically, and then 
 alluded to the question of eatables. 
 
 " Ah, yes, of course. Let us see what Wilhemina shall 
 give us," and he trotted round to the back end of the cart, 
 wtiich, in keeping with its hearse-like character, opened by 
 means of two little folding-doors, and pulled out, first, two 
 blankets, one of which he gave to Ernest to put round his 
 shoulders; second, a large piece of biltong, or sun-dried 
 game-flesh, and some biscuits; and, third, a bottle of peach- 
 brandy. On thsse viands they fell to, and though they 
 were not in themselves of an appetizing nature, Ernest 
 never enjoyed anything more in his life. Their meal did 
 not take long, and after it his friend Hans produced some 
 excellent Boer tobacco, and over their pipes he told him 
 how he had lost his way. Hans asked him what road he 
 had been traveUng on. 
 " The Kustenburg road." 
 
 " Then, my friend, you are not more than one thousand 
 paces off it. My wife and I we travel along him all day, 
 till just now Wilhemina she think she would like to come 
 up here, and so I come, and now you see the reason why. 
 She know you lie here and die in the cold, and she turn up 
 to save your life. Ah, the good woman!" 
 
 Ernest was greatly relieved to hear that' he was so near 
 the road, as, once upon it, he would have no difficulty in 
 falling in with the wagons. Clearly he must during the 
 latter part of his wanderings have been unknowingly ap- 
 
THE witch's head. 233 
 
 preaching it. His mind, relieved upon this point, was at 
 liberty to satisfy his curiosity about his friend. He soon 
 discovered that he was a harmless lunatic, whose craze it 
 was to wander all over South Africa, dragging his hand-cart 
 after him. He made for no fixed point, nor had he any 
 settled round. The beginning of the year might find him 
 near the Zambesi, and the end near Cape Town, or any- 
 where else." By the natives he was looked upon as inspired, 
 and invariably treated with respect, and he lived upon 
 what was given to him, or what he shot as he walked along. 
 This mode of life he had pursued for years, and, though he 
 had many adventures, he never came to harm. 
 
 " You see, my friend," said the simple man, in answer 
 to Ernest's inquiries, " I make my wife down there in 
 Scatterdorp, in the old colony. The houses are a long way 
 off each other there, and the church it is in the middle. 
 And the good volk there, they did die very fast, and did 
 get tired of carrying each other to be buried. And so they 
 come to me and say, ' Hans, you are a ca,rpenter, you must 
 ma.ke a beautiful black cart to put us in when we die.' 
 And so I set to, and I work, and work, and work at my 
 cart till I gets quite — what you call him — stoopid. And 
 then one night, Just as my cart is finished, I dreams that 
 she and I are traveling along a wide straight road like the 
 road on the high veldt, and I knows that she is my wife, 
 and that we must travel always together till we reach the 
 City of Best. And far, far away, above the top of a high 
 mountain like the Drakensberg, I see a great wide tree, 
 rooted on a cloud and covered all over with beautiful snow, 
 that shined in the sunlight like the diamonds at Kimberly. 
 And I know that under that tree is the gate of the real 
 Rustenburg, the City of Rest, and my wife and I, we must 
 journey on, on, on till we find it." • 
 
 " Where do you come from now?" asked Ernest. 
 
 " Prom Utrecht, from out of the east, where the sun rises 
 so red every morning over Zululand, the land of bloodshed. 
 Oh, the land will run with blood there. I know it; Wil- 
 hemina told me as we came along; but I don't know when. 
 But you are tired. Good! you shall sleep with Wil- 
 hemina; I will sleep beneath her. No, you shall, or she 
 will be — what you call him — offended." 
 
 Ernest crept into ihe cavity, and at once fell asleep, and 
 breamed that he bad been buried alive. Suddenly, in the 
 
234 THE witch's head. 
 
 middle of the night, there was a most fearful jolt, caused 
 by his horse, which was tied to the pole of Wilhemina, hav- 
 ing pulled the prop aside and let the pole down with a run. 
 This Ernest mistook for the resurrection, and was extreme- 
 ly relieved to find himself in error. At dawn he emerged, 
 bade his friend farewell, and gaining the road, rejoined the 
 wagons in safety. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXn. 
 
 EEKEST ACCEPTS A COMMISSION. 
 
 A YOUNG man of that ardent, impetaous, intelligent 
 mind which makes him charming and a thing to love, as 
 contrasted with the young man of the sober, cautious, 
 money-making mind (infinitely the most useful article), 
 which makes him a " comfort " to his relatives and a thing 
 to respect, avoid, and marry your daughter to, has two great 
 safeguards standing between him and the ruin which dogs 
 the heels of the ardent, the impetuous, and the intelligent. 
 These are, his religion and his belief in women. It is 
 probable that he will start on his erratic career with a full 
 store of both. He has never questioned the former; the 
 latter, so far as his own class in life is concerned, are to 
 him all sweet and good, and perhaps there is one particular 
 star who only shines for him, and is the sweetest and best 
 of them all. But one fine day the sweetest and best of all 
 throws him over, being a younger son, and marries his 
 eldest brother, or a paralytic cotton-spinner of enormous 
 ■wealth and uncertain temper, and then a sudden change 
 comes over the spirit of the ardent, intelligent, and impetu- 
 ous one. Not being of a well-balanced mind, he rushes to 
 the other extreme, and believes in his sore heart that all 
 women would throw over such as he and marry eldest 
 brothers or superannuated cotton-spinners. He may be 
 right or he may be wrong. The materials for ascertaining 
 the fact are wanting, for all women engaged to impecunious 
 young gentlemen do not get the chance. But, right or 
 wrong, the result upon the suSerer is the same — hia faith 
 in woman is shaken, if not destroyed. Nor does the mis- 
 chief stop there; his religion often follows his belief in the 
 other sex, for in some mysterious way the two things are 
 interwoven. A young man of the nobler class of mind in 
 
THE witch's head. S35 
 
 love, is generally for the time being a religious man; hia i 
 affection lifts him more or less above the things of earth, 
 and floats him on its radiant wings a day's journey nearer • 
 heaven. 
 
 The same thing applies conversely. If a man's religious ■ 
 behef is emasculated, he becomes suspicious of the " sweet- 
 est and best," he grows cynical, and no longer puts faith 
 in superlatives. From atheism there is but a small step to 
 misogyny, or rather to that disbelief in humanity which 
 embraces a profouuder constituent disbelief in its feminine 
 section, and in turn, as already said, the misogyuist walks 
 daily along the edge of atheism. Of course there is a way 
 out of these discouraging results. If the mind that suffers 
 and falls through its suffering be of the truly noble order, 
 it may in time come to see that this world is a world not of 
 superlatives, but of the most arid" positives, with here and 
 there a little comparative oasis to break the monotony of 
 its general outline. Its owner may learn that the fault lay 
 with him, for believing too much, for trusting too far, for 
 setting up as an idol a creature exactly like himself, only 
 several degrees lower beneath proof; and at last may come 
 to see that though "sweetest and bests" are chimerical, 
 there are women in the world who may fairly be called 
 " sweet and good." Or, to return to the converse side of 
 the picture, it may occur to our young gentleman that 
 although Providence starts us in the world with a full in- 
 herited or indoctrinated belief in a given religion, that is 
 not what Providence understands by faith. Faith, per- 
 fect faith, Is only to be won by struggle, and in most culti- 
 vated minds by the passage through the dim, mirage-clad 
 land of disbelief. The true believer is he who has trodden 
 down disbelief, not he who has run away from it. When 
 W6 have descended from the height of our childhood, when 
 we have entertained ApoUyon, and, having considered 
 what he has to say, given him battle and routed him in the 
 plain, then, and not till then, can we say with guileless 
 hearts, " Lord, I believe," and feel no need to add the sad- 
 ly qualifying words, " help Thou my unbelief." 
 
 Now these are more or less principles of human nature. 
 They may not be universally true, probably nothing is — 
 that is, as we define and understand truth. But they apply 
 to the majority of those cases which fall strictly within 
 their limits. Among others they applied rather strikingly 
 
236 THE witch's head. 
 
 to Ernest Kershaw. Eva's desertion struck his belief in 
 womanhood to the ground, and soon his religion lay in the 
 dust beside it. Of this his life for some years after that 
 event gave considerable evidence. He tooii to evil ways, 
 he forgot his better self. He raced horses, he went in with 
 groat success for love afEairs that he would have done better 
 to leave alone. Sometimes, to his shame be it said, he 
 drank — for the excitement of drinking, not for the love of 
 it. In short, he gave himself and all his fund of energy up 
 to any and every excitement and dissipation he could com- 
 mand, and he managed to command a good many. Travel- 
 ing rapidly from place to place in South Africa, he was 
 ■well known and well liked in all. Now he was at Kimber- 
 ley, now at King William's Town, now at Durban. In 
 each of these places he kept race-horses; in each there was 
 some fair woman's face that grew the brighter for his com- 
 ing. 
 
 But Ernest's face did not grow the brighter; on the con- 
 trary, his eyes acquired a peculiar sadness which was almost 
 pathetic in one so young. He could not forget. For a 
 few days or a few months he might stifle thought, but it 
 always re-arose. Eva, pale queen of women, was ever 
 tiiere to haunt his sleep, and, though in his waking hours 
 he might curse her memory, when night drew the veil from 
 truth the words he murmured were words of love eternal. 
 
 He no longer prayed, he no longer reverenced woman, 
 but he was not the happier for having freed his soul from 
 these burdens. He despised himself. Occasionally he 
 would take stock of his mental condition, and at each such 
 stock-taking he would notice that he had receded, not 
 progressed. He was growing coarse, his finer sense was be- 
 inor blunted; he was no longer the same Ernest who had 
 written that queer letter to his betrothed before disaster 
 overwhelmed him. Slowly and surely he was sinking. He 
 knew it, but he did not try to save himself. Why should 
 her He had no object in life. But at times a great depres- 
 sion and weariness of existence would take possession of 
 him. It has been said that he never prayed; that is not 
 strictly true. Once or twice he did throw himself upon his 
 knees and pray with all his strength that he might die. He 
 did more, he persistently courted death, and, as is usual in 
 such cases, it persistently avoided him. About taking his 
 own life he had scruples, or he would perhaps have taken 
 
THE witch's head. 237 
 
 it. In those dark days he hated life, and in his calmer and 
 more reflective moments he loathed the pleasures and ex- 
 citements by means of which he strove to make it palata- 
 ble. His was a fine-strung mind, and, in spite of himself, 
 he shuddered when it was set to play such coarse music. 
 
 During those years Ernest seemed to bear a charmed ex- 
 istence. There was a well-known thoroughbred horse in 
 the Transvaal which had killed two men in rapid succee- 
 sion. Ernest bought it and rode it, and it never hurt him. 
 Disturbances broke out in Sikukuni's country, and one of 
 the chief's strongholds was ordered to be stormed. Ernest 
 rode down from Pretoria with Jeremy to see the fun, and, 
 reaching the fort the day before the attack, got leave to 
 join the sto, ming party. Accordingly, next day at dawn 
 they attacked in the teeth of a furious fusillade, and in time 
 took the place, though with very heavy loss to themselves. 
 Jeremy got his hat shot off with one bullet and his hand 
 cut by another; Ernest, as usual, came off scathless; the 
 man next to him was killed, but he was not touched. 
 After that he insisted upon going buffalo-shooting toward 
 Delagoa Bay in the height of the fever-season, having got 
 rid of Jeremy by getting him to go to New Scotland to see 
 about a tract of land they had bought. He started with a 
 dozen bearers and Mazooku. Six weeks later he, Mazooku, 
 and three bearers returned — all the rest were dead of 
 fever. 
 
 On another occasion, Alston, Jeremy, and himself were 
 sent on a political mission to a hostile chief, whose strong- 
 hold lay in the heart of almost inaccessible mountains. 
 The " indaba " (palaver) took all day, and was purposely 
 prolonged in order to enable the intelligent native to set an 
 ambush in the pass through which the white chiefs must go 
 back, with strict instructions to murder all three of them. 
 When they left the stronghold the moon (vas rising, and, 
 as they neared the pass, up she came behind the mountains 
 in all her splendor, flooding the wide valley behind them 
 with her mysterious light, and throwing a pale, sad luster 
 on every stone and tree. On they rode steadily through 
 the moonlight and the silence, little guessing how near 
 death was to them. The weird beauty of the scene sunk 
 deep into' Ernest's heart, and presently when they came to 
 a spot where a track ran out loopwise from the main pass, 
 returning to it a couple of miles further on, he half insisted 
 
338 
 
 on their taking it, because it passed over yet higher ground, 
 and would give them a better view of the moon-bathed 
 valley. Mr. Alston grumbled at " his nonsense/' and 
 complied, and meanwhile the party of murderers half a mile 
 further on played with their assegais, and wondered why 
 they did not hear the sound of the white men's feet. But 
 the white men had already passed along the higher path 
 three-quarters of a mile to their right. Ernest's love of 
 moonlight effects had saved them all from a certain and 
 perhaps from a lingering death. 
 
 It was shortly after this incident that Ernest and Jeremy 
 were seated together on the veranda of the same house at 
 Pretoria where they had been living before they went on 
 the elephant-hunt, and which they had now purchased. 
 Ernest had been in the garden watering a cucumber-plant 
 he was trying to develop from a very sickly seedling. Even 
 if he only stopped a month in a place he would start a lit- 
 tle garden; it was a habit of his. Presently he came back 
 to the veranda, where Jeremy was as usual watching the 
 battle of the red and black ants, which after several years' 
 encounter was not yet finally decided. 
 
 " Curse that cucumber-plant!" said Ernest, emphati- 
 cally, " it won't grow. I tell you what it is, Jeremy, I am 
 sick of tliis place; I vote we go away." 
 
 " For goodness' sake, Ernest, let us have a little rest; 
 you do rattle one about so in those confounded post-carts," 
 replied Jeremy, yawning. 
 
 " I mean, go away from South Africa altogether. " 
 
 "Oh," said Jeremy, dragging his great frame into an 
 upright position, "the deuce you do! And where do you 
 want to go to— England?" 
 
 "England! no, i have had enough of England. South 
 America, I think. But perhaps you want to go home. It 
 is not fair to keep dragging you all over the world." 
 
 "My dear fellow, I like it, I assure you. I have no 
 wish to return to Mr. Cardus's stool. For goodness' sake 
 don't suggest such a thing; I should be wretched." 
 
 "Yes, but you ought to be doing something with your 
 life. It is all very well for me, who am a poor devil of a 
 waif and stray, to go on with this sort of existence, but 
 I don't see why you should; you should be making your 
 way in the world." 
 
 "Wait a bit, my hearty," said Jeremy, with his slow 
 
THE witch's head. 339 
 
 smile: " I am going to read you a statement of our finan- 
 cial affairs which I drew up last night. Considering that 
 •we have been doing nothing all this time except enjoy our- 
 selves, and that all our investments have been made out 
 of income, which no doubt your respected uncle fancies we 
 have dissipated, I do not think that the total is so bad," 
 and Jeremy read: 
 
 "Landed property in Natal and the Transvaal, estimated 
 
 value £3,500 
 
 This house 940 
 
 Stock — wagons, etc., say 800 
 
 Bace-horses 
 
 I have left that blank.'' 
 
 " Put them at £800," said Ernest, after thinking. 
 " You know I won £500 with ' Lady Mary ' on the Cape 
 Town plate last week." 
 
 Jeremy went on: 
 
 "Race-horses and winnings £1,300 
 
 Sundries— cash, balance, etc 180 
 
 Total £5.320 
 
 Now of this we have actually saved and invested ahout 
 twenty-five hundred, the rest we have made or it has ac- 
 cumulated. Now, I ask you, where could we have done 
 better than that as things go? So don't talk to me about 
 wasting my time. " 
 
 " Bravo, Jeremy! My uncle was right, after all, you 
 ought to have been a lawyer; you are first class at figures. 
 I congratulate you on your management of the estates." 
 
 " My system is simple," answered Jeremy. "_ Whenever 
 there is any money to spare I buy something with it, then 
 you are not likely to spend it. Then, when I have things 
 enough — wagons, oxen, horses, what not — I sell them and 
 buy some laud; that can't run away. If you only do that 
 sort of thing long enough you will grow rich at last." _ 
 
 '* Sweetly simple, certainly. Well, five thousand will 
 go a long way toward stocking a farm or something in 
 South America, or wherever we make up our minds to go, 
 and then I don't think that we need draw on my uncle any 
 more. It is hardly fair to drain him so. Old Alston will 
 come' with us, I think, and will put in another five thou- 
 
240 THE witch's head. 
 
 sand. He told me some time ago that he was getting tired 
 of South Africa, with its Boers and blacks, in his old age, 
 and had a fancy to make a start in some other place. I 
 will write to him to-night. What hotel is he staying at in 
 Maritzburg? the Royal, isn't it? And then I vote we clear 
 in the spring. " 
 
 " Right yoa are, my hearty." 
 
 ' ' But, I say, Jeremy, I really should advise you to think 
 twice before you come. A fine, upstanding young man 
 like you should not waste his sweetness on the desert air of 
 Mexico, or any such place. You should go home and be 
 admired of the young women^they like a great big chap 
 like you — and make a good marriage, and rear up a large 
 family in a virtuous, respectable, and Jones-like fashion. I 
 am a sort of wandering comet without the shine; but, I re- 
 peat, I see no reason why you should play tail to a second- 
 class comet. " 
 
 "Married! get married! 1! No, thank you, my boy. 
 Look you, Ernest, in the words of the prophet, ' When a 
 wise man openeth his eye and seeth a thing, verily he shut- 
 teth it not up again.' Now, I opened my eye and saw 
 one or two things in the course of our joint little affair — 
 Eva, you know. " 
 
 Ernest winced at the name. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Jeremy, noticing it; " I 
 don't want to allude to painful subjects, but I must to make 
 my meaning clear. I was very hard hit, you know, over 
 that lady, but I stopped in time, and, not having any imag- 
 ination to speak of, did not give it rein. What is the con- 
 sequence? I have got over it; sleep well at night, have a 
 capital appetite, and don't think about her twice a week. 
 But with you it is different. Hard hit, too, large amount 
 of imagination galloping about loose, so to speak — raptur- 
 ous joy, dreams of true love and perfect union of souls, 
 which no doubt would be well enough if the woman could 
 put in her whack of soul, which she can't, not having it 
 to spare, but in a general way is gammon. Results, when 
 the burst-up comes: Want of sleep, want of appetite, a de- 
 sire to go buffalo-shooting in the fever-season, and to be 
 potted by Basutus from behind rocks. In short, a general 
 weariness and disgust of life — oh, yes, you needn't deny it, 
 I have watched you — most unwholesome state of mind. 
 Further results: Horse-racing, a disposition to stop away 
 
THE witch's head. 241 
 
 from church, and nip Cape sherry; and worst sign of all, a 
 leaning to ladies' society. Being a reasoning creature, I 
 notice this, and draw my own deductions, which amount 
 to the conclusion that you are in a fair way to go to the 
 deuce, owing to trusting your life to a woman. And the 
 moral of all this, which I lay to heart for my own guidance, 
 is, never speak to a woman if you can avoid it, and when 
 you can't, let your speech be yea, yea, and nay, nay. Then 
 you stand a good chance of keeping your appetite and peace 
 of mind, and of making your way in the world. Marriage, 
 indeed ! — never talk to me of marriage again, " and Jeremy 
 shivered at the thought. 
 
 Ernest laughed out- loud at his lengthy disquisition. 
 
 " And I'll tell you what, old fellow," he went on, draw- 
 ing himself up to his full height, and standing right over 
 Ernest, so that the latter's six feet looked very insignificant 
 beside him, " never you speak to me about leaving you 
 again, unless you want to put me clean out of temper, be- 
 cause, look here, I don't like it. We have lived together 
 since we were twelve or thereabout, and, so far as I am 
 concerned, I mean to go on living together to the end of 
 the chapter, or till I see I am not wanted. You can go to 
 Mexico, or the North Pole, or Acapulco, or wherever you 
 like, but I shall go too, and so that is all about it." 
 
 " Thank you, old fellow," said Ernest, simply; and at 
 that moment their conversation was interrupted by the ai'- 
 rival of a Kafir messenger with a telegram addressed to 
 Brnesf. He opened it and read it. " Halloo," he said, 
 " here is something better than Mexico; listen." 
 
 " ' Alston, Pieter Maritzburg to Kershaw, Pretoria. 
 High Commissioner has declared war against Cetywayo. 
 Local cavalry urgently required for service in Zuliiland. 
 Have ofEered to raise small corps of about seventy mounted 
 men. Oiler has been accepted. Will you accept post of 
 second in command? — you would hold the Queen's com- 
 mission. If so, set about picking suitable recruits; terms, 
 ten shillings a day, all found. Am-' coming up Pretoria 
 by this post-cart. Ask Jones if he will accept sergeant- 
 majorship.' " 
 
 " Hurrah!" sung out Ernest, with flashing eyes. " Here 
 is some real service at last. Of course you will accept." 
 
343 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Of course," said Jeremy, quietly; " but don't indulge 
 in rejoicings yet; this is going to be a big business, unless 
 I am mistaken. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 
 HANS PROPHESIES EVIL. 
 
 Ernest and Jeremy did not let the grass grow under 
 their feet. They guessed that there would soon be a great 
 deal of recruiting for various corps, and so set to work at 
 once to secure the best men. The stamp of man they aimed 
 at getting was the colonial-born Englishman, both because 
 such men have more self-respect, independence of char- 
 acter, and "gumption," than the ordinary drifting sedi- 
 ment from the fields and sea-ports, and also because they 
 were practically ready-made soldiers. They could ride as 
 well as they could walk, they were splendid rifle-shots, and 
 they had, too, from childhood, been trained in the art of 
 traveling without baggage, and very i-apidly. Ernest did 
 not find much difficulty in the task. Mr. Alston was well 
 known, and had seen a great deal of service as a young 
 man in the Basutu wars, and stories were still told of his 
 nerve and pluck. He was known, too, to be a wary man, 
 not rash or overconfident, but of a determined mind: and, 
 what is more, to possess a perfect knowledge of Zulu war- 
 fare and tactics. This went a long way with intending re- 
 cruits, for the first thing a would-be colonial volunteer in- 
 quires into is the character of his officers. He will not trust 
 his life to men in whom he puts no reliance. He is wiUing 
 to lose it in the way of duty, but he has a great objection to 
 having it blundered away. Indeed, in many South African 
 volunteer corps it is a fundamental principle that the offi- 
 cers should be elected by the men themselves. Once elect- 
 ed, however, they can not be deposed except by competent 
 authority. 
 
 Ernest, too, was by this time well known in the Trans- 
 vaal, and universally believed in. Mr. Alston could not 
 have chosen a better lieutenant. He was known to have 
 pluck and dash, and to be ready-witted in emergency; but 
 it was not that only whicb made him acceptable to the in- 
 dividuals whose continued existence would very possibly de- 
 pend upon his courage and discretion. Indeed, it would 
 
THE witch's head. 243 
 
 be difficult to say what it was; but there are some men who 
 are by nature born leaders of their fellows, and who inspire 
 confidence magnetically. Ernest had this great gift. At 
 first sight he was much like any other young man, rather 
 careless-looking than otherwise in appearance, and giving 
 the observer the impression that he was thinking of some- 
 thing else; but old hands .at native warfare, looking into 
 iiis dark eyes, saw something there which told them that 
 this young fellow, boy as he was, comparatively speaking, 
 would not show himself wanting in the moment of emer- 
 gency, either in courage or discretion. Jeremy's nomina- 
 tion, too, as sergeant-major, a very important post in such 
 a corps, was popular enough. People had not forgotten 
 his victory over the Boer giant, and besides, a sergeant-ma- 
 jor with such a physique would have been a credit to any 
 corps. 
 
 All these things helped to make recruiting an easy task, 
 and when Alston and his son Eoger, weary and bruised, 
 stepped out of the Natal post-cart four days later, it was to 
 be met by Ernest and Jeremy with the intelligence that his 
 telegram had been received, the appointments accepted, 
 and tliirty-five men provisionally enrolled subject to his 
 approval. 
 
 My word, young gentlemen," he said, highly pleased, 
 " yon are lieutenants worth having. " 
 
 The next fortnight was a busy one for all concerned. 
 The organization of a colonial volunteer corps is no joke, 
 as anybody who has ever tried it can testify. There were 
 rough uniforms to be provided, arms to be obtained, and a 
 hundred s,nd one other wants to be satisfied. Then came 
 some delay about the horses, which were to be served out 
 by Government. At last these were handed over, a good- 
 looking lot, but apparently very wild. Matters were at 
 this point, when one day Ernest was seated in the room he 
 used as an office in his house, enrolling a new recruit pre- 
 vious to his being sworn, interviewing a tradesman about 
 flannel shirts, making arrangements for a supply of forage, 
 filling up the endless forms which the Imperial authorities 
 required for transmission to the War-office, and a hundred 
 other matters. Suddenly his orderly announced that two 
 privates of the corps wished to see him, , 
 
 "What is it;" he asked of the orderly testily; for he 
 was nearly worked to death. 
 
24:4 TfiE 
 
 " A complaint, sir." 
 
 "Well, send tlieiii in." 
 
 The door opened, and in entered a curious couple. One 
 was a great, Durly sailor-man, who had been corporal-at- 
 arms on board one of her majesty's ships at Cape Town, 
 got druak, overstayed his leave, and deserted rather than 
 face the punishment; the other a quick, active little fel- 
 low, with a face like a ferret. He was a Zululand trader, 
 who had ruined himself by drink, and a peculiarly valuable 
 member of the corps on account of his knowledge of the 
 country in which they were going to serve. Both the men 
 saluted and stood at ease. 
 
 " "Well, my men, what is it?" asked Ernest, going on 
 filling up his forms. 
 
 " Nothing so far as I am concerned, sir," said the little 
 man. 
 
 Ernest looked up sharply at the quondam tar. 
 
 " Now, Adam, your complaint; I have no time to 
 waste." 
 
 Adam hitched up his breeches and began : 
 
 " You see, sir, I brought he here by the scruff of the 
 neck." 
 
 " That's true, sir," said the little man, rubbing that 
 portion of his body. 
 
 " Because he and I, sir, as is messmates, sir, 'ad a differ- 
 ence of opinion. It was his day, you see, sir, to cook for 
 our mess, acd instead of putting on the pot, sir, he comes 
 to me he does, and he says, ' Adam, you father of a race 
 of fools ' — that's what he says, sir, a-comparing of me to 
 the gent who lived in a garden — why don't you come and 
 
 take the skins off the taters, instead of a-squatting of 
 
 yourself down on that bed!" 
 
 " Slightly in error, sir," broke in the little man; " our 
 big friend's memory is not as substantial as his form. 
 What I said was, ' My dear Adam, as I see yon have noth- 
 ing to do, except sit and play a Jew's-harp upon your 
 couch, would you be so kind as to come and assist me to 
 remove the outer skin of these potatoes?' " 
 
 Ernest began to explode, but checked himself and said, 
 sternly: 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, Adam; tell me your complaint, 
 or go." 
 
THE witch's head. 245 
 
 " Well, sir," answered the big sailor, scratching his 
 head, " if I must give it a name it is this — this here man, 
 sir, be too infarnal sargiistic. " 
 
 " Be off with you both," said Ernest, sternly, " and 
 don't trouble me with any such nonsense again, or I will 
 put you both under arrest, and stop your pay. Come, 
 march!" and he pointed to the door. As he did so he ob- 
 served a Boer gallop swiftly past the house, and take the 
 turn to Government House. 
 
 " What is up now?" he wondered. 
 Half an hour afterward another man passed the window, 
 also at full gallop, and also turned up toward Government 
 House. Another half-hour passed, and Mr. Alston came 
 hurrying in. 
 
 " Look here, Ernest," he said, "here is a pretty busi- 
 ness. Three men have come in to report that Cetywayo 
 has sent an Impi (army) round by the back of Secocoerd's 
 country to burn Pretoria, and return to Zululand across the 
 High Veldt. They -say that the Impi is now resting in the 
 Saltpan Bush, about twenty miles off, and will attack the 
 town to-night or to-morrow night. All these three, who 
 have, by the way, had no communication with each other, 
 state that they have actually seen the captains of the Impi, 
 who came to tell them to bid the other Dutchmen stand aside, 
 as they are now fighting the queen, and they would not be 
 hurt." 
 
 " It seems incredible," said Ernest; " do you believe it?" 
 
 " I don't know. It is possible, and the evidence is strong. 
 It is possible; I have known the Zulus make longer 
 marches than that. The governor has ordered me to gal- 
 lop to the spot, and report if I can see anything of this 
 Impi." 
 
 " Am I to go too?" 
 
 " No, you will remain in the corps. I take Eoger with 
 me — ^he is a light weight — and two spare horses. If there 
 should be an attack and I should not be back, or if any- 
 thing should happen, you will do your duty." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Good-bye. I am off. You had best muster the men 
 to be ready for an emergency — " and he was gone. 
 
 Ten minutes afterward, down came an orderly from the 
 ofiBcer commanding, with a peremptory order to the effect 
 
248 THE witch's head. 
 
 that the officer commanding Alston's Horse was to mount 
 and parade his men in readiness for immediate service. 
 
 " Here is a pretty go," thoughb Ernest, " and the horses 
 not served out yet!" 
 
 Just then Jeremy came in, saluted, and informed him 
 that the men were mustered. 
 
 " Serve out the saddlery. Let every man shoulder his 
 saddle. Tell Mazook to bring out the ' Devil ' (Ernest's 
 favorite horse), and march the men up to the government 
 stables. I will be with you presently." 
 
 Jeremy saluted again with much ceremony and van- 
 ished. He was the most punctilious sergeant-major who 
 ever breathed. 
 
 Twenty minutes later, a long file of men, each with a 
 carbine slung to his back, and a saddle on his head, which, 
 at a distance, gave them the appearance of a strmg of gi- 
 gantic mushrooms, were to be seen proceeding toward the 
 government stables a mile away. 
 
 Ernest, mounted on his great black stallion, and looking, 
 in his military uniform and the revolver slung across his 
 shoulders, a typical volunteer officer, was there before them. 
 
 " Now, my men," he said, as soon as they were paraded, 
 " go in, and each man choose the horse which he likes 
 best, bridle him, and bring him out and saddle him. 
 Sharp!" 
 
 The men broke their ranks and rushed to the stables, 
 each anxious to secure a better horse than his neighbors. 
 Presently from the stables there arose a sound of kicking, 
 plunging, and wohohing impossible to describe. 
 
 " There will be a pretty scene soon, with these unbroken 
 brutes," thought Ernest. He was not destined to be dis- 
 appointed. The horses were dragged out, most of them 
 lying back upon their haunches, kicking, bucking, and go- 
 fig through every other equine antic. , -j^ 
 
 Saddle up!" shouted Ernest, as soon as they vere all 
 out. 
 
 It was done with great difficulty. 
 
 " Now mount." 
 
 Sixty men lifted their legs and swung themselves into the 
 saddle, not without sad misgivings. A few seconds passed, 
 and at least twenty of them were on the broad of their 
 backs; one or two were being dragged by the stirrup- 
 leather; a few were clinging to their bucking and plunging 
 
THE witch's head. 347 
 
 steeds; and the remainder of Alston's Horse was scouring 
 the plain in every possible direction. Never was there such 
 a scene. 
 
 In time, however, most of the men got back again, and 
 some sort of order was restored. Several men were hurt, 
 one or two badly. These were sent to the hospital, and 
 Ernest formed the rest into half-sections to be marched to 
 the place of rendezvous. Just then, to make matters bet- 
 ter, down came the rain in sheets, soaking them to the 
 skin, and making confusion worse confounded. So they 
 rode to the town, which was by this time in an extraordi- 
 nary state of panic. All business was suspended; women 
 were standing about on the verandas, hugging their babies 
 and crying, or making preparations to go into laager; men 
 were hiding deeds and other valuables, or hurrying to de- 
 fense meetings on the market-square, where the govern- 
 ment were serving out rifles and ammunition to all able- 
 bodied citizens; frightened mobs of Basutus and Christian 
 Kafirs were jabberii]g in the streets, and telling tales of the 
 completeness of Zulu slaughter, or else running from the 
 city to pass the night among the hills. Altogether the 
 scene was most curious, till dense darkness came down over 
 it like an extinguisher, and put it out. 
 
 Ernest took his men to a building which the government 
 had placed at their disposal, and had the horses stabled, 
 but not unsaddled. Presently orders came down to hira to 
 keep the corps under arms all night; to send out four pa- 
 trols to be relieved at midnight to watch the approaches to 
 the town; and at dawn to saddle up and reconnoiter the 
 neighboring country. 
 
 Ernest obeyed these orders as well as he could ; that is, he 
 sent the patrols out, but so dense was the darkness that 
 they never got back again till the following morning, when 
 they were collected, and, in one instance, dug out of the 
 various ditches, quarry-holes, etc., into which they had 
 fallen. 
 
 About eleven o'clock Ernest was seated in a little room 
 that opened out of the main building where they were 
 quartered, consulting with Jeremy about matters con- 
 nected with the corps, and wondering it Alston had found 
 a Zulu Impi, or if it was all gammon, when suddenly they 
 heard the sharp challenge of, the sentry outside: 
 
 " Who goes there?" 
 
348 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Whoever it is had better answer sharp," said Ernest,: 
 "I gave the sentry orders to be quick with his rifle to- 
 night. " 
 
 "Bang! — crash!" followed by loud howls of " "Wilheni- 
 ina, my wife! ah, the cruel man has killed my Wilhemina!" 
 
 " Heavens, it is that lunatic German! Here, orderly, 
 run up to the Defense Committee and the Government 
 Offices, and tell them that it is nothing; they will think 
 the Zulus are here. Tell two men to bring the man in 
 here, and to stop his howls." 
 
 Presently Ernest's old friend of the High Veldt, looking 
 very wild and uncouth in the lamp-light, with his long 
 beard and matted hair, from which the rain was dripping, 
 was bundled rather unceremoniously into the room. 
 
 " Ah, there you are, dear sir; it is two — three years since 
 we meet. I look for you everywhere, and they tell me you 
 are here, and I come on quick all through the dark and the 
 rain; and then before I know if I am on my head or my 
 heel, the cruel man he ups a rifle, and do shoot my Wil- 
 hemina, and make a great hole through her poor stomach. 
 Oh, sir, wat shall I do?" and the great child began to shed 
 tears; " you, too, you will weep; you, too, love my Wil- 
 hemina, and sleep with her one night — bo-hoo!" 
 
 " For goodness' sake, stop that nonsense! This is no 
 time or place for such fooling." 
 
 He spoke sharply, and the monomaniac pulled up, only 
 giving vent to an occasional sob. 
 
 " Now, what is your business with me?" 
 
 The German's face changed from its expression of idiotic 
 
 frief to one of reiined intelligence. He glanced toward 
 eremy, who was exploding in the corner. 
 "You can speak before this gentleman, Hans,'' said 
 Ernest. 
 
 " Sir, I am going to say a strange thing to you thi^ 
 night." He was speaking quite quietly and composedly 
 now, and might have been mistaken for a sane man. " Sir, 
 I hear that you go down to Zululand to help to fight the 
 iierce Zulus. When I hear it, I was far away, but some- 
 thing come into my head to travel as quick as Wilhemina 
 can, and come and tell you not to go. " 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " How can I say what I do mean? This I know — many 
 
THE "witch's head. S4&- 
 
 shall go down to Zululand who rest in this house to-night, 
 few shall come back." 
 
 " You mean that I shall be killed?" 
 
 " I know not. There are things as bad as death, and 
 yet not death. " He covered his eyes with his hand, and 
 continued: " I can not see you dead, but do not go; I pray 
 you do not go." 
 
 " My good Hans, what is the good of coming to me with 
 such an old wives' tale? Even if it were true, and I knew 
 that I must be killed twenty times, I should go; I can not 
 run away from my duty." 
 
 " That is spoken as a brave man should," answered his 
 visitor, in his native tongue. " I have done my duty, and 
 told you what Wilhemina said. Now go, and when the 
 black men are pressing round you like the sea-waves round 
 a rock, may the God of East guide your hand, and bring 
 you safe from the slaughter!" 
 
 Ernest gazed at the old man's pale face; it wore a curi- 
 ous, rapt expression, and the eyes were looking upward. 
 
 " Perhaps, old friend," he said, addressing him in Ger- 
 man, " I, as well as you, have a City of Eest which I would 
 reach, and care not if I pass thither on an assegai. " 
 
 "I know it," replied Hans, in the same tongue; "but 
 useless is it to seek rest till God gives it. You have sought 
 and passed through the jaws of many deaths, but you have 
 not found. If it be not God's will you will nob find it now. 
 I know you too seek rest, my brother, and had 1 known 
 that you would find that only down there " — and he point- 
 ed toward Zululand — "I had not come to warn you, for 
 blessed is rest, and happy he who gains it. But no, it is 
 not that; I am sure now that you will not die; your evil, 
 whatever it is, will fall from heaven. " 
 
 "So be it," said Ernest; "yon are a strange man. I 
 thought you a common monomaniac, and nOw you speak 
 like a prophet. " 
 
 The old man smiled. 
 
 " You are right; I am both. Mostly I am mad. I 
 know it. But sometimes my madness has its moments of 
 inspiration, when the clouds lift from my mind, and I see 
 things none others can see, and hear voices to which your 
 ears are deaf. Such a moment is on me now; soon I shall 
 be mad again. But before the cloud settles I would speak 
 to you. Why, I know not, save that I loved you when first 
 
250 THE witch's head. 
 
 I saw your eyes open there upon the cold veldt. Presently 
 1 mast gOj and we shall meet no more, for I draw near to 
 the snow-clad tree that marks the gate of the City of Eest. 
 I can look into your heart now and see the trouble in it, 
 and the sad, beautifLd face that is printed on your mind. 
 Ah, she is not happy; she, too, must work out her rest. 
 But the time is short, the cloud settles, and I would tell 
 you what is in my mind. Even though trouble, great 
 trouble, close you in, do not be cast down, for trouble is 
 the key of heaven. Be good; turn to the God you have 
 neglected; struggle against the snares of the senses. Oh, I 
 can see now. For you and for all you love there is joy and 
 there is peace." 
 
 Suddenly he broke off, the look of inspiration faded from 
 his face, which grew stupid and wild-looking. 
 
 "Ah, the cruel man; he made a great hole in the stom- 
 ach of my Wilheniina!" 
 
 Ernest had been bending forward, listening with parted 
 lips to the old man's talk. When he saw that the inspira- 
 tion had left him, he raised his head and saitl: 
 
 " Gather yourself together, I beg you, for a moment. I 
 wish to ask one question. Shall I ever — r" 
 
 " How shall I stop de bleeding from de witals of my dear 
 wife? — who will plug up de hole in her?" 
 
 Ernest gazed at the man. Was he putting all this on? 
 — or was he really mad? For the life of him he could not 
 tell. 
 
 Taking out a sovereign, he gave it to him. 
 
 "There is money to doctor Wilhemiua with," he said. 
 " Would you like to sleep here? — I can give you a blan- 
 ket." 
 
 The old man took the money without hesitation, and 
 thanked Ernest for it; but said he must go on at once. 
 
 " Where are you going to?" asked Jeremy, who had been 
 watching him with great curiosity; but had not understood 
 that part of the conversation which had been carried on in 
 German. 
 
 Hans turned upon him with a quick look of suspicion. 
 
 " Rustenburg (Anglice, the town of rest)," he answered. 
 
 " Indeed, the road is bad, and it is far to travel." 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " the road is rough and long. Fare- 
 well!" — and he was gone. 
 
 " Well, he is a curious old buster, and no mistake, with 
 
TBTB witch's HEAD. 351 
 
 his cheerful anticipations, and his Wilhemina," reflected 
 Jeremy aloud. "Just fancy starting for Rustenburg at 
 this hour of the night too! Why, it is a hundred miles 
 off!" ^ 
 
 Ernest only smiled. He knew that it was no earthly 
 Eustenburg that the old man sought. 
 
 Some while afterward he heard that he had attained the 
 rest which he desired. Wilhemiuagot fixed in a snow-drift 
 in a pass of the Draiiensberg. He was unable to drag her 
 out. 
 
 So he crept underneath and fell asleep, and the snow 
 came down and covered him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ME. ALSTON'S VIEWS. 
 
 The Zulu attacic on Pretoria ultimately turned out only 
 to have existed in the minds of two mad Kafirs, who dressed 
 themselves up after the fashion of chiefs, and personating 
 two Zulu nobles of repute, who were known to be in the 
 command of regiments, rode from house to house, telling 
 the Dutch inhabitants that they had an Impi of thirty thou- 
 sand men lying in the bush, and bidding them stand aside 
 while they destroyed the Englishmen. Hence the scare. 
 
 The next month was a busy one for Alston's Horse. It 
 was drill, drill, drill, morning, noon, and night. But the 
 results soon became apparent. In three weeks from the 
 day they got. their horses, there was not a smarter, quicker 
 corps in South Africa, and Mr. Alston and Ernest were 
 highly complimented on the soldier-like appearance of the 
 men, and the rapidity and exactitude with which they 
 executed all the ordinary cavalry maneuvers. 
 
 They were to march from Pretoria on the 10th of Janu- 
 ary, and expected to overtake Colonel Glynn's column, with 
 which was the general, about the 18th, by which time Mr. 
 Alston calculated the real advance upon Zululand would 
 begin. 
 
 On the 8th, the good people of Pretoria gave the corps a 
 
 farewell banquet, for most of its members were Pretoria 
 
 men; and colonists are never behindhand when there is an 
 
 excuse for conviviality and good-fellowship. 
 
 . Of course, after the banquet, Mr. — or, as he was now 
 
353 THE witch's head. 
 
 called, Captain — Alston's health was drunk. But Alstojt 
 was a man of few words, and had a horror of speech-mak- 
 ing. He contented himself with a few brief sentences of 
 acknowledgment, and sat down. Then somebody proposed 
 the health of the other commissioned and non-commis- 
 sioned officers, and to this Ernest rose to respond, making 
 a very good speech in reply. He rapidly sketched the state 
 of political affairs, of which the Zulu War was the outcome, 
 and, without expressing any opinion on the justice or wis- 
 dom of that war, of which, to speak the truth, he had 
 grave doubts, he went on to show, in a few well-chosen, 
 weighty words, how vital were the interests involved in its 
 successful conclusion, now that it once had been under- 
 taken. Finally, he concluded thus: 
 
 " I am well aware, gentlemen, that with many of those 
 who are your guests here to-night, and my own comrades, 
 this state of affairs and the conviction of the extreme 
 urgency of the occasion has been the cause of their enUst- 
 ment. It is impossible for me to look down these tables, 
 and see so many in our rough-and-ready uniform, whom I 
 have known in other walks of life, as farmers, store-keepers. 
 Government clerks, and what not, without realizing most 
 clearly the extreme necessity that can have brought these 
 peaceable citizens together on such an errand as we are 
 bent on. Certainly it is not the ten sliillings a day, or the 
 mere excitement of savage warfare, that has done this " 
 (cries of " N"o, no!"); " because most of them can well 
 afford to despise the money, and many more have seen 
 enough of native war, and know well that few rewards and 
 plenty of hard work fall to the lot of colonial volunteers. 
 Then, what is it? ■ I will venture a reply. It is that sense 
 of patriotism which is a part and parcel of the English 
 mind" (cheers), "and which from generation to genera- 
 tion has been the root of England's greatness, and, so long 
 as the British blood remains untainted, will from unborn 
 generation to generation be the main-spring of the greatness 
 that is yet to be of those wider Englands, of which I hope 
 this continent will become not the least." (Loud cheers.) 
 " That, gentlemen and men of Alston's Horse, is the 
 bond which unites us together; it is the sense of a common 
 duty to perform, of a common danger to combat, of a com- 
 mon patriotism to vindifate. And for that reason, because 
 of the patriotism and the duty, I feel sure that when th« 
 
THE WITCH'S HEAD, S53 
 
 end of this carnpaign comes, whatever that end may be, no 
 one, be he imperial oflBcer, or newspaper correspondent, or 
 Zulu foe, will be able to say that Alston's Horse shirked its 
 work, or was mutinous, or proved a broken reed, piercing 
 the side of those who leaned on it." (Cheers.) " I feel 
 sure, too, that, though there may be a record of brave deeds 
 such as become brave men, there will be none of a comrade 
 deserted in the time of need, or of failure in the moment of 
 emergency, however terrible that emergency may be." 
 (Cheers.) " Ay, my brethren in arms," and here Ernest's 
 eyes flashed and his strong, clear voice went ringing down 
 the great hall, " whom England has called, and who have 
 not failed to answer to the call, I repeat, however, terrible 
 may be that emergency, even if it should involve the cer- 
 tainty of death — I speak thus because I feel I am address- 
 ing brave men, who do not fear to die, when death means 
 duty, and life means dishonor — I know well that you will 
 rise to it, and, falling shoulder to shoulder, will pass as 
 heroes should on to the land of shades — on to that Valhalla 
 of which no true heai-t should fear to set foot upon the 
 threshold. " 
 
 Ernest sat down amid ringing cheers. Nor did these 
 noble words, coming as they did straight from the loyal 
 heart of an English gentleman fail of their effect. On the 
 contrary, when a fortnight later Alston's Horse formed 
 that fatal ring on Isandhlwana's bloody field, they flashed 
 through the brain of more than one despairing man, so 
 that he set his teeth and died the harder for them. 
 
 " Bravo, my young viking!" said Mr. Alston to Ernest, 
 while the roof" was still echoing to the cheers evoked by his 
 spnech, " the old Bersekir spirit is cropping up, eh?" He 
 knew that Ernest's mother's family, like so many of the old 
 Eastern county stocks, were of Danish extraction. 
 
 It was a great night for Ernest. 
 
 Two days later Alston's Horse, sixty-four strong, marched 
 out of Pretoria with a military band playing before. Alas! 
 they never marched back again. 
 
 At the neck of the port or pass the band and the crowd 
 of ladies and gentlemen who had accompanied them halted, 
 and, having given them three cheers, turned and left them. 
 Ernest too turned and gazed at the pretty town, with its 
 white houses and rose-hedges red with bloom, nestling on 
 
254 THE witch's head. 
 
 the plain beneath, and wondered if he would ever see it 
 again. He never did. 
 
 The troop was then ordered to march at ease in half-sec- 
 tions, and Ernest rode up to the side of Alston; on his 
 other side was the boy Eoger, now about fourteen years of 
 age, who acted as Alston's aide-de-camp, and was in high 
 spirits at the prospect of the coming campaign. Presently 
 Alston sent his son back to the other end of the line on 
 some errand. 
 
 Ernest watched him as he galloped off, and a thought 
 struck him. 
 
 "Alston," he said, "do you think that it is wise to 
 bring that boy into this business?" 
 
 His friend slewed himself round sharply in the saddle. 
 
 " Why not?" he asked in his deliberate way. 
 
 " Well, you know there is a risk." 
 
 " And why should not the boy run risks as well as the 
 rest of us? Look here, Ernest, when I first met you there 
 in France I was going to see the place where my wife was 
 brought up. Do you know how she died?" 
 
 " I have heard she died a violent deatli; I do not know 
 how. " 
 
 " Then I will tell you, though it costs me something to 
 speak of it. She died by a Zulu assegai, a week after the 
 boy was born. She saved his life by hiding him under a 
 heap of straw. Don't ask me particulars, I can't bear to 
 talk of it. Perhaps now you understand why I am com- 
 manding a corps enrolled to serve against the Zulus. Per- 
 haps too you will understand why the lad is with me. We 
 go to avenge my wife and his mother, or to fall in the at- 
 tempt. I have waited long for the opportunity; it has 
 come." 
 
 Ernest relapsed into silence, and presently fell back to 
 his troop. 
 
 On the 20th of January, Alston's Horse, having moved 
 down by easy marches from Pretoria, camped at Rorke's 
 Drift, on the Buffalo Elver, not far from a store and a 
 thatched building used as a hospital, which were destined 
 to become historical. Here orders reached them to march 
 on the following day and join No. 3 column, with which 
 was Lord Chelmsford himself, and which was camped about 
 nine miles from the Buffalo Eiver, at a spot called Isandhl- 
 
THE witch's head. 355 
 
 wana, or the " Place of the Little Hand." Next day, the 
 31st of January, the corps moved oa accordingly, and fol- 
 lowing the wagon-track that runs past the Inhlazatye 
 Mountain, by midday came up to the camp, where about 
 twenty-five hundred men of all arms were assembled under 
 the immediate command of Colonel Glynn. Their camp, 
 which was about eight hundred yards square, was pitched 
 facing a wide plain, with its back toward a precipitous, 
 slab-sided hill, of the curious formation sometimes to be 
 seen in South Africa. This was Isandhlwana. 
 
 " Halloo!" said Alston, as, on reaching the sumnj.it of 
 the neck over which the wagon-road runs, they came in 
 sight of the camp, " they are not intrenched. By Jove," 
 he added, after scanning the camp carefully, " they haven't 
 even got a wagon-laager!" and he whistled expressively. 
 
 " What do you mean?" asked Ernest. Mr. Alston so 
 rarely showed surprise that he knew there must be some- 
 thing very wrong. 
 
 " I mean, Ernest, that there is nothing to prevent this 
 camp from being destroyed, and every soul in it, by a 
 couple of Zulu regiments, if they chose to make a night at- 
 tack. How are they to be kept out, I should like to know, 
 in the dark, when you can't see to shoot them, unless there 
 is some barrier? These officers, fresh from home, don't 
 know what a Zulu charge is, that is very clear. I only hope 
 they won't have occasion to find out. Look there," and 
 he pointed to a wagon lumbering along before them, on the 
 top of which, among a lot of other miscellaneous articles, 
 lay a bundle of cricketing bats and wickets, " they think 
 that they are going on a picnic. What is the use too, I 
 should like to know, of sending four feeble columns sprawl- 
 ing over Zululand, to run the risk of being crushed in de- 
 tail by a foe that can move from point to point at the rate 
 of fifty miles a day, and which can at any moment slip past 
 them and turn Natal into a howling wilderness? There, it 
 is no use grumbling; I only hope I may be wrong. Get 
 back to your troop, Ernest, and let us come into camp 
 smartly. Form fours — trot!" 
 
 On arrival in the camp, Mr. Alston learned, on report- 
 ing himself to the officer commanding, that two strong par- 
 ties of mounted men under the coramaml of Major Dart- 
 nell were out on a reconnaissance toward the Inhlazatye 
 Mountain, in which direction the Zulus were supposed to be 
 
356 THE witch's HBAt). 
 
 in force. The orders he received were to rest his horses, as 
 he might be required to join the mounted force with Major 
 Dartuell on the morrow. 
 
 That night, as Alston and Ernest stood together at the 
 door of their tent smoking a pipe before turning in, they 
 had some conversation. It was a beautiful night, and the 
 stars shone brightly. Ernest looked at them, and thought 
 on how many of man's wars those stars had looked. 
 
 " Star-gazing?" asked Mr. Alston. 
 
 " I was contemplating our future homes," said Ernest, 
 laugliing. 
 
 " Ah, you believe that, do you? think you are immortal, 
 and that sort of thing?" 
 
 " Yes; I believe that we shall live many lives, and that 
 some of them will be there," and he pointed to the stars. 
 " Don't you?" 
 
 " I don't know. I think it rather presumptuous. Why 
 should you suppose that for you is reserved a bright destiny 
 among the stars more than for these?" and he put out Ms 
 hand and clasped several of a swarm of flying-ants which 
 was passing at the time. " Just think how small must be 
 the difference between these ants and us in the eyes of a 
 Power who can produce both. The same breath of life 
 animates both. These have their homes, their government, 
 their colonies, their drones and workers. They enslave and 
 annex, lay up riches, and, to bring the argument to an ap- 
 propriate conclusion, make peace and war. What then is 
 the difference? We are bigger, walk on two legs, have a 
 larger capacity for suffering, and — we believe, a soul. Is 
 it so great that we should suppose that for us is reserved a 
 heaven, or all the glorious worlds which people space, for 
 these, annihilation? Perhaps we are at the top of the tree 
 of development, and for them may be the future, for us the 
 annihilation. Who knows? There, fly away, and make the 
 most of the present, for nothing else is certain. " 
 
 " You overlook religion entirely." 
 
 " Eeligion? Which religion? There are so many. Our 
 Christian God, Buddha, Mohammed, Brahma, all number 
 their countless millions of worshipers. Each promises a 
 different thing, each commands the equally intense belief 
 of his worshipers, for with them all blind faith is a condi- 
 tion precedent; and each appears to satisfy their spiritual 
 aspirations. Can all of these be true religions? Each 
 
THE witch's head. 85? 
 
 holds the other false and outside the pale; each tries to con- 
 vert the other, and fails. There are many lesser ones of 
 which the same thing may be said. " 
 
 " But the same spirit underlies them all." 
 
 " Perhaps. There is much that is noble in all religion, 
 but there is also much that is terrible. To the actual hor- 
 rors and wearing anxieties of physical existence, religion 
 bids us add on the vaguer horrors of a spiritual existence, 
 which are to be absolutely endless. The average Christian 
 would be uncomfortable if you deprived him of his hell and 
 his personal devil. For myself, I decline to believe in such 
 things. If there is a hell it is this world; this world is the 
 place of expiation for the sins of the world, and the only 
 real devil is the devil of man's evil passions. " 
 
 " It is possible to be religious and be a good man without 
 believing in hell," said Ernest. 
 
 " Yes, I think so, otherwise my chance is a poor one. 
 Besides, I do not deny the Almighty Power. I only deny 
 the cruelty that is attributed to Him. It may be that from 
 the accumulated mass of the wrong and bloodshed and 
 agony of this hard world, that Power is building up some 
 high purpose. Out of the bodies of millions of living creat- 
 ures Nature worked out her purpose and made the rocks, 
 but the process must have been unpleasant to the living 
 creatures by whose humble means the great strata were 
 reared up. They lived, to die in billions, that tens of thou- 
 sands of years afterward there might be a rock. It may be 
 so with us. Our tears and blood and agony may produce 
 some solid end that now we can not guess; theirvolume, 
 which can not be wasted, for nothing is wasted, may be 
 building up one of the rocks of God's far-ofE purpose. But 
 that we shall be tortured here for a time in order that we 
 may be indefinitely tortured there," and he pointed to the 
 stars, " that I will never believe. Look at the mist rising 
 from that hollow; so does the reek of the world's misery 
 rise as an offering to the world's gods. The mist will cease 
 to rise, and fall again in rain, and bring a blessing; but the 
 incense of human suffering rises night and day for so long 
 as the earth shall endure, nor does it fall again in dews of 
 mercy. And yet Christians, who declare. that God is love, 
 declare too that for the vast majority of their fellow-creat- 
 ures this process is to continue from millennium to millen- 
 nium. " 
 
258 TEE witch's head. 
 
 " It depends on our life, they say. " 
 
 " Look here, Ernest, a man can do no more than he can. 
 When I got to the age of discretion, which I put at eight- 
 and-twenty — you have hardly reached it yet, my boy, you 
 are nothing but a babe — I made three resolutions: always 
 to try and do my duty, never to turn my back on a poor 
 man or a friend in trouble, and, if possible, not to make 
 love to my neighbor's wife. Those resolutions I have often 
 broken more or less either in the spirit or the letter, but in 
 the main I have stuck to them, and I can put my hand 
 upon my heart to-night and say, ' I have done my best!' 
 And so I go my path, turning neither to the right nor to 
 the left, and when Fate finds me, I shall meet him fearing 
 nothing, for I know he has wreaked his worst upon me, 
 and can only at the utmost bring me eternal sleep; and 
 hoping nothing, because my experience here has not been 
 such as to justify the hope of any happiness for man, and 
 my vanity is not sufficiently strong to allow me to believe 
 in the intervention of a onperior power to save so miserable 
 a creature from the common lot of life. Good-night." 
 
 On the following day his fate found him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 ISANDHLWANA. 
 
 Midnight came, and the camp was sunk in sleep. Up 
 to the sky, whither it was decreed their spirits should pass 
 before the dark closed in agaia and hid their mangled 
 corpses, floated the faint breath of some fourteen hundred 
 men. There they lay, sleeping the healthy sleep of vigor- 
 ous mauhood, their brains busy with the fantastic madness 
 of a hunflred dreams, and little recking of the inevitable 
 morrow. There, in his sleep, the white man saw his native 
 village, with its tall, wind-swaj'ed elms, and the gray old 
 church that for centuries had watched the last slumber of 
 his race; the Kafir, the sunny slope of fair Natal, with the 
 bright light dancing on his cattle's horns, and the green of 
 the gardens where for his well-being his wives and children 
 toiled. To some that night came dreams of high ambition, 
 of brave adventure, crowned with the perfect triumph we 
 never reach: to some, visions of beloved faces long since 
 passed away: to some, the reflected light of a far-ofl: home. 
 
THE witch's head. 259 
 
 and echoes of the happy laughter of h'ftle children. And 
 so their lamps wavered hither and thither in the spiritual 
 breath of sleep, flickering wildly, ere they went out forever. 
 The night-wind swept in sad gusts across IsaHdhlwana's 
 plain, tossing the green grass which to-morrow would be 
 red. It moaned against Inhlazatye's Mountain and died 
 upon Upindo, fanning the dark faces of a host of warriors 
 who rested there upon their spears, sharpened for the com- 
 ing slaughter. And as it breathed upon them they turned, 
 those brave soldiers of U'Cetywayo — " born to be killed," 
 as their saying runs, at Oetywayo's bidding — and, grasping 
 their assegais, raised themselves to listen. It was nothing, 
 death was not yet; death for the morrow, sleep for the 
 night. 
 
 A little after one o'clock on .-ne morning of the 22d of 
 January, Ernest was roused by the sound of a horse's hoofs 
 and the harsh challenge of the sentries. " Dispatch from 
 Major Dartnell," was the answer, and the messenger passed 
 on.' Half an hour more and the reveille was sounded, and 
 the camp hummed in darkness like a hive of bees making 
 ready for the dawn. 
 
 Soon it was known that the general and Colonel Glynn 
 were about to move out to the support of Major Dartnell, 
 who reported a large force of the enemy in front of him, 
 with six companies of the second battalion of the Twenty- 
 fourth Eegiment, four guns, and the mounted infantry. 
 
 At dawn they left. 
 
 At eight o'clock a report arrived from a picket, stationed 
 about a mile away on a hill to the north of the camp, that 
 a body of Zulus was approaching from the northeast. 
 
 At nine o'clock the enemy showed over the crest of the 
 hills for a few minutes, and then di* appeared. 
 
 At ten o'clock Colonel Durnford arrived from Eorke's 
 Drift with a rocket battery and two hundred and fifty 
 mounted native soldiers, and took over the command of the 
 camp from Colonel Pulleine. As he came up he stopped 
 for a minute to speak to Alston, whom he knew, and Ernest 
 noticed him. He was a handsome, soldier-like man, with 
 his arm in a sling, a long, fair mustache, and restless, anx- 
 ious expression of face. 
 
 At 10:30 Colonel Durnford's force, divided into two por- 
 tions, was, with the rocket battery, pushod soi«e miles for- 
 
260 THE witch's head. 
 
 ■ward to ascertain the enemy's movements, and a company 
 of the Twenty-fourth was directed to take up a position on 
 the hill abjj;ut a mile to the north of the camp. Mean- 
 while, the enemy, which they afterward heard consisted of 
 the Undi Corps, the Nokenke and XJmcitu Eegiments, and 
 the Nkobamakosi and Imbonambi Regiments, in all about 
 twenty thousand men, were resting about two miles from 
 Isandhlwana, with no intention of attacking that day. 
 They had not yet been -" moutied " (doctored), and the 
 condition of the moon was not propitious. 
 
 Unfortunately, however. Colonel Durnford's mounted 
 Basutus, in pushing forward, came upon a portion of the 
 TJmcitu Regiment, and fired on it, whereupon the Umcitu 
 came into action, driving Durnford's Horse before them, 
 and then engaged the company of the Twenty-fourth, which 
 had been stationed on the lull to the north of the camp, 
 and after stubborn resistance annihilating it. It was fol- 
 lowed by the Nokenke, Imbonambi, and Nkobamakosi 
 Regiments, who executed a flanking movement and threat- 
 ened the front of the camp. For awhile the Undi Corps, 
 which formed the chest of the army, held its ground. Then 
 it marched off to the right, and directed its course to the 
 north of Isandhlwana Mountain, with the object of turning 
 the position. 
 
 Meanwhile, the remaining companies of the Twenty- 
 fourth were advanced to various positions in front of the 
 camp, and engaged the enemy, for awhile holding him in 
 check; the two guns under Major Smith shelling the No- 
 kenke Regiment, which formed his left center, with great 
 effect. The shells could be seen bursting amid the dense 
 masses of Zulus, who were coming on slowly and in perfect 
 silence, making large gaps in their ranks, which instantly 
 closed up over the dead. 
 
 At this point the advance of the Undi Regiment to the 
 Zulu right and the English left was reported ; and Alston's 
 Horse was ordered to proceed, and if possible to check it. 
 Accordingly they left, and riding behind the company of 
 the Twenty-fourth on the hill, to the north of the camp, 
 which was now hotly engaged with the Umcitu, and Durn- 
 ford's Basutus, who, fighting splendidly, were slowly being 
 pushed back, made for the north side of Isandhlwana. As 
 soon as they got on to the high ground, they caught sight 
 of the Undi, who, something over three thousand strong, 
 
THE WITCHES HEAD. 261 
 
 were running swiftly in a formation of companies, about 
 half a mile away to the northward. ■ 
 
 " By Heaven! they mean to turn the mountain, and 
 seize the wagon-road," said Mr. Alston. " Gallop!" 
 
 The troop dashed down the slope toward a pass in a stony 
 ridge, which would command the path of the Undi, as they 
 did so breaking through and killing two or three of a thin 
 line of Zulus, that formed the extreme point of one of the 
 horns or nippers, by means of which the enemy intended to 
 inclose the camp and crush it. 
 
 After this, Alston's Horse saw nothing more of the gen- 
 eral fight; but it may be as well to briefly relate what hap- 
 ■peued. The Zulus of the various regiments pushed slowly 
 on toward the camp, notwithstanding their heavy losses. 
 Their object was to give time to the horns or nippers to 
 close round it. Meanwhile, those in command realized too 
 late the extreme seriousness of the position, and began to 
 concentrate the various companies. Too late! The 
 enemy saw that the nippers had closed. He knew, too, 
 that the Undi could not be far off the wagon-road, the only 
 way of retreat; and so, abandoning his silence, and his slow 
 advance, he, raised the Zulu war-shout, and charged in from 
 a distance of from six to eight hundred yards. 
 
 Up to this time the English loss had been small, for the 
 shooting of the Zulus was vile. The Zulus, on the con- 
 trary, had, especially during the last half hour before they 
 charged, lost heavily. But now the tables turned. First 
 the Natal Contingent, seeing^ that they were surrounded, 
 bolte^ and laid open the right and rear flank of the troops. 
 In poured the Zulus, so that most of the soldiers had not 
 even time to fix bayonets. In another minute, our men 
 were being assegaied right and left, and the retreat on the 
 camp had become a fearful rout. But even then there was 
 nowhere to run to. The Undi Corps (which afterward 
 passed on and attacked the post at Rorke's Drift) already 
 held the wagon-road, and the only practical way of retreat 
 was down a gully to the south of the road; Into this the 
 broken fragments of the force plunged wildly, and after 
 them and mixed up with them went their Zulu foes, massa- 
 cring every living thing they came across. 
 
 So the camp was cleared. When, a couple of hours after- 
 ward, Commandant Lonsdale, of Lonsdale's Horse, was sent 
 back by General Chelmsford to ascertain what the firing' 
 
263 THE witch's head. 
 
 was about, he could see nothing wrong. The tents were 
 standing, the wagons were there; there were even soldiers 
 moving about. It did not occur to him that it was the 
 soldiers' coats which were moving on the backs of Kafirs; 
 and that the soldiers themselves would never move again. 
 So he rode quickly up to the head-quarter tents; out of 
 which, to his surprise, there suddenly stalked a huge, naked 
 Zulu, smeared all over with blood, and waving in his hand 
 a bloody assegai. 
 
 Having seen enough, he then rode back again to tell the 
 general that his camp was taken. 
 
 To God's good providence, and Oetywayo's clemency, 
 rather than to our own wisdom, do we owe it that all the 
 outlying homesteads in Natal were not laid in ashes, and 
 men, women, and children put to the assegai. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 the ESTD OE ALSTOSr's HOESE. 
 
 Alston's Horse soon reached the bridge, past which the 
 Undi were commencing to run, at a distance of about three 
 hundred and fifty yards, and the order was given to dis- 
 mount and line it. This they did, one man in every four 
 keeping a few paces back to hold the horses of his section. 
 Then they opened fire; and next second came back the 
 sound of the thudding of the bullets on the shields and 
 bodies of the Zulu warriors. 
 
 Ernest, seated up high on his great black horse, " the 
 Devil," for the oificers did not dismount, could see how 
 terrible was the effect of that raking fire, delivered as it 
 was, not by raw English boys, who scarcely know one end 
 of a rifle from the other, but by men, all of whom could 
 shoot, and many of whom were crack shots. All along the 
 line of the Undi companies men threw up their arms and 
 dropped dead, or staggered out of Liie ranks wounded. But 
 the main body never paused. By and by they would come 
 back and move the wounded, or kill them if they were not 
 likely to recover. 
 
 Soon, as the range got longer, the fire began to be less 
 deadly, and Ernest could see that fewer men were drop- 
 ping. 
 
THE witch's head. E6S 
 
 " Ernest," said Alston, galloping up to him, " I am go- 
 ing to charge them. Look, they will soon cross the donga, 
 and reach the slopes of the mountain, and we sha'n't be 
 able to follow them on the broken ground." 
 
 " Isn't it rather risky?" asked Ernest, somewhat dis- 
 mayed at the idea of launclung their little clump of 
 mounted men at the moving mass before them. 
 
 " Risky? yes, of course it is, but my orders were to delay 
 the enemy as much as possible, and the horses are fresh. 
 But, my lad ' ' — and he bent toward him and spoke low — 
 " it doesn't much matter whether we are killed charging or 
 running away. I am sure that the camp must be taken; 
 there is no hope. Good-bye, Ernest; if I fall, fight the 
 corps as long as possible, and kill as many of those devils 
 as you can; and if you survive, remember to make off well 
 to the left. The regiments will have passed by then. God 
 bless you, my boy! Now order the bugler to sound the 
 ' cease fire,' and let the men mount." 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 They were "the last words Alston ever spoke to him, and 
 Ernest often remembered, with affectionate admiration, 
 that €ven at that moment he thought more of his friend's 
 safety than he did' of his own. As to their tenor, Ernest 
 had already suspected the truth, though, luckily, the sus- 
 picion had not as yet impregnated the corps. Mazook, too, 
 who as usual was with him, mounted on a Basutu pony, 
 had just informed him that, in his- (Mazook' s) opinion, 
 they were all as good as ripped up (alluding to the Zulu 
 habit of cutting a dead enemy open), and adding a con- 
 solatory remark to the efEect that man can die but once, 
 and "good job too." 
 
 But, strangely enough, he did not feel afraid; indeed, he 
 never felt quieter in his life than he did in that hour of 
 near death. A wild expectancy thrilled his nerves, and 
 looked out of his eyes. " What would it be like?" he 
 wondered. And in another minute all such thoughts were 
 gone, for he was at the head of his troop, ready for the 
 order. 
 
 Alston, followed by the boy Eoger, galloped swiftly 
 round, seeing that the formation was right, and then gave 
 the word to unsheath the short swords with which he had 
 insisted upon the corps being armed. Meanwhile, the 
 Undi were drawing on to a flat plain, four hundred yards 
 
864 THE witch's head. 
 
 or more broad, at the foot of the mountain, a very suitabl* 
 spot for a cavalry maneuver. 
 
 " Now, men of Alston's Horse, there is the enemy be- 
 fore you. Let me see how you can go through them. 
 Charge!" 
 
 " Charge!" re-echoed Ernest. 
 
 " Charge!" roared Sergeant-Major Jones, brandishing 
 his sword. 
 
 Down the slope they go, slowly at first; now they are on 
 the plain, and the pace quickens to a hand-gallop. 
 
 Ernest feels his grefffhorse gather himself together and 
 spring along beneath him; he hears the hum of astonish- 
 ment rising from the dense black mass before them as it 
 halts to receive the attack; he glances round, and sees the 
 set faces and determined look upon the features of his 
 men, and his blood boils up with a wild exhilaration, and 
 for awhile he tastes the fierce joy of war. 
 
 Quicker still grows the pace; now he can see the white 
 round the dark eyeballs of the Zulus. 
 
 " Crash!" they are among them, trampling them down, 
 hewing them down, thrusting, slashing, stabbing, and be- 
 ing stabbed. The air is alive with assegais, and echoes with 
 the savage Zulu war-cries and with the ehouts of the gallant 
 troopers, fighting now as troopers have not often fought 
 before. Presently, as in a dream, Ernest sees a huge Zulu 
 seize Alston's horse by the bridle, jerk it on to its haunches, 
 and raise his assegai. Then the boy Eoger, who is by his 
 father's side, makes a point with his sword, and runs the 
 Zulu through. He falls, but next moment the lad is at- 
 tacked by more, is assegaied, and falls fighting bravely. 
 Then Alston pulls up, and, turning, shoots with his re- 
 volver at the men who have killed his son. Two fall, an- 
 other runs up, and with a shout drives a great spear right 
 through Alston, so that it stands out a hand-breadth be- 
 hind his back. On to the body of his son he, too, falls and 
 dies. Next second the Zulu's head is cleft in twain down 
 to the chin. That was Jeremy's stroke. 
 
 All this time they are traveling on, leaving a broad, red 
 lane of dead and dying in their track. Presently it was 
 done; they had passed right through the Impi. But out 
 of sixty-four men they had lost their captain and twenty 
 troopers. As they emerged Ernest noticed that his sword 
 was dripping blood, and his sword-hand stained red. Y«t 
 
THE ititch's head. 365 
 
 ho could not at the moment remember having killed anv- 
 body. ^ •' 
 
 But Alston was dead, and he was now in command of 
 what remained of the corps. They were in no condition to 
 charge again, for many horses and some men were wounded. 
 So he led them round the rear of the luipi, wliich, detach- 
 ing a company of about three hundred men to deal with 
 the remnants of the troop, went on its way with lessened 
 numbers, and filled with admiration at the exhibition of a 
 courage in no way inferior to their own. 
 _ This company, running swiftly, took possession of the 
 ridge, down which the troop had charged, and by which 
 alone it would be possible, for Ernest to retreat, and, taking 
 shelter behind stones, began to pour in an inaccurate but 
 gaUing fire on the little party of whites. Ernest charged 
 up through them, losing two inore men and several horses 
 in the process; but what was his horror, on reaching the 
 crest of the ridge, to see about a thousand Zulus, drawn 
 up, apparently in reserve, in the neck of the pass leading 
 to the plain beyond! To escape through them would be 
 almost impossible, for he was crippled with wounded and 
 dismounted men, and the pace of a force is the pace of the 
 slowest. Their position was desperate, and, looking round 
 at his men, he could see that they thought so too. 
 ^ His resolution was soon taken. A few paces from where 
 he had for a moment halted the remainder of the corps, 
 was a little eminence, something like, an early Saxon 
 tumulus. To this he rode, and, dismounting, turned his 
 horse loose, ordering his men to do the same. So good 
 was the discipline, and so great his control over them, that 
 there were no wild rushes to escape: they obeyed, realizing 
 their desperate case, and formed a ring round the rise. 
 
 " Now, men of Alston's Horse," said Ernest, " we have 
 done our best, let us die our hardest." 
 
 The men set up a cheer, and next minute the Zulus, 
 creeping up under shelter of the rocks which were strewed 
 around, attacked them with fury. 
 
 In five minutes, in spite of the withering fire which they 
 poured in upon the surrounding Zulus, six more of the little 
 band were dead. Four were shot, two were killed in a 
 rush made by about a dozen men, who, reckless of their 
 own life, determined to break through the white man's 
 ring. They perished iiy the attempt, but not before they 
 
366 THE witch's head. 
 
 had stabbed two of Alston's Horse. The remainder, but 
 little more than thirty men, retired a few paces further up 
 the little rise so as to contract their circle, and kept up a 
 ceaseless fire upon the enemy. The Zulus, thaniss to the 
 accurate shooting of the white men, had by this time lost 
 more than fifty of their number, and, annoyed at being 
 put to such loss by a foe numerically so insignificant, they 
 determined to end the matter with a rush. Ernest saw 
 their leader, a great, almost naked fellow, with a small 
 shield and a necklace of lion's claws, walking, utterly re- 
 gardless of the pitiless rifle-fire, from group to group, and 
 exhorting them. Taking up a rifle which had just fallen 
 from the hand of a dead trooper — for up to the present 
 Ernest had not joined in the firing — he took a fine sight 
 at about eighty yards at the Zulu chief's broad chest, and 
 pulled. The shot was a good one; the great fellow sprung 
 into the air and dropped. Instantly another commander 
 took his place, and the final advance began. 
 
 But the Zulus had to come up-hill, with but little cover, 
 and scores were mown down by the scorching and con- 
 tinuous fire from the breech-loaders. Twice when within 
 twenty yards were they driven back, twice did they come 
 on again. Now they were but twelve paces or so away, and 
 a murderous fire was kept np upon them. For a moment 
 they wav'ered, then pushed forward up the slope. 
 
 " Close up!" shouted Ernest, " and use your swords and 
 pistols." His voice was heard above the din; some of the 
 men dropped the now useless rifles, and the revolvers be- 
 gan to crack. 
 
 Then the Zulus closed in upon the doomed band, with a 
 shout of " Bulala Umlungo!" (kill the white man). 
 
 Out rang the pistol-shots, and fire flew from the clash of 
 swords and assegais, and still the little band, momentarily 
 growing fewer, fought on with laboring breath. Never did 
 hope-forsaken men make a more gallant stand. Still they 
 fought, and still they fell, one by one, and as they fell were 
 stabbed to death; but scarcely one of them was there whose 
 death-wound was in his back. 
 
 At last the remaining Zulus drew back: they thought 
 that it was done. 
 
 But no: three men yet stood together upon the very sum- 
 mit of the mound, holding six foes at bay. The Zulu cap- 
 tain laughed aloud when he saw it, and gave a rapid order. 
 
THE witch's heab. 267 
 
 Thereupon the remaining Zulus formed up, and, stabbing 
 the wounded as they went, departed swiftly over the dead, 
 after the main body of the corps which had now vanished 
 round the mountain. 
 
 They left the six to finish the three. 
 
 Three hundred had come to attack Alston's Horse; not 
 more than one hundred depjirted from that attack. The 
 overpowered white men had rendered a good account of 
 their foes. 
 
 The three left alive on the summit of the little hill were, 
 as T'ate would have it, Ernest, Jeremy, and the ex-sailor, 
 who had complained of the " sargustic" companion, who 
 as it happened had just died by his side. 
 
 Their revolvers were empty; Ernest's sword had broken 
 off short in the body of a Zulu; Jeremy still had his sword, 
 and the sailor a clubbed carbine. 
 
 Presently one of the six Zulus dodged in under the car- 
 bine and ran the sailor through. Glancing round, Ernest 
 saw his face turn gray. The honest fellow died as he had 
 lived, swearing hard. 
 
 " Ah, you black mate," he sung out, " take that, 
 
 and be d — d to you!" The clubbed rifle came down upon 
 the Zulu's skull and cracked it to bits, and both fell dead 
 together. 
 
 Now there were five Zulus . left, and only Ernest and 
 Jeremy to meet them. But stay; suddenly from under a 
 corpse uprises another foe. TSIo, it is not a foe, it is Ma- 
 zooku, who has been shamming dead, but suddenly and 
 most opportunely shows himself to be very much alive. 
 Advancing from behind he stabs one of the attacking party, 
 and kills him. That leaves four. Then he engages an- 
 other, and after a long struggle kills him too, which leaves 
 three. And still the two white men stand back to'back, 
 with flashing eyes and gasping breath, and hold their own. 
 Soaked with blood, desperate, and expecting death, they 
 were yet a gallant sight to see. Two of the remaining 
 Zulus rush at the giant Jeremy, one at Ernest. Ernest, 
 having no effective weapon left, dodges the assegai-thrust, 
 and then closes with his antagonist, and they roll, over and 
 over, down the hill together, struggling for the assegai the 
 Zulu holds. It snaps in two, but the blade and about eight 
 inches of shaft remain with Ernest. He drives it through 
 
268 THE witch's head. 
 
 his enemy's throat, and he dies. Then he struggles up to 
 see the closing scene of the drama, but not in time to help 
 in it. Mazooku has wounded his man badly, and is follow- 
 ing to kill him. And Jeremy? He has struck at one of 
 the Kafirs with his sword. The blow is received on the 
 edge of the cowhide shield, and sinks half-way through it, 
 so that the hide holds the steel fast. With a sharp twist of 
 the shield the weapon is jerlted out of his hand, and he is 
 left defenseless, with nothing to trust to except his native 
 strength. Surely he is lost! But no— with a sudden rush 
 he seizes both Zulus by the throat, one in each hand, and, 
 strong men as they are, swings them wide apart. Then 
 •with a tremendous effort he jerks their heads together with 
 such awful force that they fall senseless, and Mazooku 
 comes up and spears them. 
 
 Thus was the fight ended. 
 
 Ernest and Jeremy sunk upon the bloody grass, gasping 
 for breath. The firing from the direction of the camp had 
 now died away, and, after the tumult, the shouts, and the 
 shrieks of the dying, the silence seemed deep. It was the 
 silence of the dead. 
 
 There they lay, white man and Zulu, side by side in the 
 peaceable sunlight; and in a vague, bewildered way Ernest 
 noticed that the faces which a few minutes before had 
 looked so grim, were mostly smiling now. They had passed 
 through the ivory gates and reached the land of smiles. 
 How still they all were! A httle black and white bird, 
 such as fly from ant-hill to ant-hill came and settled upon 
 the forehead of a young fellow scarcely more than a boy, 
 and the only son of his mother, who lay quiet across two 
 Zulus. The bird knew why he was so still. Ernest had 
 liked the boy, and knew his mother, and began to wonder 
 as he lay panting on the grass what she would feel when 
 she heard of her son's fate. But just then Mazooku's voice 
 broke the silence. He had been standing staring at the 
 body of one of the men he had killed, and was now 
 apostrophizing it in Zulu. 
 
 " Ah, my brother," he said, " son of my own father, 
 with whom I used to play when I was little; I always told 
 you that you were a perfect fool with an assegai, but I little 
 thought that I should ever have such an opportunity of 
 proving it to yon. Wellj it can't be helped; duty is duty, 
 
THE witch's head. S69 
 
 and family ties must give way to it. Sleep well, my broth- 
 er; it was paiuf 111 to have to kill you— very. " 
 
 Ernest lifted himself from the ground, and laughed th« 
 hysterical laugh of shattered nerves, at this naive and 
 thoroughly Zulu moralizing. Just then Jeremy rose and 
 came up to him. He was a fearful sight to see— his hands, 
 his face, his clothes, were all red; and he was bleeding from 
 a cut on the face, and another on the hand. 
 
 " Come, Ernest," he said, in a hollow voice, " we must 
 clear out of this. " 
 
 " I suppose so," said Ernest. 
 
 On the plain at the foot of the hill several of the horses 
 were quietly cropping the grass, till such time as the 
 superior animal, man, had settled his differences. Among 
 them was Ernest's black stallion, " The Devil!" which 
 had been wounded, though slightly, on the flank. They 
 walked toward the horses, stopping on their way to arm 
 themselves from the weapons which lay about. As they 
 passed the body of the man Ernest had killed in his last 
 struggle for life, he stopped and drew the broken assegai 
 from his throat. "A memento," said he. The horses 
 were caught without diflBculty, and " The Devil " and the 
 two next best animals selected. Then they mounted, and 
 rode toward the top of the ridge over which Ernest had 
 seen the body of Zulus lying in reserve. When they were 
 near it Mazook got down and cr^pt to the crest on his 
 stomach. Presently, to their great relief, he signaled to 
 them to advance: the Zulus had moved on, and the valley 
 was deserted. And so the three passed back over the neck, 
 that an hour and a half before they had crossed with sisty- 
 one companions, who were now all dead. 
 
 "I think we have charmed Uves," said Jeremy, pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " All gone except us two. It can't be chance." 
 
 " It is fate," said Ernest, briefly. 
 
 Prom the top of the neck they got a view of the camp, 
 which now looked quiet and peaceful, with its white tents 
 and its Union Jack fluttering as usual in the breeze. 
 
 " They must be all dead too," said Ernest; " which way 
 shall we go?" 
 
 Then it was that Mazook's knowledge of the country 
 .proved of the utmost service to them. He had been 
 
270 THE witch's head. 
 
 brought up at a kraal ia the immediate neighborhood, and 
 knew every inch, of the land. Avoiding the camp alto- 
 gether, he led them to the left of the battle-field, and after 
 two hours' ride over rough country, brought them to a ford 
 of the Buffalo which he was acquainted with, some miles 
 below where the few survivors of the massacre struggled 
 across the river, or were drowned in attempting to do so. 
 Following this route they never saw a single Zulu, for these 
 had all departed in the other direction, and were spared the 
 horrors of the stampede and of "^Fugitives' Drift." 
 
 At last they gained the further side of the river, and 
 were, comparatively speaking, safe, on Natal ground. 
 
 They determined, after much anxious consultation, to 
 make for the little fort at Helpmakaar, and had ridden 
 about a mile or so toward it, when suddenly the Zulu's 
 quick ear caught the sound of distant firing to their right. 
 It was their enemy the Undi Corps attacking Rorke's Drift. 
 Leaving Mazook to hold the horses, Ernest and Jeremy 
 dismounted and climbed a solitary koppie or hill which 
 just there cropped out from the surface of the plain. It 
 was of an ironstone formation, and on the summit lay a 
 huge flat slab of almost pure ore. On to this they climbed, 
 and looked along the course of the river, but could see 
 nothing. Rorke's Drift was hidden by a rise in the ground. 
 Ail this time a dense thunder-cloud had been gathering in 
 the direction of Helpmakaar, and was now, as is common 
 before sunset in the South African summer season, travel- 
 , icg rapidly up against the wind, set in a faint rainbow as 
 in a frame. The sun. on the other hand, was sinking to- 
 ward the horizon, so that his golden beams, lying across a 
 space of blue sky, impinged upon the black bosom of the 
 cloud, and were reflected thence in sharp lights and broad 
 shadows, flung like celestial spears and shields, across the 
 plains of Zululaud. Isandhlwana's Mountain was touched 
 by one great ray which broke in glory upon his savage 
 crest, and crowned him that day's king of death, but the 
 battle-field o'er which he towered was draped in gloom. It 
 was a glorious scene. Above, the wild expanse of sky 
 broken up by flaming clouds and tinted with hues such as 
 might be reflected from the jeweled walls of heaven. Be- 
 hind, the angry storm, set in its rainbow-frame like ebony 
 in a ring of gold. In front, the rolling plain where the 
 tall grasses waved, the broad Buffalo flashing through it 
 
THE witch's- head. 271 
 
 like a silver snake, the sun-kissed mountains, and the shad- 
 owed slopes. 
 
 It was a glorious scene. Nature in her most splendid 
 mood flung all her color-streamers loose across the earth 
 and sky, and waved them wildly ere they vanished into 
 night's abyss. Life, in his most radiant ecstasy, blazed up* 
 in varied glory before he sunk, like a lover, to sleep awhile 
 in the arms of his eternal mistress — Death. 
 
 Ernest gazed upon it, and it sunk into his heart, which, 
 set to Nature's tune, responded ever when her hands swept 
 the chords of earth or heaven. It lifted him above the 
 world, and thrilled him with indescribable emotion. His 
 eyes wandered over the infinite space above, searching for 
 the presence of a God; then they fell upon Isandhlwana, 
 and marked the spot just where the shadows were deepest; 
 where his comrades lay and gazed upon the glorious sky 
 with eyes that could not see, and at last his spirit gave 
 way, and, weakened with emotion and long toil and absti- 
 nence, he burst into a paroxysm of grief. 
 
 " Oh, Jeremy," he sobbed, " they are all dead, all, ex- 
 cept you and I, and I feel a coward that I should still live 
 to weep over them. When it was over, I should have let 
 that Zulu kill me, but I was a coward, and I fought for my 
 life. Had I but held my hand for a second I should have 
 gone with Alston and the others, Jeremy." 
 
 " Come, come, old fellow, you did your best, and fought 
 the corps like a brick. No man could have done more." 
 
 "Yes, Jeremy, but I should have died with them; it 
 was my duty to die. And I do not care about living, and 
 they did. I have been an unfortunate dog all my life. I shot 
 my cousin, I lost Eva, and now I have seen all my comrades 
 killed, and I, who was their leader, alone escaped. And 
 perhaps I have not done with my misfortunes yet. "What 
 next, I wonder; what next?" 
 
 Ernest's distress was so acute, that Jeremy, looking at 
 him and seeing that all he had gone through had been too 
 much for him, tried to soothe him, lest he should go into 
 hysterics, by putting his arm round his waist and giving 
 him a good hug. 
 
 " Look here, old chap," he said; " it is no use bother- 
 ing one's head about these things. We are just so many 
 feathers blown about by the wind, and must float where the 
 wind blows us. Sometimes it is a good wind, and some- 
 
372 THE witch's head. 
 
 timea a bad one, but on the whole it is bad, and we must 
 just make the best of it, and wait till it doesn't think it 
 worth while to blow our particular feathers about anymore, 
 and then we shall come to the ground, and not till then. 
 And now we have been up here for more than five minutes, 
 and given the horses a bit of a rest. We must be pushing 
 on if we want to get to Helpmakaar before dark, and I 
 only hope we shall get there before the Zulus, that's all. 
 By Jove, here comes the storm — come on!" — and Jeremy 
 jumped off the lump of iron-ore and began to descend the 
 koppie. 
 
 Ernest, who had been listening with his face in his 
 hands, rose and followed him in silence. As he did so, a 
 breath of ice-cold air from the storm-cloud, which was now 
 right overhead, fanned his hot brow, and when he had 
 gone a few yards he turned to meet it, and to cast one 
 more look at the scene. 
 
 It was the last earthly landscape he ever saw. For at 
 that instant there leaped from the cloud overhead a fierce 
 stream of jagged light, which struck the mass of iron-ore 
 on which they had been seated, shivered and fused it, and 
 then ran down the side of the hill to the plain. Together 
 with the lightning there came an ear-spUtting crack of 
 thunder. 
 
 Jeremy, who was now nearly at the bottom of the little 
 hill, staggered at the shock. When he recovered, he looked 
 up where Ernest had been standing, and could not see him. 
 He rushed up the hill again, calling him in accents of 
 frantic grief. There was no answer. Presently he found 
 him lying on the ground, white and still. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE CLIFFS OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 It was an April evening, off the south coast of England. 
 The sun had just made up his mind to struggle out from 
 behind a particularly black shower-cloud, and give that 
 part of the world a look before he bade it good-night. 
 
 " That is lucky," said a liitle man, who was with diffi- 
 culty hanging on to the bulwark netting of the R. M. S. 
 " Conway Castle;" " now, Mr. Jones, look if you can't see 
 them in the sunlight." 
 
THE witch's head. 273 
 
 Mr. Jones accordingly looked through his glasses again. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I can see them distinctly." 
 
 " See what?" asked another passenger coming up. 
 
 " The cliffs of Old England," answered the little man, 
 joyously. 
 
 " Oh, is that all!" said the other; "curse the cliffs of 
 old England!" 
 
 " Nice remark that for a man who is going home to be 
 married, eh!" said the little man, turning to where his 
 companion had stood. 
 
 But Mr. Jones had shut up his glasses, and vanished aft. 
 
 Presently he reached a deck-cabin, and entered without 
 knocking. 
 
 "England is in sight, old fellow," he said, addressing 
 somebody who lay back smoking in a cane-chair. 
 
 The person addressed, made a movement as though to 
 rise, then put up his hand to a shade that covered his eyes. 
 
 " I forgot," he answered with a smile; " it will have to 
 be very much in sight before I can see it. By the way, 
 Jeremy," he went on, nervously, " I want to ask you some- 
 thing. These doctors tell such lies." And he removed 
 the shade. " Now, look at my eyes, and tell me honestly, 
 am I disfigured? Are they shrunk, I mean, or got a 
 squint, or anything of that sort?" — and Ernest turned up 
 his dark orbs, which, except that they had acquired that 
 painful, expectant look peculiar to the blind, were just as 
 they always had been. 
 
 Jeremy looked at them, first in one Hght, then in an- 
 other. 
 
 " "Well," said Ernest, impatiently, " I can feel that you 
 are staring me out of countenance." 
 
 "Hamba gachl6," replied the imperturbable one. "I 
 am di — di — diagnosing the case. There, that will do. To 
 all appearance, your optics are as sound as mine. You get 
 a girl to look at them, and see what she says." 
 
 " Ah, well; that is something to be thankful for." 
 
 Just then somebody knocked at the cabin-door. It was 
 a steward. 
 
 " You sent for me. Sir Ernest?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember. Will you be so good as to find 
 my servant? I want him." 
 
 " Yes, Sir Ernest." 
 
274 THE 
 
 Ernest moved impatiently. " Confound that fellow, 
 with his everlasting ' Sir Ernest!' " 
 
 " What, haven't you got used to your handle yet?" 
 
 " No, I haven't, and I wish it were at Jericho, and that 
 is a fact. It is all your fault, Jeremy. If you had not told 
 that confoundedly garrulous little doctor, who went and 
 had the information printed in the ' JSTatal Mercury,' it 
 would never have come out at all. I could have dropped 
 the title in England; but now all these people know that I 
 am Sir Ernest, and Sir Ernest I shall remain for the rest 
 of my days." 
 
 " Well, most people would not think that such a dread- 
 ful misfortune." 
 
 " YeSj they would if they had happened to shoot the 
 real heir. By the way, what did the lawyer say in his let- 
 ter? As we are so near home, I suppose I had better post 
 myself up. You will find it in the dispatch-box. Read it, 
 there's a good fellow." 
 
 Jeremy opened the box, battered with many years of 
 travel, and searched about for the letter. It contained a 
 curious collection of articles — prominent among which was 
 a handkerchief, which had once belonged to Eva Ceswick; 
 a long tress of chestnut hair tied up with a blue ribbon; 
 ditto of golden, which had come — well, not from Eva's 
 tresses; a whole botanical collection of dead flowers, tender 
 souvenirs of goodness knows who, for, after awhile, these 
 accumulated dried specimens are difficult to identify; and 
 many letters and other curiosities. 
 
 At last he came to the desired document, written in a 
 fair clerk's hand ; and having shoveled back the locks of 
 hair, etc, began to read it aloud: 
 
 Sir,—" 
 
 " St. Ethelred's Court, ) 
 ' Poultry, 22d January, 1879. ) 
 
 " You see," broke in Ernest, " while we were fighting 
 over there at Saoshlwana, those beggars were writing to 
 tell me that I was a baronet. Case of the ' bloody hand ' 
 with a vengeance, eh?" 
 
 " Sir " (began Jeremy again), " it is our duty to inform 
 you of the death, on the 16th of the present month, of our 
 esteemed client, Sir Hugh Kershaw, Bart., of Archdale 
 
THE witch's head. 275 
 
 Hall, Devonshire, and of the consequent devolution of the 
 baronebcy to yourself, as only son of the late Sir Hugh's 
 only brother, Ernest Kershaw, Esq. 
 
 " Into the question of the unhappy manner in which you 
 came to be placed in the immediate succession, it does not 
 become us to enter. We have before us at this moment a 
 copy of her majesty's pardon, granted to yoa under the 
 Transvaal Amnesty Act, and forwarded to us by Eeginald 
 Card us, Esq., of Dum's Ness, SuflEolii:, which we have 
 neither the wish nor the will to dispute. It is clear to us 
 that, under this pardon, you are totally free from any re- 
 sponsibility for the breach of the law which you perpe- 
 trated some years since; and of this it is our duty to ad- 
 vise you. Your title to succeed is a clear one. 
 
 " As was only to be expected under the circumstances, 
 the late Sir Hugh did not bear any feeUng of good- will 
 toward you. Indeed, we do not think that we shall be ex- 
 aggerating if we say that the news of your free pardon 
 materially hastened his end. On the attainment of full 
 age by the late Hugh Kershaw, Esq. , who fell by your 
 hand, the entail of the family estates was cut, and only the 
 mansion-house of Archdale Hall, the heirlooms, which are 
 numerous and valuable, therein contained, and the deer- 
 
 Sri£, consisting of one hundred and eighty-five acres of 
 id, were resettled. These consequently pass to you, and 
 we shall be glad to receive your instructions concerning 
 them, should you elect to honor us with your confidence. 
 The estates pass, under the will of the late baronet, to 
 a distant cousin of his late wife's, James Smith, Esq., of 
 52 Camperdown Eoad, Upper Clapham. We now think 
 that we have put you in possession of all the facts connect- 
 ed with your accession to the baronetcy, and, awaiting your 
 instructions, have the honor to remain, 
 
 " Your obedient servants, 
 (Signed) ' Paisley & Paisley." 
 
 *' Ah, so much for that!" was Ernest's comment. 
 " What am I to do with Archdale Hall, its heirlooms, and 
 its deer-park of one hundred and eighty-five acres, I won- 
 der? I shall sell them, if I can. Mine is a pretty position; 
 a baronet with about sixpence half-penny per annum to 
 support my rank on; a very pretty position!" 
 
 '^Hamba gachle," replied Jeremy; "time enough to 
 
276 THE witch's head. 
 
 consider all that. But now, as we are on the reading lay, 
 I may as well give you the benefit of my correspondence 
 with the officer commanding her majesty's forces in Natal 
 and Zululand." 
 
 " Fire away," remarked Ernest, wearily. 
 
 " First letter, dated Newcastle, Natal, 37 January, from 
 your humble servant to officer commanding, etc. 
 
 " ' SiE, — I have the honor to report, by order of Lieu- 
 tenant and Adjutant Kershaw, of Alston's Horse, at pres- 
 ent incapacitated by lightning from doing so himself — ' " 
 
 " Very neatly put that, I think," interpolated Jeremy. 
 " Very. Go on." 
 
 — " ' that on the 23d inst., Alston's Horse having received 
 orders to check the flanking movement of the Undi Corps, 
 proceeded to try and do so. Coming to a ridge command- 
 ing the advance of the Undi, the corps, by order of their 
 late commander. Captain Alston, dismounted and opened 
 fire on them at a distance of about three hundred yards, 
 with considerable effect. This did not, however, check the 
 Undi, who appeared to number between three and four 
 thousand men, so Captain Alston issued an order to charge 
 the enemy. This was done with some success. The Zulus 
 lost a number of men; the corps, which passed right 
 through the enemy, about twenty troopers. Captain Alst(^n, 
 and his son Eoger Alston, who acted as his aide-de-camp. 
 Several horses and one or two men were also severely 
 wounded, which crippled the further movements of the 
 corps. 
 
 " ' Lieutenant and Adjutant Kershaw, on taking com- 
 mand of the corps, determined to attempt to retreat. In 
 this attempt, however, he failed, owing to the presence of 
 dismounted and wounded men; to the detachment of a 
 body of about three hundred Zulus to intercept any such 
 retreat; and to the presence of a large body of Zulus on the 
 further side of the pass leading to the valley through which 
 such retreat must be conducted. 
 
 " ' Under these circumstances he determined to fight the 
 remains of the corps to the last, and dismounting them, 
 took possession of a fairly advantageous position. A des- 
 perate hand-to-hand encounter ensued. It ended in the 
 almost total extermination of Alston's Horse, and in that 
 
THE witch's hbad. 27? 
 
 of the greater part of the attacking Zulus. The names of 
 the surviving members of Alston's Horse are— Lieutenant 
 and Adjutant Kershaw; Sergeant-Major Jeremy Jones: 
 Trooper Mazooku (the only native in the corps). 
 
 " These ultimately effected their escape, the enemy 
 having either been all destroyed or having followed the 
 track of the Undi. Lieutenant and Adjutant Kershaw re- 
 
 frets to have to state that in process of effecting his escape 
 e was struck by lightning and blinded. 
 " ' He estimates the total loss inflicted on the enemy by 
 Alston's House at from four hundred to four hundred and 
 fifty men. In face of such determined bravery as was 
 evinced by every one of hisjate gallant comrades. Lieuten- 
 ant Kershaw feels that it would be invidious for him to 
 mention any particular names. Every man fought des- 
 perately, and died with his face to the enemy. He begs to 
 inclose a return of the names of those lost, the accuracy of 
 which he can not, however, guarantee, as it is compiled 
 from memory, the papers of the corps having all been lost. 
 Trusting that the maneuvers attempted by Lieutenant 
 Kershaw under somewhat difficult circumstances will meet 
 with your approval, I have, etc. 
 
 " ' By order of Lieutenant Kershaw: 
 
 (Signed) " ' J:er^m.y Jo:is-Ea, 6'ergeant-Major.' 
 
 " Then follows the reply, dated Maritzburg, 2 February. 
 
 " ' SiE, — 1. I have to direct you to convey to Lieutenant 
 and Adjutant Kershaw, and the surviving members of the 
 corps known as Alston's Horse, the high sense entertained 
 by the Officer, etc., of the gallant conduct of that corps in 
 the face of overwhelming odds at Isandhlwana on the 22d 
 of January. 
 
 " ' 2. It is with deep regret that the Officer, etc., learns 
 of the heavy misfortune which has befallen Lieutenant 
 Kershaw. He wishes to express his appreciation of the 
 way in which that oHicer handled the remnants of his corps, 
 and to inform him that his name will be forwarded to the 
 proper quarter for the expression of her majesty's pleasure 
 with regard to his services.* 
 
 * It may be stated here, that if this was ever done, the War 
 Office did not consider Ernest's services worthy oi notice, for he 
 never heard anything more about them. 
 
378 THE witch's head. 
 
 " ' 3. I am directed to offer you a commission in any of 
 the volunteer corps now on service in this campaign. 
 " ' I have, etc., 
 (Signed) " ' Chief op the Staff.' " 
 
 Then comes a letter from Sergeant-Major Jones, grate- 
 fully acknowledging the expression of the high opinion of 
 the Officer, etc., and declining the offer of a commission 
 in another volunteer corps. 
 
 Next is a private letter from the Officer, etc., offering 
 to recommend Sergeant-Major Jeremy Jones for a com- 
 mission in the army. 
 
 And, finally, a letter from Sergeant-Major Jones to Offi- 
 cer, etc., gratefully declining the same. 
 
 Ernest looked up sharply. The raison d'etre of the 
 movement was gone, for he could no longer see, but the 
 habit remained. 
 
 " Why did you decline the commission, Jeremy?" 
 
 Jeremy moved uneasily, and looked through the little 
 cabin-window. 
 
 " On general principles," he answered, presently. 
 
 " Nonsense! I know you would have liked to go into 
 the army. Don't you remember, as we were riding up to 
 the camp at Isandhlwana, you said that you proposed that, 
 if the corps did anything, we should try and work it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, I said we/" 
 
 " I don't quite follow you, Jeremy." 
 
 " My dear Ernest, you can't go in for a commission now, 
 can you?" 
 
 Ernest laughed a little bitterly. 
 
 " What has that to do with it?" 
 
 " Everything. I am not going to leave you in your mis- 
 fortune to go and enjoy myself in the army. I could not 
 do it; I should be wretched if I did. No, old' fellow, we 
 have gone through a good many things side by side, and, 
 please God, we will stick to each other to the end of the 
 chapter." 
 
 Ernest was always easily touched by kindness, especially 
 now that his nerves were shaken, and his heart softened by 
 misfortune, and his eyes filled with tears at Jeremy's words. 
 
THE witch's head. 279 
 
 Patting out his hand, he felt about for Jeremy's, and, 
 when he had found ib, grasped it warmly. 
 
 " If I have troubles, Jeremy, at least I have a blessing 
 that few can boast— a true friend. If you had gone with 
 the rest at Isandhlwana yonder-, I think that my heart 
 would have broken. I think we do bear one another a love 
 that ' passeth the love of woman.' It would not be worth 
 much if it didn't, that is one thing. I wonder if Absalom 
 was a finer fellow thaa you are, Jeremy; ' from the sole of 
 his foot even to the crown of his head there was no blemish 
 in him. ' Your hair would not weigh ' two hundred shekels 
 after the king's weight ' though " (Jeremy wore his hair 
 cropped like a convict's); " but I would back you to throw 
 Absalom over your shoulder, hair and all." 
 
 It was his fashion to talk nonsense when affected by 
 anything, and Jeremy, knowing it, said nothing. - 
 
 Just then there came a knock at the door, and who 
 should enter but Mazook, but Mazook transformed? His 
 massive frame, instead of being clothed in the loose white 
 garments he generally wore, was arrayed in a flannel shirt 
 with an enormous stick-up collar, a suit of pepper-and- 
 salt reach-me-downs several sizes too small for him, and a 
 pair of boots considerably too large for his small and shape- 
 ly feet, for, like those of most Zulus of good blood, his 
 hands and feet were extremely delicately made. 
 
 To add to the incongruity of his appearance, on the top 
 of his hair, which was still done in ridges Zulu fashion, and 
 decorated with long bone snuff-spoons, was perched an ex- 
 tremely small and rakish-looking billycock hat, and in his 
 hand he carried his favorite and most gigantic knob-stick. 
 
 On opening the cabin-door he saluted in the ordinary 
 fashion, and coming in squatted down on his haunches to 
 await orders, forgetting that he was not in all the freedom 
 of- his native dress. The results were most- disastrous. 
 With a crack and a bang the reach-me-down trousers, al- 
 ready strained to their utmost capacity, split right up the 
 back. The astonished Zulu flew up into the air, but pres- 
 ently discovering what had happened, sat down again, re- 
 marking that there was " much more room now." 
 
 Jeremy burst out laughing, and having sketched his re- 
 tainer's appearance for the benefit of Ernest, told him 
 what had happened. 
 
J80 THE witch's HEA». 
 
 " Where did you get those things from, Mazook?" asked 
 Ernest. 
 
 Mazook explained that he had bought the rig-out for 
 three pounds ten from a second-class passenger, as the 
 weather was growing cold. 
 
 " Do not wear them again. I will buy you clothes as 
 soon as we get to England. If you are cold, wear your 
 great-coat." 
 
 "Koos!" (chief). 
 
 " How is ' The Devil'?" Ernest had brought the black 
 stallion on which he had escaped from Isandhlwana home 
 with him. 
 
 Mazook replied that the horse was well, but playful. A 
 man forward had been teasing him with a bit of , bread. 
 He had waited till that man passed under his box, and had 
 seized him in his teeth, lifted him off the ground by his 
 coat, and shaken him severely. 
 
 " Good! Give him a bran-mash to-night." 
 
 "Koos!" 
 
 " And so you find the air cold. Are you not regretting 
 that you came? I warned you that you would regret." 
 
 " Ou ka Inkoos" (oh, no, my chief), the Zulu an- 
 swered, in his liquid natipe tongue. " When first we come 
 upon the smoking ship, and went out on to the black water 
 out of which the white men rise, and my bowels twisted up 
 and melted within me, and I went through the agonies of 
 a hundred deaths, then I regretted. ' Oh, why,' I said in 
 my heart, ' did not my father kill me rather than bring 
 me on to this great moving river? Surely if I live I shall 
 grow Uke a white man from the whiteness of my heart, for 
 I am exceedingly afraid, and have cast all my inside forth. ' 
 All this I said, and many more things which I can not re- 
 member, but they were dark and heavy things. But be- 
 hold, my father, when my bowels ceased to melt, and when 
 hew ones had grown to replace those which I had thrown 
 forth, I was glad, and did eat much beef, and then did I 
 question my heart about this journey over the black water. 
 And my heart answered and said: ' Mazooku, son of In- 
 goluvu, of the tribe of Maquilisini, of the people of the 
 Amazulu, you have done well. Great is the cliief whom 
 you serve; great is he on the hunting-path; great was he 
 in the battle; all the Undi could not kill him, and his 
 brother the lion (Jeremy), and his servant the jackal (Ma- 
 
THE -witch's HEAt), 281 
 
 ^ zooku), wlio hid in a hole and then bit those who digged. 
 Uh, yes, he is great, and his breast is full of valor; you 
 have seen him strike the Undi down; and his mind is full 
 of the white man's knowledge and discretion; youliave seen 
 him form the ring that spat out fire so fast tliat his servants 
 the horsemen were buried under the corpses of the Undi. 
 So great is he, that the " heaven above " smelled him out 
 as ' tagati " (a wizard), and struck him with their light- 
 ning, but could not kill him then.' And so now, my father 
 wanders and wanders, and shall wander in the darkness, 
 seeing not the sun or the stars, or the flashing of spears, or 
 the light that gathers in the eyes of brave men as they close 
 in the battle, or the love which gleams in the eyes of wom- 
 en. And htfw is this? Shall my father want a dog to lead 
 him in his darkness? Shall his dog Mazooku, son of In- 
 goluvu, prove a faitliless dog, and desert the hand that fed 
 him, and the man who is braver than himself? No, it 
 shall not be so, my chief, and my father. By the head of 
 Chaka, whither thou goest thither will I go also, and where 
 you build your kraal there shall I make my hut. K.oos! 
 teaba!" 
 
 And having saluted after the dignified Zulu fashion, Ma- 
 zook departed to tie up his split trousers with a bit of 
 string. There was something utterly incon^gruous between 
 his present appearance and his melodious and poetical words, 
 instinct as they were with quaUties which in some respects 
 make the savage Zulu a gentleman, and put him above the 
 white Christian, who, for the most part regards the " nig- 
 ger " as a creature beneath contempt. For there are les- 
 sons to be learned even from Zulu " niggers," and among 
 them we may reckon those taught by a courage which 
 laughs at death; an absolute fidelity to those who have the 
 right to command it, or the qualities necessary to win it; 
 and, in their raw and unconverted state, perfect honesty 
 and truthfulness. 
 
 " He is a good fellow, Mazook," said Ernest, when the 
 Zulu had gone, " but I fear that one of two things will 
 happen to him. Either he will get homesick and become a 
 nuisance, or he 'will get civilized and be^iome drunken and 
 degr&,ded. I should have done better to leave him in 
 Natal." 
 
282 THE witch's head. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ERNEST'S EVIL DESTIiTT. 
 
 AiiOUT nine o'clock on the morning following Mazookn's 
 oration a young lady came running up the stairs of the prin- 
 cipal Plymouth hotel, and burst into a private sitting-room, 
 like a human bomb-shell of attractive appearance, some- 
 what to the astonishment of a bald old gentleman who was 
 sitting at breakfast. 
 
 " Good gracious, Dorothy! have you gone suddenly 
 mad?" 
 
 " Oh, Reginald, the ' Conway Castle ' is nearly in, and I 
 have been to the office and got leave for us to go off in the 
 launch; so come along, quick!" 
 
 " What time does the launch leave?" 
 
 " A quarter to ten exactly." 
 
 " Then we have three quarters of an hour/' 
 
 " Oh, please, Reginald, be quick; it might go before, 
 you know." 
 
 Mr. Oardus smiled, and, vising, put on his hat and coat, 
 " to oblige " Dorothy, he said, but, as a matter of fact, he 
 was as excited as she was. There was a patch of red on 
 each of his pale cheeks, and his hand shook. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour they were walking up and down 
 the quay by the Custom House, waiting for the launch to 
 start. 
 
 " After all these yearSj" said Mr. Cardus, " and blind!" 
 
 " Do you think that he will be much disfigured, Regi- 
 nald?" 
 
 " I don't know, dear; your brother said nothing about it." 
 
 "I can hardly believe it; it seems so strange to think 
 that he and Jeremy should have been spared out of all 
 those people. How good God is!" 
 
 " A cynic," replied Mr. Cardus with a smile, " or the 
 relations of the other people might draw a different con- 
 clusion." 
 
 But Dorothy was thinking how good God was to her. 
 She was dressed in pink that morning, and 
 
 " Oh, she looked sweet 
 As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat." 
 
THE witch's head, ;883 
 
 Dorothy neither was, nor eyer would be, a pretty woman, 
 but she was essentially a charming one. Her kindly, puz- 
 zled face (and, to judge from the little wrinkles on it, she 
 had never got to the bottom of the questions which con- 
 tracted her forehead as a child), her steady blue eyes, her 
 diminutive, rounded form, and, above all, the indescribable 
 light of goodness which shone round her like a halo, all 
 made her charming. What did it matter if the mouth was 
 a little wide, or the nose somewhat " tip-tilted".' Those 
 who can look so sweet are able to dispense with such fleshly 
 attributes as a Grecian nose or chiseled lips. At the least, 
 they will have the best of it after youth is past; and let me 
 remind you, my young and lovely reader, that the longer* 
 and dustier portion of life's road winds away toward the 
 pale horizon of our path on the further side of the grim 
 mile-post marked "30." 
 
 But what made her chiefly attractive was her piquante, 
 taking manner, and the " chic " of her presence. She was 
 such a perfect lady. 
 
 , " All aboard, if you please," broke in the agent. " Eun 
 in the gangway!" and they were off toward the great gray 
 Vessel with a blue pennant at her top. 
 
 " It was a short run, but it seemed long to Dorothy and 
 the old gentleman with her. Bigger and bigger grew the 
 great vessel, till at last it seemed to swallow up their tiny 
 steamer. 
 
 "Ease her! Look out for the line there! Now haul 
 away! Make fast!" 
 
 It was all done in an instant, and next moment they 
 stood upon the broad white deck, amid the crowd of pas- 
 sengers, and were looking round for Ernest and Jeremy. 
 But they were not to be seen. 
 " I hope they are here," faltered Dorothy. 
 Mr. Cardus took his hat off, and wiped his bald head. 
 He too hoped that they were there. 
 
 At that moment Dorothy became aware of a great black 
 man, clad in a white smock pulled on over a great-coat, 
 and carrying a big spear and a kerrie in his hand, who was 
 pushing his way toward them. Kext moment he stood be- 
 fore them saluting vigorously. 
 
 " Koos!" he said, thrusting the spear into the air before 
 Mr. Cardus's astonished nose. 
 
 " Inkosi Casa " ^chieftainess), he repeated, going 
 
384 THE ttitoh's hkab. 
 
 through the same process before Dorothy. " This way, 
 master; this way, missie. The chief without eyes seud me 
 to you. This way; the lion bring iiim now." 
 
 They followed him through the press toward thb after 
 
 Eart of the ship, while, giving up the unfamiliar laaguage, 
 e vociferated in Zulu (it might have been Sanskrit for all 
 they knew) : 
 
 " Make way, you low people! make way for the oid man 
 with the shining head on whose brow sits wisdom, aad the 
 fair young maiden, the sweet rose-bud, who comes,'- etc. 
 
 At that moment Dorothy's quick eye saw a grei ,t man 
 issuing from a cabin, leading another man by the hand. 
 And then she forgot everything, and ran forward. 
 " Oh, Ernest, Ernest!" she cried. 
 
 The bh'nd man's cheek flushed at the music of her voice. 
 He drew his hand from Jeremy's, and stretched oiit his 
 arms toward the voice. It would have been easy to Avoid 
 them — one need never be kissed by a blind man — but she 
 did not avoid them. On the contrary, she placed hersolt so 
 that the groping arms closed round her, with a cry of, 
 " Dolly, whei-e are you?" 
 
 " Here, Ernest, here!" and in another moment he had 
 drawn lier to him, and kissed her on the face, and she hbd 
 returned the kiss. Oh, fy! Dorothy, fy! 
 
 Then she kissed Jeremy too, or rather Jeremy lifted her 
 up two or three feet and kissed her — it came to the same 
 thing. And then Mr. Cardus wrung them both by tho 
 hand, wringing Ernest's the hardest, and Mazook stood by, 
 and, Zulu-fashion, chanted a little song of his own impro- 
 vising, about how the chiefs came back to their kraal after 
 a long expedition, in which they had, etc. — and how Wis- 
 dom in the shape of a shining-headed and ancient one, the 
 husband without any doubt of many wives, and the father 
 of at least a hundred children, etc. — and Beauty in the 
 shape of a sweet and small one, etc., etc. ; and finally they 
 all went very near to crying, and dancing a fling on the 
 quarter-deck together. 
 
 And then they all talked at once, and set about collect- 
 ing their things in a muddle-headed fashion, and when these 
 had been put in a pile, and Mazook seated, assegai and all, 
 upon the top of them as a solemn warning to thieves (and 
 ill would it have gone with the thief who dared to meddle 
 
THT! witch's HEAD. 285 
 
 with that pile), started off to inspect Ernest's great black 
 horse, " The Devil." 
 
 And behold, Dorothy stroked " The Devil's " nose, and 
 he, recognizing how sweet and good she was, abandoned his 
 usual habits, and did not bite her, but only whinnied and 
 asked for sugar. Then Ernest, going into the box with the 
 horse, which nobody but he and Mazook were fond of tak- 
 ing liberties with, felt down his flank till he came to a scar 
 inflicted by an assegai, in that mad charge through the 
 TJndi, and showed it to them. And Dorothy's eyes filled 
 with tears of thankfulness, as she thought of what that 
 horse and its rider had gone through, and of the bleaching 
 bones of those who had galloped by their side; and she 
 would have liked to kiss Ernest again, only there was no 
 excuse, so she only pressed his hand, feeling that the sorrow 
 of the empty years which were gone was almost atoned for 
 by this hour of joy. 
 
 Then they went ashore to the hotel, and sat together in 
 the pleasant sitting-room which Dorothy had chosen, and 
 made sweet with great bunches of violets (for she remem- 
 bered that Ernest loved violets), and talked. At length 
 Mr. Cardus and Jeremy went off to see about getting the 
 things through the Custom House, where they arrived to 
 find Mazook keeping half a dozen gorgeous oflicials, who 
 wanted to open a box at bay with his knobsticks, and plas- 
 tering them with offensive epithets which fortunately they 
 did not understand. 
 
 " Doll," said Ernest, presently, "it is a beautiful day, 
 is it not? Will you take me for a walk, dear? I should 
 like to go for a walk." 
 
 " Yes, Ernest, of course I will." 
 
 " You are sure you do not mind being seen with a blind 
 man; you must give me your hand to hold, you know." 
 
 " Ernest, how can you?" 
 
 Mind giving him her hand to hold indeed ! thought Doro- 
 thy to herself, as she ran to put her bonnet on. Oh, that 
 she could give it to him for always! And in her heart she 
 blessed the accident of his blindness, because it brought 
 him so much nearer to her. He would be helpless without 
 her, this tall, strong man, and she would be ever at his side 
 to help him. He would not be able to read a book, or 
 write a letter, or move from room to room without her. 
 Surely she would soon be able so to weave herself into hi* 
 
286 THE wktch's head. 
 
 life, that she would become indispensable to it! And then, 
 perhaps— perhaps — and her heart pulsed with a joy so in- 
 tense at the mere thought of what might follow, that it be- 
 came a pain, and she caught her breath and leaned against 
 the wall. For ever}' fiber of her little frame was thrilled 
 with a passionate love of this blind man whom she had 
 lost for so many years, and now had found again ; and in 
 her breast she vowed that if she could help it she would lose 
 him no more. Why should she? When he had been en- 
 gaged to Eva, she had done her best for him and her, and 
 bitterly had she felt the way in which he had been treated. 
 But Eva had taken her own course, and was now no longer 
 in the outward and visible running, wliatever place she 
 might still hold in the inward and spiritual side of Ernest's 
 nature. Dorothy did not underrate that place; she knew 
 well that the image of her rival had sunk too deep into his 
 heart to be altogether dislodged by her. But she was pre- 
 pared to put up with that. " One can't have everything, 
 you know," she said, shaking her wise little head at her 
 own reflection in the glass, as she tied her bonnet-strings. 
 
 She was an eminently practical little person was Doro- 
 thy, and having recognized the " eternal yerity " of the 
 saying that half a loaf is better than no bread, especially if 
 one happens to be dying of hunger, she made up her miud 
 to make the best of the position. Since she could not help 
 it, Eva would be welcome to the inward and spiritual side 
 of Ernest, if only she could secure the outward and visible 
 side; " for, after all, that is real and tangible, and there 
 isn't much comfort in spiritual affection, you know," she 
 said with another shake of the head. 
 
 In short, the arguments which proved so convincing to 
 her were not unlike those that carried conviction home to 
 the gentle breast of Mr. Plowden, when he made up his 
 mind to marry Eva in the teeth of her engagement to, and 
 love for, Ernest; but, putting aside the diversity of the cir- 
 cumstances, there was this difference between them: Mr. 
 Plowden recognized no higher spiritual part at all; he did 
 not believe in that sort of thing; he contracted for Eva as 
 he would have contracted to buy a lovely animal, and when 
 he had got the given quantity of flesh and blood he was 
 satisfied. Of the beautiful soul which the human casket 
 held, and which loathed and hated him, he took no ac- 
 count. He had got the woman, what did he care about ths 
 
THE witch's head. SS? 
 
 woman's soul? Souls, and spiritual parts, and affinities 
 with what is good and high, and the divinity of love, etc., 
 etc., were capital things to preach about, but they did net 
 apply to the affairs of every-day life. Besides, if he had 
 been asked, he would have given it as his candid opinion 
 that women did not possess any of these things. 
 
 There are hundreds of educated men who think like Mr. 
 Plowden, and there are thousands of educated ladies who 
 give color to such opinions by their idle, aimless course of 
 life, their utter inappreciation of anything beyond their own 
 little daily round, and the gossip of the dozen or so of fami- 
 lies who for them make up whaJt -they call society and the 
 interests of existence; and by tlieir conduct in the matter 
 of marriage. Truly the great factor in the lowering of 
 women is woman herself. But what does it matter? In 
 due coarse they have their families, and the world goes on ! 
 
 Now, Dorothy did believe in all these things, and she 
 knew what an important part they play in human affairs, 
 and how they dominate over, and direct, finer minds. So 
 did she beheve in the existence of the planets, and in tiie 
 blooming'of roses in walled gardens; but she could not gut 
 near to know the beauties of the stars, or to see the open- 
 ing rose-buds, so she had to satisfy herself with the light 
 that poured from the oue, and the scent that came from 
 the other. "When one is star-stricken, or mad in the mat- 
 ter of roses, that is better than nothing. 
 
 And so, taking Ernest by the hand, she led him through 
 the crowded streets with tender care, and on to the quiet Hoe. 
 And as they passed, the people turned to look at the hand- 
 some young fellow who was blind, and some thought that 
 they would not mind a httle blindness if it led to being per- 
 sonally conducted by so sweet a girl. 
 
 Soon they reached the gardens. 
 
 " Now tell me about youi-self, Ernest. What have you 
 been doing all these long years, besides growing bigger, and 
 handsomer, and getting that hard look about the mouth?" 
 
 " A great many things, Doll. Shooting, fighting, playing 
 
 the fool." 
 
 " Pshaw! I know all that, or at least I can guess it. 
 
 What have you been doing in your mind, you know?" 
 " Why, thinking of you, of coarse, Doll." 
 " Ernest, if you talk to me like that, I will go away, and 
 
 leave you to find your own way home. I know well of 
 
288 THE WITtH'S HEAD. 
 
 whom you have been thinking every day and every night. 
 It was not of me. Now, confess it." 
 
 " Don't let's talk of her, Doll. If you talk of the devil, 
 you know, you sometimes raise him ; not that he requires 
 much raising in this instance," he laughed, bitterly. 
 
 " I was so sorry for you, Ernest dear, and I did my best; 
 indeed I did. But I could do nothing with her. She 
 must have been olf her head, or the man and Florence had 
 some power over her; or perhaps she never really cared for 
 you; there are some women, you know, who seem very 
 sweet, but can not truly care for anybody except them- 
 selves. At any rate she married, and has a family of chil- 
 dren, for I have seen their births in the paper. 
 
 " Oh, Ernest, when I think of all you must have suffered 
 out there about that woman, I cease to be sorry for her, 
 and begin to hate her. I am afraid you have been very 
 unhappy, Ernest, all these years. " 
 
 "Ah, yes, I have been unhappy sometimes — sometimes 
 I have consoled myself. There, what is the use of telling 
 lies? — I have always been unhappy, and never so much so 
 as when I have been in process of consolation. But you 
 should not hate her, poor girl; perhaps she has her bad 
 times too; only, fortunately, you women can not feel, at 
 least not much — not like us, I mean. " 
 
 " I don't know about that," put in Dorothy. 
 
 " Well, I will qualify my remark — most women. And, 
 besides, it is not quite her fault; people can not help them- 
 selves much in this world. She was appointed to be my 
 evil destiny, that is all, and she must fulfill her mission. 
 All my life she will probably bring me trouble, till at last 
 the fate works itself out. But, Dolly, my dear, there must 
 be an end to these things, aod Nature, always fertile in 
 analogies, teaches us that the end of sorrow- will be happi- 
 ness. It is from the darkness of night that day is born, 
 and ice and snow are followed by the flowers. Nothing is 
 lost in the world, as old Alston used to say, and it is impos- 
 sible to suppose that all the grief and suffering are alone 
 wasted; that they are the only dull seed that will not, when 
 their day comes, bloom into a beautiful life. They may 
 seem to be intaugible things now; but, after all, the differ- 
 ence between tangible and intangible is only a difference of 
 matter. We know that intangible things are real enough. 
 
THi witch's head. 289 
 
 and perhaps in a future state we shall find that they are th» 
 true immortal parts. I think so myself." 
 
 "I think so too." 
 
 " Well, then, Doll, you see, if once one gets the mastery 
 of that idea, it makes the navigation easier. Once admit 
 that everything works to an end, and that end a good and 
 enduring one, and you will cease to call out under your 
 present sorrows. But it is hard for the little boy to learn 
 to like being whipped, and we are all children, Doll, to the 
 end of our days. " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And you see, Doll, for some reason I have been picked 
 out to catch it pretty warm. It does seem rather hard that 
 a woman like that should be allowed to turn all the wine of 
 a man's life into vinegar; but so it often is. Now, if she 
 had died, that would have been bad enough; but I could 
 have borne it, and bided my time to join her. Or if she 
 had ceased to love me, and learned to love the other man, 
 I think I could have borne that, because my pride would 
 have come to my rescue, and because I know that the law 
 of her affections is the only law that the heart of woman 
 really acknowledges, however many others she may be 
 forced to conforni to; and that a woman of refined nature 
 who has ceased to love you, and is yet forced to live with 
 you, is in consequence a thing worthless to you, aud dis- 
 honored in her own eyes. Besides, I ask no favor in such 
 matters. I have no sympathy, as a gelieral rule, with peo- 
 ple who raise a howl because they have lost the affection of 
 their wives or sweethearts, for they should have been able 
 to keep them. If any man could have cut me out, he was 
 welcome to do so, for he would have proved himself the 
 better man, and, as for the lady, I would not have her 
 without her heart. But I gather that was not quite the 
 case with Eva." 
 
 " Oh, no indeed; at least she said that she was wretched. " 
 
 " Exactly as I thought. Well, now, you will under- 
 stand that it is rather hard. You see I did love her dearly, 
 and it is painful to think of this woman, whose love I won, 
 and who by that divine right and by the law of nature 
 should have been my wife, as forced into being the wife of 
 another man, however charming he maybe; audi hope for 
 her sake that he is charming. In fact, it fills me with a 
 sensation I can not describe," 
 10 
 
390 THE -VTITCH'S head. 
 
 " Poor Ernest!" 
 
 " Oh, no, don't pity me. Everyoody has his troubles — 
 this is mi tie. " 
 
 " Oh, Ernest, but you have been unfortunate, and now 
 your sight has gone: but perhaps Critchett or Couper will 
 be able to do something for that. " 
 
 ' ' All the Critchetts and Coupers in the world will never 
 do anything for it, mv dear. But you must remember that, 
 where I only lost my sight, many others lost their lives, and 
 it is supposed to be better to lose your sight than your life. 
 Besides, blindness has its advantages; it gives you so much 
 more time to think, and it humbles you so. You can have 
 no idea what it is liise, Doll. Intense, everlasting black- 
 ness hedging you in like a wall, one long, long night, even 
 when the sunlight is beating on your face: and out of the 
 night, voices and the touching of hands, like the voices and 
 the touchings of departed spirits., Your physical body is as 
 helpless and as much at the mercy of the world as your 
 spiritual body is in the hands of the Almighty. And things 
 grow dim to you too: you begin to wonder what familiar 
 faces and sights ai'e like, as you wonder about the exact ap- 
 pearance of those who died many years ago, or of places 
 you have not seen for years. All of which, my dear Doll, 
 is very favorable to thought. When next you lie awake 
 for five or six hours in the night, try to reckon all the 
 things which occupy your brain, then imagine such wake- 
 fulness and its accompanying thoughts extended over the 
 period of your natural life, and you will got some idea of 
 the depth and breadth and height of total blindness. " 
 
 His words struck her, and she did not know what to an- 
 swer, so she only pressed his hand in token of her mute 
 sympathy. 
 
 He understood her meaning; the faculties of the blind 
 are very quick. 
 
 " Do you know, Doll," he said, " coming back to you 
 and to your gentle kindness, is like coming into the peace 
 and quiet of a sheltered harbor after bearing the full brunt 
 of the storm?" Just then a cloud which had obscured the 
 sun passed away, and its full light struck upon his face. 
 " There," he went on, " it is like that. It is like emerg- 
 ing into the sweet sunshine after riding for miles through 
 the rain and mist. You bring peace with you, my dear. I 
 
THE •witch's head. 391 
 
 have not felt such peace for years as I feel holding your 
 hand to-day." 
 
 " I am very glad, dear Ernest," she answered; and they 
 walked on in silence. At that moment, a little girl, who 
 was trundling a hoop down the gravel-path, stopped her 
 hoop to look at the pair. She was very pretty, with large 
 dark eyes, but Dorothy noticed that she had a curious mark 
 upon her forehead. Presently Dorothy saw her run back 
 toward an extremely tall and graceful woman who was 
 sauntering aloQg, followed at some distance bya-nurse with 
 a baby in her arms, and turning occasionally to look at the 
 beds of spring flowers, hyacinths and tulips, which bordered 
 the path. 
 
 " Oh, mother," she heard her call out in the clear voice of 
 childhood, " there is such a nice blind man! He isn^t old 
 and ugly, and he hasn't a dog, and he doesn't ask for pen- 
 nies. Why is he blind if he hasn't a dog, and doesn't ask 
 for pennies?" 
 
 Blindness, according to this little lady's ideas, evidently 
 sprung from the presence of a cur and an unsatisfied hun- 
 ger for copper coin. S(Jmetimes it does. 
 
 The tall, graceful lady looked up carelessly, saying, 
 " Hush, dear!" She was quite close to them now, for 
 they were walking toward each other, and Dorothy gave a 
 great gasp, for before her stood Eva Plowden! There 
 was no doubt about it. She was paler and haughtier-look- 
 ing than of yore; but it was she. No one who had once 
 seen her could mistake that queenly beauty. Certainly 
 Dorothy could not mistake it. 
 
 "What is the matter, Doll?" said Ernest, carelessly. 
 He was thinking of other things. 
 
 " Nothing; 1 hurt myself." They were quite close now. 
 
 - And Eva, too, looked at them, and she, too, saw the 
 
 face she had never thought to see again. With all her eyes, 
 
 and witli her lips parted as though to cry out, she gazed at 
 
 the sight before her — slowly, slowly, taking in all it meant. 
 
 They were nearly level now. 
 
 Then there leaped up into her eyes and face — the eyes 
 and face which a second before had been so calm and statue- 
 like — a wild light of love, an intensity of passionate and 
 Jealous desire, such as is not often to be seen on the faces 
 of women. 
 
 *' Ernest there, and Ernest blind, and being led by the 
 
293 THE witch's head. 
 
 hand of Dorothy, and looking happy with her! How dared 
 she touch her love! How dared he look happy with her!" 
 Those were the thoughts which flashed through her troubled 
 mind. 
 
 She made a step toward them as though to address him, 
 and the blind eyes fell upon her lovely face and wandered 
 over it. It made her mad. His eyes were on her face, 
 and yet he could not see her. Oh, God! 
 
 Dorothy saw the motion, and moved by an overmastering 
 instinct threw herself between them in an attitude of pro- 
 tection not unmixed with defiance. And so, for a second, 
 their eyes flashing and their bosoms heaving with emotion, 
 the two women stood face to face, and the blind, pathetic 
 eyes wandered uneasily over both, feeling a presence they 
 were unable to define. 
 
 It was a tragic, almost a dreadful scene. The passions 
 it revealed were too intense for words, as no brush can 
 justly paint a landscape made vivid by the unnatural fierce- 
 ness of the lightning. 
 
 " Well, Doll, why do you stop?" he said, impatiently. 
 
 His voice broke the spell. Eva withdrew her arm, which 
 was half outstretched, and touched her lips with her finger 
 as though to enjoin silence. Then a deep misery spread 
 itself over her flushed face; her head sunk low, and she 
 passed thence with rapid steps. Presently the nurse with 
 the baby followed her, and Dorothy noticed vaguely that 
 the child had also a mark upon its forehead. The whole 
 thing had not taken forty seconds. 
 
 " Doll," said Ernest, with a wild voice, and com- 
 mencing to tremble, " who was that passed us?' 
 
 " A lady," was the answer. 
 
 " A lady; yes, I know that — what lady?' 
 
 " I don't know — a lady with children." It was a fib, 
 but she could not tell him then; an instinct warned her 
 not to do so. 
 
 " Oh! It is strange, Doll, strange; but, do you know, 
 I felt just now as though Eva were very near me? Come, 
 let us go home!" 
 
 Just then the cloud got over the sun again, and they 
 walked home in the shadow. Apparently, too, all their 
 talkativeness had gone the way of the sun. They had 
 nothing to say. 
 
IHE witch's head. 298 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 rNTROSPECTIVE. 
 
 Eva Plowdek could scarcely be said to be a happy wom- 
 an. A refined woman who has dehberately married one 
 man when she IotoS another is not as a rale happy after- 
 ward, unless indeed she is blessed, or cursed, with a sin- 
 gularly callous nature. But there are degrees and degrees 
 of unhappiness. Such a fate as Eva's would have killed 
 Dorothy, and would have driven Florence, bad as she 
 might otherwise be, to suicide or madness. But with Eva 
 herself it was not so; she was not suflficiently finely strung 
 to suffer thus. Hers was not a yery happy life, and that 
 was all about it. She had been most miserable; but when 
 the first burst of her misery had passed, like the raving 
 storm that sometimes ushers in a wet December day, she 
 had more or leas reconciled herself — Uke a sensible woman 
 — to her position. The day was always rather wet, it is 
 true, but still the sun peeped out now and again, and if life 
 was not exactly a joyous thing, it was at least endurable. 
 
 And yet with it all she loved Ernest in her heart as much 
 as ever; his memory was inexpressibly dear to her, and her 
 regrets were sometimes very bitter. On the whole, how- 
 ever, she had got over it wonderfully, better than anybody, 
 who could have witnessed her agony some years before, 
 when Florence told her the whole truth immediately after 
 the wedding, would have thought possible. The Sabine 
 women, we are told, offered every reasonable resistance to 
 their rape by the Eomans, but before long gave the 
 strongest proofs of reconciliation to their lot. There was 
 something of the Sabine woman about Eva. Indeed, the 
 contrast between her state of mind as regarded Ernest, and 
 Ernest's state of mind as regarded her, would make a curi- 
 ous study. They each loved the other, and yet how diffei-- 
 ent had the results of that love been on the two natures! 
 To Eva it had been and was a sorrow, sometimes a very 
 real one; to Ernest, the destruction of all that made life 
 worth living. The contrast, indeed, was almost pitiabloj 
 it was so striking; so wide a gulf was fixei between the 
 two. The passion of the one was a wretched thing com' 
 
294 THE witch's head. 
 
 pared to the other. But both were real; it was merely a 
 difference of degree. If Eva's affectioa was weak when 
 measured by Ernest's, it was because the soil in which it 
 grew was poorer. She gave all she had to give. 
 
 As for Mr. Plowden, he could not but feel that on the 
 whole his matrimonial speculation had answered very well. 
 He was honestly fond of his wife, and, as he had a right to 
 be, very proud of her. At times she was cold and capri- 
 cious, and at times she was sarcastic; but, take it altogether, 
 she made him a good and serviceable wife, and lifted him 
 up many pegs in the social scale. People saw that though 
 Plowden was not a gentleman, he had managed to marry 
 a lady, and a very lovely lady too; and he was tolerated, 
 indeed to a certain extent courted, for the sake of his wife. 
 It was principally to attain this end tliat he had married 
 her, so he had every reason to be satisfied with his bargain, 
 and he was, besides, proud to be the legal owner of so hand- 
 some a creature. 
 
 Eva often thought of her old lover, though, except in 
 the vaguest way, she had heard nothing of him for years. 
 Indeed, she was, as it happened, thinking of him tenderly 
 enough that very morning, when her little girl had called 
 her attention to the " nice blind man." And when she at 
 last, in a way which seemed to her little short of miracu- 
 lous, seteyes again upon his face, all her smoldering passion 
 broke into flame, and she felt that she still loved him with 
 all her strength, such as it was. 
 
 At that moment indeed she realized how great, how bit- 
 ter, how complete was the mistake she had n;ade, and 
 what a beautiful thing life might have been for her if 
 things had gone differentlj'. But, remembering how things 
 ivere, she bowed her head and passed on, for the time com- 
 pletely crushed. 
 
 Presently, however, two points became clear in the con- 
 fusion of her mind, taking shape and form as distinct and 
 indisputable mental facts, and these were — first, that she 
 was wildly jealous of Dorothy; second, that it was her fixed 
 determination to see Ernest. She regretted now that she 
 had been too overcome to go up and speak to him, for see 
 him she must and would; indeed, her sick longing to look 
 npon his face and hear his voice filkd her with alarm. 
 
 Eva reached her home, after tlie meeting on the Hoe, Just 
 before lancheon-time. Her husband was now acting as 
 
KtB witch's head. 398 
 
 locum tenens for the rector of one of the Plymouth parishes. 
 They had moved thus from place to place for years, waiting 
 for the Kesterwick living to fall vacant, and Eva liked the 
 roving life well enough — it diverted her thoughts. 
 
 Presently she heard her husband enter, bringing some- 
 body else with him, and summoned up the sweet smile for 
 which she was remarkable to greet him. 
 
 In another instant he was in the room, followed by a 
 fresh-faced subaltern, whose appearance reminded her of 
 the pictures of cherubs. Mr. Plowden had changed but 
 little since we saw him last, with the exception that his 
 hair was now streaked with gray, and the whole face rather 
 stouter. Otherwise the cold gray eyes were as cold as ever, 
 and the countenance of Plowden was what the countenance 
 of Plowden had always been — powerful, intelligent, and 
 coarse-looking. 
 
 " Let me introduce my friend Lieutenant Jasper to you, 
 my dear," he said in his full, strong voice, which was yet 
 unpleasant to the ear. " We met at Captain Johnstone's, 
 and, as it is a long way to go to the barracks for lunch, I 
 asked him to come and take pot-luck with us." 
 
 The cherubic Jasper had screwed an eyeglass into his 
 round >ye, and through it was contemplating Eva with 
 astonished ecstasy; but, like most very beautiful women, 
 she was used to that sort of thing, and it only amused her 
 faintly. Mr. Plowden, too, was used to it, and took it as 
 personal compliment.- 
 
 " I am delighted," she murmured, and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 The cherub, suddenly awaking to the fact, dropped his 
 eyeglass, and, plunging at it, seized it as a pike does a little 
 fish, and shook it with enthusiasm. 
 Eva smiled again. 
 
 " Shall we go to lunch?" she said, sweetly; and they went 
 to lunch, she sailing down in front of them with tlie grace 
 of a swan. 
 
 At lunch itself the conversation flagged rather; that is, 
 Mr. Plowden talked with all the facility of an extemporary 
 preacher; the cherub gazed at this pale, dark-eyed angel; 
 and Eva, fully occupied with her own thoughts, contributed 
 a great many appreciative smiles, and a few random re- 
 marks. Just as they were, to her intense relief, nearing 
 the conclusion of the meal, a messenger arrived to summon 
 
296 THE witch's head. 
 
 Mr. Plowdeu to christen a dying baby. He got up at once, 
 for he was punctilious in the performance of his duties, and, 
 making excuses to his guest, departed on his errand, thus; 
 forcing Eva to carry on the conversation. 
 
 "Have you been in Plymouth long, Mr. Jasper?" she 
 asked. 
 
 The eyeglass dropped spasmodically. 
 
 " Plymouth? oh, dear, no, I only landed this morning." 
 
 " Landed? Indeed! where from? I did not know that 
 any boat was in except the ' Conway Castle.' " 
 
 " Well, I came by her, from the Zulu war, you know. I 
 was invalided home for fever." 
 
 The cherub suddenly became intensely interesting to 
 Eva, for it had struck her that Ernest must have come 
 from there. 
 
 "Indeed! I hope you had a pleasant passage. It de- 
 pends so much on your fellow-passengers, does it not?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, we had a very nice lot of men on board. 
 Wounded officers mostly. There were a couple of very 
 decent civilians, too, a giant of a fellow called Jones, and a 
 blind baronet, Sir Ernest Kershaw." 
 
 Eva's bosom heaved. 
 
 " I once knew a Mr. Ernest Kershaw; I wonder if it is 
 the same? He was tall, and had dark eyes." 
 
 " That's the man; he only got his title a month or two 
 ago. A melancholy sort of chap, I thought; but then he 
 can't see now. That Jones is a wonderful fellow, though 
 — could pull two heavy men up at once, as easily as you 
 would lift a puppy-dog. Saw him do it myself. I knew 
 them both out there." 
 
 "Oh! Where did you meet them?" 
 
 " Well, it was rather curious. I suppose you heard of 
 the great disaster at that place with an awful name. Well, 
 I was at a beastly hole called Helpmakaar, when a fellow 
 came riding like anything from Eorke's Drift, telling us 
 what had happened, and that the Zulus were copiing. So 
 we all set to and worked hke mad, and just as we had got 
 the place a little fit for them, somebody shouted that he 
 saw them coming. That was just as it was getting dark. 
 I ran to the wall to look, and saw, not the Zulus, but a 
 great big fellow carrying a dead fellow in his arms, fol- 
 lowed by a Kafir leading three horses. At least I thought 
 the fellow was dead, but he wasn't, he had been struck by 
 
THE witch's head. 297 
 
 lightning. We let him in, and such a sight as they were 
 you never saw, all soaked with blood from top to toe!" 
 , "Ah! And how did they come hke that?" 
 
 " They were the only survivors^ of a volunteer corps 
 called Alston's Horse. They killed all the Zulus that were 
 attacking them, when the Zulus had killed everybody ex- 
 cept them. Then they came away, and the bhnd fellow, 
 that is. Sir Ernest, got struck in a storm — fellows often do 
 out there." 
 
 Eva put further questions, and listened with breathless 
 interest to the story of Ernest's and Jeremy's wonderful 
 escape, so far as the details were known to Mr. Jasper, 
 quite regardless of the pitiless 6re that young, gentleman 
 was keeping on herself through his eyeglass. At last, re- 
 luctantly enough, he rose to go. 
 
 " I must be ofi now, Mrs. Plowden; I want to go and 
 call on Sir Ernest at the hotel. He lent me a Derringer 
 
 Eistol to practice at a bottle with, and I forgot to give it 
 ack." 
 
 Eva turned the full battery of her beautiful eyes upon 
 him. She saw that the young gentleman was struck, and 
 determined to make use of him. Women are unscrupulous 
 when they have an end in view. 
 
 " I am so sorry you must go, but I hope you will come 
 and see me again, and tell me some more about the war 
 and the battles. " 
 
 " You are very kind," he stammered; " I shall be de- 
 lighted." 
 
 He did not think it necessary to add that he had not had 
 the luck to see a shot fired himself. Why should he? 
 
 " By the way, if you are going to see Sir Ernest, do you 
 think you could give him a private message from me? I 
 have a reason for not wishing it to be overheard. " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I dare say I can. Nothing would give me 
 greater pleasure." 
 
 " You are very good." Another glance. " Will you tell 
 him that I wish he would take a fly and come to see me? I 
 shall be in all this afternoon." 
 
 A pang of jealousy shot through the cherubic bosom, but 
 he comforted himself with the reflection that a fine woman 
 like that could not care for a " blind fellow." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, I will try." 
 
 " Thank you," and she extended her hand. 
 
298 THE witch's head. 
 
 He took it, and, intoxicated by those superb eyes, vent- 
 ured to press it tenderly. A mild wonder took possession 
 of Eva's mind, that anybody so very young could have de- 
 veloped such an astonishing amount of impudeuce, but she 
 did not resent the pressure. What did she care about hav- 
 ing her hand squeezed when it was a question of seeing 
 Ernest? Poor, deluded cherub! 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AFTEE MANY DAYS. 
 
 Within an hour of the departure of Lieutenant Jasper, 
 Eva heard a fly draw up at the door. Then came an in- 
 terval and the sound of two people walking up the steps, 
 one of whom stumbled a good deal; then a ring. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Plowden at home?" said a clear voice, the well- 
 remembered tones of which sent the blood to her head and 
 then back to her heart with a rush. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Oh! Wait here, flyman. Now, my good girl, I must 
 ask you to give me your hand, for I am not in a condition 
 to find my way about strange places. " 
 
 Another pause, and the drawing-room door opened, and 
 the maid caaie in leading Ernest, who wore a curious, 
 drawn look upon his face. 
 
 " How do you do?" she said, in a low voice, coming and 
 taking him by the hand. " That will do, Jane." 
 
 He did not speak till the door closed ; he only looked at 
 her with those searching blind eyes. 
 
 Thus they met again after many years. 
 
 She led him to a sofa, and he sat down. 
 
 " Do not leave go of my hand," he said, quickly; "I 
 have not yet got used to talking to people iu the dark." 
 
 She sat down on the sofa beside him, feeling frightened 
 and yet happy. For awhile they remained silent; appar- 
 ently they could find nothing to say, and after all silence 
 seemed most fitting. She had never thought to sit hand 
 in hand with him again. She looked at him; there was no 
 need for her to keep a guard over her loving glances, for 
 he was blind. At length she broke the silence. 
 
 " Were you surprised to get my message?" she asked, 
 gently. 
 
THE WITCH*B HEAi). 299 
 
 " Yes; it was like getting a message from the dead. I 
 never expected to see you again; I thought that you had 
 quite passed out of my life." 
 
 " So you had forgotten mer" 
 
 " "Why do you say such a thing of me? You must know, 
 Eva, that it is impossible for me to forget you; I almost 
 ■wish that it were possible. I meant that you had passed 
 out of my outward life, for out of my mind you can never 
 pass.'' 
 
 Eva hung her head and was silent, and yet his words 
 sent a thrill of happiness through her. So she had not 
 quite lost him after all. 
 
 " Listen, Eva," Ernest went on, gathering himself to- 
 gether, and speaking sternly enough now, and with a 
 strange suppressed energy that frightened her. " How 
 you came to do what you have done you best know." 
 
 " It is done; do not let us speak of it. I was not alto- 
 gether to blame," she broke in. 
 
 " I was not going to speak of it. But I was going to say 
 this, now while I have the chance, because time is short, 
 and I think ix right that you should know the truth. I was 
 going to tell you first that for what you have done I freely 
 forgive you." 
 
 " Oh, Ernest!" 
 
 " It is," he went on, not heeding her, " a question that 
 you can settle with your conscience and your God. But I 
 wish to tell you what it is that you have done. You have 
 wrecked my life, and made it an unhappy thing; you have 
 taken that from me which I can never have to give again; 
 you have embittered my mind, and driven me to sins of 
 which I should not otherwise have dreamed. I loved you, 
 and you gave me proofs which I could not doubt that I 
 had won your love. You let me love you, and then when 
 the hour of trial came you deserted and morally destroyed 
 me, and the great and holy affection that should have been 
 the blessing of my life has become its curse. " 
 
 Eva covered her face with her hands and sat silent. 
 
 " You do not answer me, Eva," he said, presently, with 
 a little laugh. " Perhaps you find what I have to say 
 difficult to answer, or perhaps you think I am taking a 
 liberty." 
 
 " You are very hard," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " Had you not better wait till I have done before you 
 
300 THE witch's head. 
 
 call me hard? If I wished to be hard, 1 should tell you 
 that I no longer cared for you, that my prevailing feeling 
 toward you was one of contempt. It would perhaps 
 mortify you to think that I had shaken off such heavy 
 chains. But it is not the truth, Eva. I love you now, 
 passionately, as ever, as I always have loved you, as I 
 always shall love you. I hope for nothing, I ask for noth- 
 ing; in this business it has always been my part to give, 
 not to receive. I despise myself for it, but so it is." 
 
 She laid her hand upon his shoulder. " Spare me, 
 Ernest," she whispered. 
 
 " I have very little more to say, only this: I believe all 
 this I have given you has not been given uselessly. I be- 
 lieve that the love of the flesh will die with the flesh. But 
 my love for you has been something more and higher than 
 that, or how has it lived without hope, and, m spite of its 
 dishonor, through so many years? It is of the spirit, and 
 I believe that its life will be like that of the spirit, unend- 
 ing, and that when this hateful life is done with I shall in 
 some strange way reap its fruits with you." 
 
 " Why do you believe that, Ernest?" 
 
 " Why do I believe it? I can not tell you. Perhaps it 
 is nothing but the mocking phantasy of a mind broken 
 down with brooding on its grief. In trouble we grow to- 
 ward the light like a plant in the dark, you know. As a 
 crushed Bower smells sweet, so all that is most beautiful 
 and aspiring in human nature is called into life when God 
 lays His heavy hand upon us. Heaven is sorrow^s sole am- 
 bition. No, Eva, I do not know why I believe it, certainly 
 you have given me no grounds for faith, but I do believe 
 it, and it comforts me. By the way, how did you know 
 that I was here?" ' 
 
 " I passed you on the Hoe this morning walking with 
 Dorothy. " 
 
 Ernest started. " I felt you pass," he said, " and asked 
 Dorothy who it was. She said she did not know." 
 
 " She knew, but I made a sign to her not to say." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " Ernest, will you promise me something?" asked Eva, 
 wildly. 
 
 " What is it?" 
 
 "Nothing. I have changed my mind — nothing at all. " 
 
 The promise that she was about to ask was, that he would 
 
THE witch's head. 301 
 
 not marry Dorotliy, but her better nature rose in rebellion 
 against it. Then they talked awhile of Ernest's life 
 abroad. 
 
 " Well/' said Ernest, rising after a pause, " good-bye, 
 Eva."_ 
 
 " It is a very cruel word," she murmured. 
 
 " Yes, it is cruel, but not more cruel than the rest." 
 
 " It has been a happiness to see yoa, Ernest." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders as he answered: "Has it? 
 For myself I am not sure if it has been a happiness or a 
 misery. I must have a year or two of quiet and darkness 
 to think it over before I make up my miud. Will you 
 kindly ring the bell for the servant to take me away?" 
 
 Half unconsciously she obeyed him, and then she came 
 and took his hand and looked with all her eyes and all her 
 soul into his face. It was fortunate that he could not see 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, Ernest, you are blind!" she cried, scarcely know- 
 ing what she said. 
 
 He laughed — a hard Kttle laugh. " Yes, Eva, /am as 
 blind now as you have been always. " 
 
 " Ernest! Ernest! how can I live without seeing you? 
 / love you .'" and she fell into his arms. 
 
 He kissed her, and then somehow, he never knew how, 
 found the strength to put her from him. Perhaps it was 
 because he heard the servant coming. 
 
 Next moment the servant came and led him away. 
 
 As soon as he was gone Eva flung herself on to the sofa, 
 and sobbed as though her heart would break. 
 
 When Dorothy saw a fresh-faced young officer, who had 
 come up to see Ernest, mysteriously lead him aside, and 
 whisper something in his ear which caused him to turn 
 first red and then white, she, being a shrewd observer, 
 thought it curious. But when Ernest asked her to ring 
 the bell and then ordered a fly to be brought round at once, 
 the idea of Eva at once flashed into her mind. She and no 
 other must be at the bottom of this mystery. Presently 
 the fly was announced^ and Ernest went off without a 
 word, leaving her to the tender mercies of the cherub, who 
 was contemplating her with his round eye as he had con- 
 templated Eva, and finding her also charming. It must 
 be remembered that he had but just returned from South 
 
302 THE witch's head. 
 
 Africa, and was prepared, fmit ch mieux, to fall in love 
 with an apple-woman. How much more then would he 
 succumb to the charms of the stately Eva and the extreme- 
 ly fascinating Dorothy! It was some time before the lat- 
 ter could get rid of him and his eyeglass. On an ordinary 
 occasion she would have been glad enough to entertain 
 him, for Dorothy liked a little male society, and the cherub, 
 though he did look so painfully young, was not half a bad 
 fellow, and after all his whole soul was in his eyeglass, and 
 his staring was meant to be complimentary. But just now 
 she had a purpose in her little head, and was heartily glad 
 when he departed to reflect over the rival attractions of the 
 two charmers. 
 
 It was very evident to Dorothy, who was always strictly 
 practical, that to keep Eva and Ernest in the same town 
 was to hold dry tow to a lighted match over a barrel of 
 gunpowder. She only hoped that he might come back now 
 without having put his foot into it. 
 
 " Oh, what fools men are!" she said to herself, with a 
 stamp; " a pretty face and a pair of bright eyes, and they 
 count the world well lost for them. Bah! if it had been a 
 plain woman who played Ernest that trick, would he be 
 found dangling about after her now? Not he. But with 
 her, she has only to say a soft word or two, and he will be 
 at her feet, I'll be bound. I am ashamed of them both." 
 Meanwhile she was putting On her bonnet, which was a 
 very favorite time with her for meditation, having already 
 niade up her mind as to her course of action. Ernest had 
 authorized her to make arrangements for an interview wioh 
 an oculist. She proceeded to make those arrangements by 
 telegram, wiring to a celebrated surgeon to know if he could 
 make an appointment for the following afternoon. Then 
 she took a walk by herself to think things over. In an 
 hour she returned, to find Ernest in the sitting-room look- 
 ing extremely shaken and depressed. 
 " You have been to see Eva," she said. 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 Just tlien there was a liuock at the door, and the servant 
 brought in a telegram. It was from the oculist. He 
 would be glad to see Sir Ernest Kershaw at four o'clock 
 on the following afternoon. 
 
 " I have made an appointment for you with an eye-doc- 
 tor, Ernest, at four o'clock to-morrow." 
 
THE witch's head. 303 
 
 " To-morrow ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes. The sooner you get your eyes looked to the bet- 
 ter. " 
 
 He sighed. " What is the good? However, I will go." 
 
 And so next morning they all took the express, and at 
 the appointed time Ernest found himself in the skillful 
 hands of the oculist. But though an oculist can mend the 
 sight, he can not make it. 
 
 " I can do nothing for you. Sir Ernest," he said, after 
 an exhaustive examination. " Your eyes will remain as 
 they are, but you must always be blind." 
 
 •Ernest took the news with composure. "I thought as 
 much," he said; but Dorothy put her handkerchief to her 
 face and wept secretly. 
 
 Next morning he went with Jeremy to see Messrs. Pais- 
 ley and Paisley, and told them to try and let Archdale Hall, 
 and to lock up the numerous and valuable heirlooms, as 
 unfortunately he was unable to see them. Then they went 
 on home to Bum's Ness, and that night Ernest lay awake 
 in the room where he had slept for so many years in the 
 boyhood which now seemed so dim and remote, and list- 
 ened to the stormy wind raving round the house, and 
 thought with an aching heart of Eva, but was thankful 
 that he had bid her farewell, and wondered if he could find 
 the strength to keep away from her. 
 
 And Eva, his lost love, she too lay by the sea and list- 
 ened -to the wind, and thought on him. There she lay in 
 her beauty, seeking the sleep that would not settle round 
 her. She could not sleep; sweet sleep does not come read- 
 ily to such as her. For her and those like her are ■vain re- 
 grets and an empty love and longing, and the wreath of 
 thorns that crowns the brow where sorrow sits enthroned. 
 
 Yet, Eva, lift up that fevered head, and turn those 
 streaming eyes to heaven. See, through the casement, 
 high above the"tumult of the storm, there gleams a star. 
 For you, too, there shines a star called Hope, but it is set 
 in no earthly sky. Have patience, wayward heart, there is 
 but a space of trouble. As you suffer, so have millions 
 suffered, and, behold! they are at peace; so shall millions 
 suffer: 
 
 " "WMle thou that once didst make the place thoustood'st in lovely, 
 shalt lie still, 
 Thy form departed, and thy face remembered not in good or ill." 
 
304 THE witch's head. 
 
 For of this we may be sure — if suffering be not the widest 
 gate of heaven, then heaven has no gates. Yes, unhappy 
 woman, stretch out those perfect arms in supplication to 
 the God of sorrows for strength to bear your load, for here 
 it shall not be lightened. The burdens which Providence 
 straps on our backs. Providence will sometimes lessen, but 
 those which our own folly fastens remain till death deHver 
 us. 
 
 So, Eva, dry your tears, for they can avail you naught, 
 and go get you to your daily task — go tend your children 
 and smile that sweet, sad smile on all alike, and wait. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 home AGAIN". 
 
 It was very peaceful, that life at Kesterwick, after all 
 the fierce racket and excitement of the past years. Indeed, 
 as day succeeded day, and brought nothing to disturb his 
 darkness but the sound of Dorothy's gentle voice, and the 
 scent of the flowers on the marshes when the wind blew to- 
 ward the ocean, and the sharp, strong odor of the sea when 
 it set upon the land, Ernest could almost fancy that the 
 past was nothing but a dream more or less ugly, and that 
 this was a dream more or less pleasant, from which he 
 should presently wake up and find himself a boy again. 
 
 English villages change but little. Now and again a 
 person dies, and pretty frequently some one is born; but, 
 on the whole, the tide of time creeps on very imperceptibly, 
 and though in the course of nature the entire population is 
 changed every sixty years or so, nobody seems to realize 
 that it is changing. There is so little in such places to 
 mark the change by. The same church-tower makes a 
 landmark to the eye as it did centuries ago to the eyes of 
 our ancestors, and the same clouds sweep across the same 
 blue space above it. There are the same old houses, the 
 same streams, and, above all, the same roads and lanes. 
 If you could put one of our Saxon forefathers down in the 
 neighborhood of most of oar country towns, he would have 
 little difficulty in finding his \yay about. It is the men who 
 change, not the places. 
 
 Still there were some few changes at Kesterwick. Here 
 and there the sea had taken another bite out of the cliff. 
 
THE witch's head. 305 
 
 notably on the north side of Dum's Ness, out of which a 
 large slice had. gone, thus bringing the water cpnsiderably 
 nearer to the house. Here and there a tree too had been 
 cut down, or a cottage built, or a family changed its resi- 
 dence. For instance. Miss Florence Oeswick had sudden- 
 ly shut up the cottage, where she had remained, seeing 
 nothing of her sister or her sister's husband, ever since 
 Eva's marriage, and had gone abroad — people said to 
 Eome, to study art. For Florence had suddenly electrified 
 the Kesterwicli neighborhood by appearing as an artist of 
 tragic force and grewsome imagination. A large picture, 
 by her hand had been exhibited in the Eoyal Academy of 
 the previous year, and, though the coloring was somewhat 
 crude, made a great and deserved sensation, and finally sold 
 for a considerable sum. 
 
 It represented a promontory of land running out far into 
 a stormy ocean. The sky above the sea was of an inky 
 blackness, except where a fierce ray of Hght from a setting 
 sun pierced it, and impinged upon the boiling waters which 
 surged round the low clifl of the promontory. On the ex- 
 treme edge of the cliff stood a tall and lovely woman. The 
 wind caught the white robe she wore and pressed it against 
 her, revealing the extraordinary beauty of her form, and 
 lifting her long, fair locks, tossed thein in wild confusion. 
 She was bending forward, pointing with her right hand at 
 the water, with such a look of ghastly agony upon her 
 beautiful face and in the great gray eyes, that people of 
 impressionable temperament were wont to declare that it 
 haunted their sleep for weeks. Down below her, just 
 where the fierce ray lighted up the heaving waters, gleamed 
 a naked corpse. It was that of a young man, and was 
 slowly sinking into the unfathomable darkness of the 
 depths, turning round and round as it sunk. The eyes 
 and mouth were wide open, and the stare of the former ap- 
 , peared to be fixed upon those of the woraan on the cliff. 
 Lastly, over the corpse, in the storm- wreath above their 
 heads, there hovered on steady wings a dim female figure, 
 with its arm thrown across the face as though to hide it. 
 This picture was called in the catalogue " The Lost Lover," 
 but speculation was rife as to what it meant. 
 
 Dorothy heard of it, and went to London to see it. The 
 first thing that struck her about the work was the extraor- 
 dinary contrast it presented to the commonplace canvases 
 
306 THE 
 
 of reapers, little girls frisking with baa-lambs, and nudft 
 young women musing profoundly on the edge of pools, as 
 though they were trying to solve the great question — to 
 wash or not to wash — by which it was surrounded. But 
 presently the weird horror of the picture laid hold upon 
 her, and seemed to fascinate her, as it had so many others. 
 Then she became aware that the faces were familiar to her, 
 and suddenly it broke upon her mind that the sinking corpse 
 was Ernest, and the agonined woman Eva. She examined 
 the faces more attentively. There was no doubt about it. 
 Florence had with consummate art changed the coloring of 
 the hair and features, and even to a great extent altered 
 the features themselves, but she had perfectly preserved the 
 likeness, both upon the dead face of the murdered man, 
 and in the horror-inspired eyes of his lover. The picture 
 made her sick with fear, she could not tell why, and she 
 hurried from Burlington House full of dread of the terri- 
 ble mind that had conceived it. 
 
 There had been no intercourse between the two women 
 since Eva's marriage. Florence lived quite alone at the 
 cottage, and never went out anywhere, and if they met by 
 any chance they passed with a bow. But for all that it 
 was a relief to Dorothy to hear that she was not for some 
 long time to see that stern face with its piercing brown 
 
 In Dum's Ness itself there appeared to be no change at 
 all. Except that Mr. Cardus had built a new orchid-house 
 at the bacK, for as he grew older his mania for orchids 
 increased rather than diminished, the place was exactly the 
 same. Even the arrangement of the sitting-room was un- 
 changed, and on its familiar bracket rested the case which 
 Jeremy had made containing the witch's head. 
 
 The people in the house had to all appearance changed 
 as little as the house itself. Jeremy confided to Ernest 
 that Doll had grown rather "tubby," which was his ele- 
 gant way of indicating that she had developed a very pretty 
 little figure, and that Grice (the old housekeeper) was as 
 skinny as a flayed weasel, and had eyes like the point of a 
 knife. Ernest maliciously repeated these sayings to the 
 twQ ladies concerned, with the result that they were both 
 furious. Then he retreated and left them to settle it with 
 Jeremy. 
 
 Old Atterleigh too was almost exactly the same, except 
 
THE witch's head. 307 
 
 that of late years his intellect seemed to have brightened a 
 little. It was, however, difficult to make him understand 
 that Ernest was blind, because the latter's eyes looked all 
 righb. He retained some recollection of him, and brought 
 him his notched stick to show him that, according to bis 
 (" hard-riding Atterleigh's ") calculation, his time of serv- 
 ice with the devil, otherwise Mr. Cardus, would expire in a 
 few months. Dorothy read what the old man wrote upon 
 his slate, and repeated it to Ernest, for he being practically 
 dumb, and Ernest being blind, that was the only way in 
 which they could communicate. 
 
 " And what will you do then?" asked Ernest; " you will 
 be wretched without any writs to 611 up. Who will look 
 after the lost souls, I should like to know?" 
 
 The old man at once wrote vigorously on his slate: 
 
 " I shall go out hunting on the big black horse you 
 brought with you; he will carry my weight." 
 
 " I should advise you not to try," said Ernest, laugh- 
 ing; " he does not like strange riders." Bat the old man 
 at the mere thought of hunting was striding up and down 
 the room, clanking his spurs and waving his hunting-crop 
 ■with his uninjured arm. 
 
 " Is your grandfather as much afraid of my uncle as 
 ever, Doll?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think so; and do you know, Ernest, I don't 
 quite like the way he looks at him sometimes?" 
 
 Ernest laughed. ' ' I should think that the old boy is 
 harmless enough,' ' he said. 
 
 " I hope so," said Dorothy. 
 
 When first they got back to Dum's Ness, Jeremy was at 
 a great loss to know what to do with himself, and was 
 haunted by the idea that Mr. Cardus would want him to 
 resume that stool in his office which years before he had 
 quitted to go in search of Ernest. A week or so after his 
 arrival, however, his fears were very pleasantly set at rest. 
 After breakfast, Mr. Cardus sent for him to come into his 
 office. 
 
 " Well, Jeremy," he said, letting his soft, black eyes 
 wander round that young gentleman's gigantic form, for it 
 was by now painfully large, not so much in height, for he 
 was not six foot three, as in its great width, which made 
 big men look like children beside him, and even dwarfed 
 his old grandfather's enormous frame—" well, Jeremy, and 
 
308 THE 
 
 what do you think of doing? You are too big for a lawyer; 
 all your clients would be afraid of you." 
 
 "I don't know about bein^ too big," said Jeremy, sol- 
 emnly, " but I know that I am too great an ass. Besides, 
 I can't afford to spend several years in being articled at my 
 time of life. " 
 
 " Quite so. Then what do you propose doing?" 
 
 " I don't know from Adam." 
 
 "Well, how would 'you like to turn your sword to a 
 plowshare, and become a farmer?" 
 
 " I think that would suit me first-rate. I have a little 
 capital laid by. Ernest and I made a little monev out 
 there." 
 
 " No, I would not advise you to take a farm in that 
 way; these are bad times. But I want a practical man to 
 look after my land round here, salary £150. What do vou 
 say?" 
 
 "You are very kind; but I doubt if I can boss that 
 coach: I don't know anything of the work. " 
 
 " Oh, you will very soon learn; there is a capital bailiff. 
 Stamp — you remember him — he wiU soon put you up to 
 the ropes. So we will consider that settled." 
 
 Thus it was that our friend Jeremy entered on a new 
 walk in life, and one which suited him very well. In less 
 than a year's time he grew aggressively agricultural, and 
 one never met him but what he had a handful of oats or a 
 mangel-wurzel in his coat-tail pocket, which he was ready 
 to swear were samples of the finest oats, mangel-wurzel, 
 or whatever the particular agricultural product might be, 
 that ever had been or were ever likely to be grown. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT. 
 
 How did it all come about? 
 
 Let us try and discover. Dorothy and Ernest were to- 
 gether all day long. They only separated when Mazooku 
 came to lead the latter off to bed. At breakfast-time he 
 led him back again, and handed him over to Dorothy for 
 the day. Not that our Zulu friend liked this; he did not 
 like it at all. It was, he considered, his business to lead 
 his master about, and not that of the " Eosebud," who 
 
309 
 
 was, as he discovered, after all nothing hut a girl connected 
 with his master neither hy birth nor marriage. And on 
 this point there finally arose a difference of opinion between 
 the Eosebud and Mazooku. 
 
 The latter was leading Ernest for his morning walk, 
 when Dorothy, perceiving it, and being very jealous of 
 what she considered her rights, sallied out and took his 
 hand from the great Zulu's. Then did Mazooku's long- 
 pent indignation break forth. ' 
 
 "^h, Eosebud, sweet and small Eosebud!" he com- 
 menced, addressing her in Zulu, of which needless to say 
 she understood not one word, " why do you come and take 
 my father's hand out of my hand? Is not my father blind, 
 and am I not his dog, his old dog, to lead him in his blind- 
 ness? Why do you take his bone from a dog?" 
 
 " What is the man saying?" asked Dorothy. 
 
 " He is offended because you come to lead me; he says 
 that he is my dog, and that you snatch his bone from him. 
 A pretty sort of bone indeed!" he added. 
 
 " Tell him," said Dorothy, " that here in this country I 
 hold your hand. What does he want? Is he not always 
 with you? does he not sleep across your door? What more 
 does he^want?" 
 " Ernest translated her reply. 
 
 " Ow!" said the Zulu, with a grunt of dissatisfaction. 
 
 " He is a faithful fellow, Doll, and has stood by me for 
 many years; you must not vex him. " 
 
 But Dorothy, after the manner of loving women, was 
 tenacious of what she considered her rights. 
 
 " Tell him that he can walk in front," she said, putting 
 on an obstinate little look, and she could look obstinate 
 when she liked. 
 
 Ernest translated again (for the Zulu vowed that he 
 could never understand Dorothy's English), and Mazooku 
 accepted the compromise. Thus for awhile the difference 
 was patched up. 
 
 Sometimes Dorothy and Ernest would go out riding to- 
 gether, for, blind as he was, Ernest could not be persuaded 
 to give up his riding. It was a pretty sight to see them; 
 Ernest mounted on his towering black stallion " The 
 Devil," which in his hands was as gentle as a lamb, but 
 with everybody else fully justified his appellation, and Dor- 
 othy on a cream-colored cob Mr. OarduS had given her. 
 
310 THE witch's head. 
 
 holding ill her right haad asteel gaiding-rein linked to The 
 JJevil'd bit. In this way they would wander all over the 
 couiit-ry-side, and sometimes, when a good piece of turf 
 presented itself, even venture on a sharp canter. Behind 
 them as groom rode Mazooku, mounted on a stout pony, 
 with his feet stuck, Zulu-fashion, well out at right angles 
 to his animal's side. 
 
 They were a strange trio. 
 
 And so from week's end to week's end Dorothy was ever 
 by Ernest's side, reading to him, writing for him, walking 
 and riding with him, weaving herself into the substance of 
 his life. 
 
 And at last there came one sunny August day, when 
 they were sitting together in the shade of the chancel of 
 Titheburgh Abbey. It was a favorite spot of theirs, for 
 the gray old walls sheltered them from the glare of the 
 sun and the breath of the winds. It was a spot, too, rich 
 in memories of the dead past, and a pleasant place to sit. 
 
 Through the gaping window-places came the murmur of 
 the ocean and the warmth of the harvest sunshine; and 
 gazing out by the chancel door-way, Dorothy could see the 
 long lights of the afternoon dance and sparkle on the em- 
 erald waves. 
 
 She had been reading to him, and the book lay idle on 
 her knees as she gazed dreamily at those lights and shad- 
 ows, a sweet picture of pensive womanhood. He too had 
 relapsed into silence, and was evidently thinking deeply. 
 
 Presently she roused herself. 
 
 "Well, Ernest," she said, "what are you thinking 
 about? You are as dull as — as the dullest thing in the 
 world , whatever that may be. What is the dullest thing in 
 the world?" 
 
 "I don't know," he answered, awakening. "Yes, I 
 think I do; an American novel." 
 
 " Yes, that is a good definition. You are as dull as an 
 American novel." 
 
 "It is unkind of you to say so, Doll, my dear. I was 
 thinking of something, Doll." 
 
 She made a little face, which of course he could not see, 
 and answered quickly: 
 
 " You generally are thinking of something. You gen- 
 erally are thinking of — Eva, except when you are asleep, 
 and then you are dreaming of her. 
 
THE witch's head. 311 
 
 Ernest colored up. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it is true, she is often more or less in 
 my mind. It is my misfortune, Doll, not my fault. You 
 see, I do not do things by halves. " 
 
 Dorothy bit her lip. 
 
 " She should be vastly flattered, I am sure. Few women 
 can boast of having inspired such affection in a man. I 
 suppose it is because she treated you so badly. Dogs love 
 the hand that whips them. You are a curious character, 
 Ernest. Not many men would give so much to one who 
 has returned so little. " 
 
 " So much the better for them. If I had a son, I think 
 that I should teach him to make love to all women, and 
 to use their affections as a means of amusement and self- 
 Mvancement, but to fall in love with none. " 
 
 " That is one of your bitter remarks, for which I sup- 
 pose we must thank Eva. You are always making them 
 now. Let me tell you that there are good women in the 
 world; yes, and honest, faithful women, who, when they 
 have given their heart, are true to their choice, and would 
 not do it violence to be made Queen of England. But you 
 men do not go the right way to find them. You think of 
 nothing but beauty, and never take the trouble to learn 
 the hearts of the sweet girls who grow like daisies in the 
 grass all round you, but who do not happen to have great 
 melting eyes or a splendid bust. "Xou tread them under- 
 foot, and if they were not so humble they would be crushed, 
 as you rush ofi and try to pick the rose; and then you 
 prick your fingers and cry out, and tell all the daisies how 
 shamefully the rose has treated you." 
 
 Ernest laughed, and Dorothy went on: 
 
 " Yes, it is an unjust world. Let a woman but be beau- 
 tiful and everything is at her feet, for you men are despic- 
 able creatures, and care,for little et;cept what is pleasant to 
 the senses. On the other hand, let her be plain, or only 
 ordinary-looking — for the fate of most of us is just to es- 
 fiS-pe being ugly — and you pay as much regard to her as 
 you do to the chairs you sit on. And yet, strange as it may 
 seem to you probably, she has her feelings, and her capaci- 
 ties for high affection, and her imaginative power, all 
 working vigorously behind her plain little face. Probably, 
 too, she is better than your beauty. Nature does not give 
 everything; when she endows a woman with perfect loveli- 
 
313 THE witch's head. 
 
 ness, she robs her either of her heart or her brains. But- 
 you men don't see that, because you won't look, so in 
 course of time all the fine possibilities in Miss Plainface 
 wither up, and she becomes a disappointed old maid, while 
 my Lady Beauty pursues her career of selfishness and mis- 
 chief-making, till at last she withers up too; that's once 
 comfort. " 
 
 Ernest had been listening with great amusement to Dor- 
 othy's views. He had no idea that she took such matters 
 into her shrewd consideration. 
 
 " I heard a girl say the other day that, on the whole, 
 most women preferred to become old maids," he said. 
 
 " Then she only fibs; they don't. It isa't natural that 
 they should, that is, if they care for anybody. Just think, 
 there are more than ten hundred thousand of our charm- 
 ing sisterhood in these islands, and more women being 
 born every day! Ten hundred thousand restless, unoccu- 
 pied, disgusted, loveless women! It is simply awful to 
 think of. I wonder they don't breed a revolution. If 
 they were all beautiful, they would." 
 
 He laughed again. 
 
 " Do you know what remedy Mazooku would apply to 
 this state of affairs?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " The instant adoption of polygamy. There are no un- 
 married women among the Natal Zulus, and they as a class 
 are extremely happy." 
 
 Dorothy shook her head. 
 
 " It wouldn't do here; it would be too expensive." 
 
 "I say, DoU, you spoke just now of our 'charming 
 sisterhood;' you are rather young to consider yourself an 
 old maid. Do you want to become one?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, sharply. 
 
 " Then you don't care for anybody, eh?" 
 
 She blushed up furiously. 
 
 " What business is that of yours, I should like to know?" 
 she answered. 
 
 " Well, Doll, not much. But will you be angry with 
 me if I say something?" 
 
 " I suppose you can say what you like." 
 
 " Yes; but will you listen?" 
 
 " If you speak I can not help hearing." 
 
 " Well, then, Doll — now don't be angry, dear." 
 
THE WITCH*8 HEAD. 3l3 
 
 " Oh, Ernest, how you aggravate me! Caa't you get it 
 out aad have done with it?" 
 
 "All right, Doll, I'll steam straight ahead this time. It 
 is this. I have sometimes lately been vain enough to think 
 that you oared a little about me, Doll, although I am as 
 blind as a bat. I want to ask you if it is true. You must 
 tell me plain, Doll, because I can not see your eyes to learn 
 the truth from them." 
 
 She turned quite pale at his words, and her eyes rested 
 upon his blind orbs with a look of unutterable tenderness. 
 So it had come at last. 
 
 " Why do you ask me that question, Ernest? "Whether 
 or no I care for you, I am very sure that you do not care 
 for me. " 
 
 " You are not quite right there, Doll, but I will tell you 
 why I ask it; it is not out of mere curiosity. 
 
 " You know all the history of my life, Doll, or at least 
 most of it. You know how I loved Eva, and gave her all 
 that a foolish youngster can give to a weak woman — gave 
 it in such a way that I can never have it back again. Well, 
 she deserted me; I have lost her. The best happiness of 
 my life has been wrecked beyond redemption; that is a fact 
 that must be accepted as much as the fact of my blindness. 
 I am physically and morally crippled, and certainly in no 
 fit state to ask a woman to marry me on the ground of my 
 personal advantages. But if, my dear Doll, you should, 
 as I have sometimes thought, happen to care about any- 
 thing so worthless, then, you see, the affair assumes a dif- 
 ferent aspect." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you. What do you mean?" 
 she said, in a low voice. 
 
 "'I mean that in that case I will ask you if you will take 
 me for a husband." 
 
 " You do not love me, Ernest; I should weary you." 
 
 He felt for her hand, found it, and took it into his own. 
 She made no resistance. 
 
 " Dear," he said, " it is this way: I can never give you 
 that passion I have given Eva, because, thank God, the 
 human heart can give birth to it but once in a life; but I 
 can and will give you a husband's tenderest love. You 
 are very dear to me, Doll, though it is not in the same way 
 that Eva is dear. I have always loved you as a sister, and 
 I think that I should make you a good husband. But, be- 
 
314 THE witch's head. 
 
 fore you answer me, I want you to thoroughly understand 
 about Eva. Whether I marry or not, I fear that I shall 
 never be able to shake her oub of my miud. At one time I 
 thought that perhaps if I made love to other women I 
 might be able to do so, on the principle that one nail drives 
 out another. But it was a failure; for a month or two I 
 got the better of my thoughts, then they would get the bet- 
 ter of me again. Besides, to tell you the truth, I am not 
 quite sure that I wish to do so. My trouble about this 
 woman has become a part of myself. It is, as I told you, 
 my ' evil destiny,' and goes where I go. And now, dear 
 Doll, you will see why I asked you if you really cared for 
 me, before I asked you to marry me. If you do not care 
 for me, then it will clearly not be worth your while to 
 marry me, for I am about as poor a catch as a man can 
 well be; if you do, well, then it is a matter for your consid- 
 eration." 
 
 She paused awhile and answered: 
 
 " Suppose that the positions were reversed, Ernest; at 
 least suppose this: Suppose that you had loved your Eva 
 all your life, but she had not loved you except as a brother, 
 having given her heart to some other man, who was, say, 
 married to somebody else, or in some way separated from 
 her. Well, supposing that this man died, and that one day 
 Eva came to yon and said, ' Ernest, my dear, I can not 
 love you as I loved him who has gone, and whom I one day 
 hope to rejoin in heaven, bat, if, you wish it, and it will 
 make you the happier, I will be your true and tender wife, 
 and the mother of your children.' What should you an- 
 swer her, Ernest?" 
 
 " Answer? why, I suppose that I should take her at her 
 word, and be thankful. Why, to hear her voice day by day 
 would in itself be a happiness. Yes, I think thus, I should 
 take her at her word.' 
 
 " And so, dear Ernest, do I take you at your word; for 
 as it is with you about Eva, so it is with me about you. As 
 a child I loved you, ever since I have been a woman I have 
 loved you more and more, even through all those cold years 
 of absence. And when you came back, ah! then it was to 
 me as it would be to you if you suddenly once more saw the 
 light of day. Ernest, my beloved, you are all my life to 
 me, and I take you at your word, my dear. I will be your 
 wife." 
 
THE witch's head. 815 
 
 He stretched out his arms, found her, drew her to him, 
 and kissed her on the lips, 
 
 " Doll, I don't deserve that you should love me so; it 
 makes me feel ashamed that I have not more to give you in 
 return." 
 
 " Ernest, you will give me all you can; I mean to make 
 you grow very fond of me. Perhaps one day you will give 
 me everything." 
 
 He hesitated a -little while before he spoke again. 
 
 " Doll," he said, " you are quite sure that you do not 
 mind about Eva?" 
 
 " My dear Ernest, I accept Eva as a fact, and make the 
 best of her, just as I should if I wanted to marry a man 
 with a monomania that he was Henry VIII. " 
 
 " Doll, you know I call her my evil destiny. The fact 
 is, I am afraid of her; she overpowers my reason. Well, 
 now, Doll, what I am driving at is this: Supposing — not 
 that I think she will — that she were to crop up again and 
 take it into her head to try and make a fool of me! She 
 OTtg^A^ succeed, Doll. " 
 
 " Ernest, will you promise me something on your 
 honor?" 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Promise me that you will hide from me nothing that 
 passes between Eva and yourself, if anything ever should 
 pass, and that in this matter you will always consider me 
 not ill the light of a wife, but of a trusted friend." 
 
 " Why do you ask me to promise that?" 
 
 " Because then I shall, I hope, be able to keep you both 
 out of trouble. You are not fit to look after yourselves, 
 either of you." 
 
 " I promise. And now, Doll, there is one more thing. 
 It is somehow fixed in my mind that my fate and that 
 woman's are intertwined. I believe that what we are now 
 passing through is but a single phase of interwoven exist- 
 ence; that, we have perhaps already passed through many 
 stages, and that many higher stages and developments await 
 us. Of course, it may be phantasy, but at any rate I be- 
 lieve it. The question is. Do you care to hnk your life 
 with that of a man who holds such a belief?" 
 
 " Ernest, I dare say your belief is a true one, at any 
 rate for you who believe it, for it seems probable that as 
 we sow so shall we reap, as we spiritually imagine so sh^ 
 
316 THE witch's head. 
 
 ■we spiritually inherit, since causes must in time produce 
 effects. These beliefs are not implanted in our hearts for 
 nothing, and surely in the wide heavens there is room for 
 the realization of them all. But I too have my beliefs, and 
 one of them is, that in God's great hereafter every loving 
 and desiring soul will be with the soul thus loved and de- 
 sired. For him or her at any rate, the other will be there 
 forming a part of his or her life, though perhaps it may 
 elsewhere and with others also be pursuing its own desires 
 and satisfying its own aspirations. So you see, Ernest, 
 your beliefs will not interfere with mine, nor shall I be 
 afraid of losing you in another place. 
 
 " And now, Ernest, my heart's love, take my hand, and 
 let me lead you home; take my hand, as you have taken 
 my heart, and never let go of it again till at last I die." 
 
 And so hand in hand they went home together, through 
 the lights and shadows of the twilight. 
 
 CHAPTER ZLIII. 
 
 MAZOOKU'S FAREWELL. 
 
 _ DoEOTHT and Ernest got back to Bum's Ness just in 
 time to dress for dinner, for since Ernest and Jeremy had 
 come back, Dorothy, whose will in that house was law, had 
 instituted late dinner. The dinner passed over as usual, 
 Dorothy sitting between Ernest and her grandfather, and 
 attending to the wants of those two unfortunates, both of 
 whom would have found it rather difficult to get through 
 their meal without her gentle, unobtrusive help. But 
 Vfhen dinner was over and the cloth removed, and Grice 
 had placed the wine upon the table and withdrawn, an un- 
 usual thing happened. 
 
 Ernest asked Dorothy to fill his glass with port, and 
 when she had done so he said : 
 
 " Uncle and Jeremy, I am going to ask you to drink a 
 health." 
 
 The old man looked up sharply. " What -is it, Ernest, 
 my boy?" 
 
 As for Dorothy, she blushed a rosy red, guessing what 
 was coming, and not knowing whether to be pleased ov 
 angry. 
 
THE witch's head. 317 
 
 " It is this, uncle — it is the health of my future wife, 
 Dorothy." 
 
 Theu came a silence of astonishment. Mr. Oardus 
 broke it: 
 
 _" Years ago, Ernest, my dear nephew, I told you that I 
 wished this to come to pass; but other things happened to 
 thwart my plans, and I never expected to see it. Xow in God's 
 good time it has come, and I drink the health with all my 
 heart. My children, I know that I am a strange man, and 
 my life has been devoted to a single end, which is now 
 drawing near its final development; but J have found time 
 in it to learn to love you both. Dorothy, my daughter, I 
 drink your health. May the happiness that was denied to 
 your mother fall upon your head, her share and your share 
 too! — Ernest, you have passed through many troubles, and 
 have been preserved almost miraculously to see this day. 
 In her you will find a reward for everything, for she is a 
 good woman. Perhaps I shall never hve to see your happi- 
 ness and the children of your happiness, I do not think I 
 shall; but may the solemn blessing I give you now rest 
 upon your dear heads! God bless you both, my children, 
 and here and now I thank Him that He has brought this 
 good thing to pass. All peace go with you, Dorothy and 
 Ernest!" 
 
 " Amen!" said Jeremy, in a loud voice, and with ai 
 vague idea that he was in church. Then he got up and 
 shook Ernest's hand so hard in his fearful grip that the lat- 
 ter was constrained to halloo oiit, and lifted Dolly out of 
 her chair like a plaything, and kissed her boisterously, 
 knocking the orclud-bloom she wore out of her hair in the 
 process. Then they all sat down agaiu and beamed at one 
 another and drank port wine — at least the men did — and 
 were inanely happy. 
 
 Indeed the only person to whom the news was not satis- 
 factory was Mazooku. " Ou!" he said, with a grunt, when 
 Jeremy communicated it to him. " So the Eosebud is 
 going to become the Eose, and I sha'n't even be able to 
 lead my father to bed now. Ou!" and from that day for- 
 ward Mazooku's abstracted appearance showed that he was 
 meditating deeply on something. 
 
 Next morning his uncle sent for Ernest into the office. 
 Dorothy led him in. 
 
 " Oh, here you are!" said his uncle. 
 
318 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Yes, here we are, Eeginald," answered Dorothy; 
 " what is it? Shall I go away?" 
 
 " No, don't go away. What I have to say concerns you 
 both. Come and look at the orchids, Ernest, they are 
 beautiful. Ah!" he went on, stammering, " I forgot you 
 can't see them. Forgive me." 
 
 " Never mind, uncle, I can smell them;" and they went 
 into the blooming-house appropriated to the temperate 
 kinds. 
 
 At the end of this house was a little table and some iron 
 chairs where Mr. Card us would sometimes come and smoke 
 a cigarette. Here they sat down. 
 
 " Now, young people," said Mr. Card us, wiping his bald 
 head, " you are going to get married. May I ask what you 
 are going to get married on?" 
 
 " By Jove," said Ernest, " I never thought of that! I 
 haven't got much, except a title, a mansion with ' numer- 
 ous and valuable ' heirlooms, and one hundred and eighty 
 acres of park," he added, laughing. 
 
 " No, I don't suppose you have; but, luckily for you 
 both, I am not so badly off, and I mean to do something for 
 you. What do you think would be the proper thing? 
 Come, Dorothy, my little housewife, what do you reckon 
 you can live on — living here, I mean, for I suppose that 
 you do not mean to run away and leave me alone in my old 
 age, do you?" 
 
 Dorothy wrinkled up her forehead as she used to as a 
 child, and began to calcuFate upon her fingers. Presently 
 she answered, " Three hundred a year comfortably, quietly 
 on two." 
 
 " What!" said Mr. Cardus, " when the babies begin to 
 come?" 
 
 Dorothy blushed, old gentlemen are so unpleasantly out- 
 spoken, and Ernest jumped, for the prospect of unlimited 
 babies is alarming till one gets used to it. 
 
 " Better make it five hundred," he said. 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Cardus, " that's what you think, is it? 
 Well, I tell you what I think. I am going to allow you 
 young people two thousand a year and pay the housekeep- 
 ing bills." 
 
 " My dear uncle, that is far more than we want." 
 
 " Nonsense, Ernest! it is there and to spare; and why 
 should you not have it, instead of its piling up in the bank 
 
THE WITCH'S HEAD. 319 
 
 Or ia mvestments? There are enough of them now, I can 
 tell you. Everything that I have touched has turned to 
 gold; I believe it has often been the case with unfortunate 
 men. Money! I have more than I know what to do with, 
 and there are idiots who think that to have lots of money is 
 to be happy." 
 
 He paused awhile, and then went on: 
 
 " I would give you more, but you are both comparatively 
 young, and I do not wish to encourage habits of extrava- 
 gance in you. The world is full of vicissitudes, and it is 
 impossible for anybody to know how he may be pecuniarily 
 situated in ten years' time. But I wish you, Ernest, to 
 keep up your rank — moderately, if you like, but still to 
 keep it up. Life is all before you now, and whatever you 
 choose to go in for, you shall not want the money to bacl? 
 you. Look here, my children, I may as well tell you that 
 when I die you will inherit nearly all I have got; I have left 
 it to be divided equally between you, with i-eversion to the 
 survivor. I drew up that will some years back, and I do 
 not think that it is worth while altering it now. " 
 
 " Forgive me," said Ernest, " but how about Jeremy?" 
 
 Mr. Cardus's face changed a little. He had never gob 
 over his dislike of Jeremy, though his sense of Justice 
 caused him to stifle it. 
 
 " I have not forgotten Jeremy," he said, in a tone that 
 indicated that he did not wish to pursue the conversation. 
 
 Ernest and Dorothy thanked the old man for his good- 
 ness, but he would not listen, so they went ofE and left him 
 to return to his letter-writing. In the passage Dorothy 
 peeped through the glass half of the door which opened 
 mto her grandfather's room. 
 
 There sat the old man writing, writing, his long, iron- 
 gray hair hanging all about his face. Presently he seemed 
 to think of something, and a smile which the contorted 
 mouth made ghastly spread itself over the pallid counte- 
 nance. Eising, he went to the corner and extracted a long 
 tally stick on which were cut notches. Sitting down again 
 he counted the remaining notches over and over, and then 
 took a penknife and cut one out. This done, he put the 
 stick back, and, looking at the wall, began to mutter, for 
 he was not quite dumb, and to clasp and unclasp his power- 
 ful hand. Dorothy entered the room quickly. 
 
 " Grandfather, what are you doing?" she said, sharply. 
 
320 THE 
 
 The old man started and his jaw dropped. Then the 
 eyes grew dull, and his usual apathetic look stole over his 
 face. Taking up his slate he wrote, "Gutting out my 
 notches. " 
 
 Dorothy asked him some further questions, but could get 
 nothing more out of him. 
 
 " I don't at all like the way grandfather has been going 
 on lately," she said to Ernest. " He is always muttering 
 and clinching his hand, as though he had some one by the 
 throat. You know he thinks that he has been serving the 
 fiend all these years, and that his time will be up shortly, 
 whereas you know, though Eeginald had no cause to love 
 him, he has been very kind to him. If it had not been for 
 Eeginald my grandfather would have been sent to the mad- 
 house; but because he was connected with his loss of fort- 
 une, he thinks he is the devil. He forgets how he served 
 Eeginald; you see even in madness the mind only remem- 
 bers the injuries inflicted on itself, and forgets those it in- 
 flicted on others. I don't at all like his way." 
 
 " I should think that he had better be shut up." 
 
 " Oh, Eeginald would never do it. Come, dear, let ns 
 
 go out. " 
 
 ******* 
 
 It was a month or so after Mr. Oardus's announcement of 
 his pecuniary intentions, that a little wedding party stood 
 before the altar in Kesterwick church. It was a very small 
 party, consisting indeed only of Ernest, Dorothy, Mr. Car- 
 dus, Jeremy, and a few idlers who, seeing the church-door 
 open, had. strolled in to see what was going on. Indeed, 
 the marriage had been kept a profound secret, for since he 
 had been blind Ernest had developed a great dislike to 
 being stared at. Nor indeed had he any liking for the sys- 
 tem under which a woman proclaims with loud and un- 
 seemly rejoicings that she has found a man to marry har, 
 and the clan of her relations celebrate her departure with a 
 few outward and visible tears and much inward and spiritual 
 
 .I'oy- 
 
 But among that small crowd, unobserved by any of them, 
 
 quite close up in the shadow of one of the massive pillars, 
 
 sat a veiled woman. She sat quite quiet and still, she 
 
 might have been carved in stone; but as the service went 
 
 on she raised her thick veil and fixed her keen brown eyes 
 
 upon the two who stood before the altar. And as she did 
 
THE witch's head. 331 
 
 so the lips of this shadowy lady trembled a little, and a 
 mist of trouble rose from the unhealthy marshes of her 
 mind and clouded hel fine-cut features. Long and steadily 
 she gazed, then dropped the veil again and said beneath her 
 breath: 
 
 " Was it worth while for this? Well, I have seen him." 
 
 Then she rose, did this shadowy, noble-looking lady, and 
 glided from the church bearing away with her the haunting 
 burden of her sin. 
 
 And Ernest? He stood there and said the responses in 
 his clear manly voice; but even as he did so there rose be- 
 fore him the semblance of the little room in far-away Pre- 
 toria, and of the vision which he had had of this very church, 
 and of a man standing where he himself stood now, and a 
 loyely woman standing where stood Dorothy his wife. 
 Well, it was gone, as all visions go, as we, who are but 
 visions of a longer life, go too. It was gone, gone into that 
 awful limbo of the past which is ever opening its insatiable 
 maw and swallowing us and our joys and our sorrows — mak- 
 ing a meal of the atoms of to-day, that it may support 
 itself till the atoms of to-morrow are ready for its appetite. 
 
 It was gone, and he was married, and Dorothy his wife 
 stood there wreathed in smiles and blushes which he could 
 not see, and Mr. Halford's voice, now grown weak and 
 quavering, was formulating heart -felt congratulations, 
 which were being repeated in the gigantic echo of Jeremy's 
 deep tones, and in his uncle's quick, jerky utterances. So 
 he took Dorothy his wife into his arms and kissed her, and 
 she led him down the church to the old vestry, into which 
 so many thousand newly married couples had passed during 
 the course of the last six centuries, and signed his name 
 where they placed his pen upon the parchment, wondering 
 the while if he was signing it straight, and then went out, 
 and was helped into the carriage, and driven home. 
 
 Ernest and his wife went upon no honey-moon; they 
 stopped quietly there at the old house, and began to accus- 
 tom themselves to their new relationship. Indeed, to the 
 outsider at any rate, there seemed to be little difference be- 
 tween it and the former one, for they could not be much 
 more together now than they had been before. Yet in 
 Dorothy's face there was a difference. A great peace, an 
 ^tter satisfaction which had been wanting before, came 
 
333 THE witch's head. 
 
 down and brooded upon it, and made it beautiful. She 
 both looked and was a happy woman. 
 
 Butto the Zulu Mazooku this state of affairs did not ap- 
 pear to be satisfactory. 
 
 One day, it was three days after the marriage, Ernest 
 and Dorothy were walking together outside the house, when 
 Jeremy, coming in from u visit to a distant farm, advanced, 
 and joining them, began to converse on agricultural mat- 
 ters, for he was already becoming intensely and annoyingly 
 technical. Presently, as they talked, they became aware 
 of the sound of naked feet running swiftly over the grass. 
 " That sounds like a Zulu dancing," said Ernest, quickly. 
 It was a Zulu; it was Mazooku, but Mazooku trans- 
 formed. It had been his fancy to bring a suit of war tog- 
 gery, such as he had worn when he was one of Cetywayo's 
 soldiers, with him from Ifatal, and now he had donned it 
 all, and stood before them a striking yet alarming figure. 
 Erom his head there rose, a good two feet into the air, a 
 single beautiful gray feather, taken from the Bell crane; 
 around his waist hung a kilt of white ox-tails, and beneath 
 his right knee a small circle of white goat's hair. For the 
 rest lie was naked. In his left hand he held a milk-white 
 fighting shield, made of ox-hide, and in his right his great 
 " bangwan " or stabbing assegai. Still as a statue he stood 
 before them, his plume bending in the breeze, and Doro- 
 thy, looking with wondering eyes, marveled at the broad 
 chest scarred all over with assegai-wounds, and the huge, 
 sinewy limbs. Suddenly he raised the spear and saluted in 
 sonorous tones: 
 "Koos! Baba!" 
 " Speak," said Ernest. 
 
 " I speak, my father; I come to meet my father as a 
 man meets a man. I come with spear and shield, but not 
 in war. With my father I came from the land of the sun 
 into this cold land, where the sun is as pale as the white 
 faces it shines on. Is it not so, my father?" 
 " I hear you." 
 
 " With my father I came. Did not my father and I 
 stand together for many a day? Did I not slay the two 
 Basutus down in the land of Sikukuni, chief of the Bapedi, 
 at my father's bidding? Did I not once save my father from 
 the jaws of the wild beast that walks by night " (the lion)? 
 " Pid I not etand by the side of my father at the place of 
 
IHB witch's head. 323 
 
 the Little Hand " (Isandhlwana)^ " whea all tte j)laiu was 
 red with blood? Do I dream in the night, or was it so, my 
 father?" 
 
 "I hear you. It was so." 
 
 " Then when the heavens above smelt out my father, 
 and smote him with their fire, did I not say, ' Ah, my 
 father, now art thou blind, and canst fight no more, and 
 no more play the part of a man; better that thou hadst 
 died a man's death, oh, my father! But as thou art blind, 
 lo, whither thou goest, thither will I go also and be my 
 father's dog.* Did I not say this, oh, my father?" 
 
 "Thou didst say it." 
 
 "And so we came across the black water, my father, 
 and I and the great Lion, like unto whom no man was 
 ever born of woman, and came hither, and have lived for 
 many moons the lives of women, have eaten and dtunken, 
 and 'have not fought or hunted, or known the pleasure of 
 men. Is it not so, my father?" 
 
 " Thou speakest truly, Mazooku; it is even so." 
 
 " Yes, we came across the black water in the smoking 
 ship, came to the land of wonders, which is full of houses 
 and trees, so that a man can not breathe in it, or throw out 
 his arms lest they should strike a wall; and behold there 
 came an ancient one with a shining head wonderful to look 
 on, and a girl rosebud, small but very sweet, and greeted 
 my father and the Lion, and led them away in the carriages 
 which put the-horses inside them, and put them in this 
 place, where they may look forever at the sadness of the sea. 
 
 "And then behold the Eosebud said : ' What doth this 
 black dog'here? shall a dog lead Mazimba ' (Ernest's Zulu 
 name) 'by the hand? Begone, thou black dog, and walk 
 ill front or ride behind; it is I who will hold Mazimba's 
 hand.' 
 
 " And then my father, sinking deep in ease, and becom- 
 ing a fat (well-to-do) man, said to himself, ' I will take this 
 Kosebad to wife.' And so the Rosebud opened her petals, 
 and closed them round my father, and became a Rose; now 
 she sheds her fragrance round him day by day and night by 
 night, and the black dog stands and howls outside the 
 door. 
 
 " And so, my father, it came to pass that Mazooku, thy 
 ox and thy dog, communed with his heart, and said: ' Here 
 is no more any place for thee. Mazimba thy chief has no 
 
334 THE witch's head, 
 
 longer any need of thee, and behold in this land of women 
 thou too shalt grow like a woman. So get up and go to 
 thy father and say to him: " Oh, my father, years ago I 
 put myliand between thy hands and became a loyal man to 
 thee; now would I withdraw it and return to the land 
 whence we came, for here I am not wanted, and here I can 
 not breathe. " ' I have spoken, oh my father and my 
 chief." 
 
 "Mazooku, son of Ingoluvu, umfana ga Amazulu" 
 (child of the Zulu race), answered Ernest, adopting the 
 Zulu metaphor, his voice sounding wonderfully soft as the 
 liquid tongue he spoke so well came rolling out, " thou 
 hast been a good man to me, and I have loved thee. But 
 thou shalt go. Thou art right: now is my life the life of a 
 woman; never again shall I hear the sound of the rifle or 
 the ringing of steel in war. And so thou goest, Mazcoku. 
 It is well. But at times thou wilt think of thy blind mas- 
 ter, and of the wise captain who sleeps (Alston), and of the 
 Lion who threw the ox over his shoulder. Go, and be 
 happy. Many be thy wives, many thy children, and count- 
 less thy cattle! The Lion shall take thee by the hand and 
 lead thee to the sea, and shall give thee of my bounty 
 wherewith to buy a little food when thou comest to thine 
 own land, and a few oxen, and a piece of ground, or a 
 wagon or two, so that thou shalt not be hungry, nor want 
 for cattle to give for wives. Mazooku, fare thee well." 
 
 " One word, my father, and I will trouble thine ears no 
 more, since for thee my voice shall be silent forever. 
 When the time has come for thee to die, and thou dost 
 pass, as the white m^n say, up ' into the heavens above,' 
 and thy sight returns, and thou art once more a man, then 
 turn thee and cry with a loud voice: ' Mazooku, son of 
 Ingoluvu, of the tribe of the Maquilisini, where art thou, 
 oh, my dog? come thou and serve me. ' And surely, if I 
 still lire, then shall I hear thy voice, and groan and die, 
 that I may pass to thee; and if t be already dead, then shall 
 I be there at thy side even as thou callest. This thou wilt 
 do for me, oh, my father and my chief, because, lo! I have 
 loved thee as the child loves her who suckled it, and I would 
 look upon thy face again, oh, my father from the olden time, 
 my chief from generation to generation." 
 
 " If it be in my power, this I will do, Mazooku. " 
 
 The great Zulu drew himself up, raised his spear, and 
 
TSE witch's head. 335 
 
 for the first and last time in his life gare Ernest the royal 
 salute — to which, by the way, he had no right at all — 
 " Baydte, Bayete!" Then he turned and ran swiftly 
 thence, nor would he see, Ernest again before he went. 
 " The pain of death was over,^' he said. 
 
 As the sound of his footsteps grew faint, Ernest sighed. 
 
 "There goes our last link with South Africa, Jeremy, 
 my boy. It makes me very sad, and sometimes I think 
 that, as he says, it is a pity we did not go under with Alston 
 and the others. It would all have been over now. " 
 
 " Thank you," said Jeremy, after reflecting; " on the 
 whole, I am pretty comfortable as I am." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 ME. OAEDUS ACCOMPLISHES HIS REVENGE. 
 
 Me. db Talor owed his great wealth not to his. own 
 talents, but to a lucky secret in the manufacture of the 
 grease used on railways discovered by his father. Talor 
 pere had been a railway-guard till his discovery brought 
 him wealth. He was a shrewd man, however, and on his 
 sudden accession of fortune did his best to make a gentle- 
 man of his only son, at that date a lad of fifteen; but it 
 was too late, the associations and habits of childhood are 
 not easily overcome, and no earthly power or education 
 could accomplish the desired object. When his son was 
 twenty years of age, old Jack Talor died, and his son suc- 
 ceeded to his large fortune and railway-grease business 
 which supplied the principal markets of the world. 
 
 This son had inherited a good deal of his father's shrewd- 
 ness, and set himself to make the best of his advantages. 
 First he placed a " de " before his name, and assumed a 
 canting crest. Next he bought the Ceswick Ness estates, 
 and bloomed into a country gentleman. It was shortly 
 after this latter event that he made a mistake and fell in 
 love with the beauty of the neighborhood, Mary Atterleigh. 
 But Mary Atterleigh would have none of him, being at 
 the time secretly engaged to Mr. Cardus. In vain did he 
 resort to every possible means to shake her resolution, even 
 going so far as to try to bribe her father to put pressure 
 upon her; but at this time old Atterleigh, " Hard-riding 
 Atterleigh," as he was called, was well ofl, and resisted his 
 
326 THE witch's head. 
 
 advances, whereupon De Talor, in a fit of pique, married 
 another woman, who was only too glad to put up with his 
 vulgarity in consideration of his wealth and position as a 
 county magnate. 
 
 Shortly afterward three events occurred almost simul- 
 taneously. " Hard-riding Atterleigh " got into money 
 difficulties through over-gratification of his passion for 
 hounds and horses; Mr. Card us was taken abroad for the 
 best part of a year in connection with p, business matter, 
 and a man named Jones, a friend of Mr^ de Talor's staying 
 in his house at the time, fell in Iots wrth Mary Atterleigh. 
 Herein De Talor saw an opportiffifty of revenge upon his 
 rival, Mr. Card us. He urged upon Jones that his real 
 road to the possession of the lady lay through the pocket of 
 her father, and even went so far as to advance him the 
 necessary funds to bribe Atterleigh; for, though Jones was 
 well off, he could not at such short notice lay hands upon a 
 sufficient sum in cash to serve his ends. 
 
 The plot succeeded. Atterleigh's scruples were overcome 
 as easily as the scruples of men in his position without 
 principle to back them generally are, and pressure of the 
 most outrageous sort was brought to bear upon the gentle- 
 minded Mary, with the result that when Mr. Card us re- 
 tarned from abroad he found his affianced bride the wife oi 
 another man, who became in due course the father of 
 Jeremy and Dolly. 
 
 This cruel and most unexpected bereavement drove Mr. 
 Oardus partially mad, and, when he came to himself, there 
 arose in his mind a monomania for reveuge on all concerned 
 in bringing it about. It became the passion and object of 
 his life. Directing all his remarkable intelligence and 
 energy to the matter, he early discovered the heinous part 
 that De Talor had played in the plot, and swore to devote 
 his life to the unholy purpose of avenging it. For years 
 he pursued his enemy, trying plan after plan to achieve his 
 ruin, and as one failed, fell back upon another. But to 
 ruin a man of De Talor's wealth was no easy matter, espe- 
 cially when, as in the present instance, the avenger was 
 obliged to work like a mole in the dark, never allowing his 
 enemy to suspect that he was other than a friend. How 
 he ultimately achieved his purpose the reader shall now 
 learn. 
 
 Ernest and Dorothy had been married about three weeks. 
 
THE witch's head. 837 
 
 and the latter was just beginning to get accustomed to hear- 
 ing herself called Lady Kershaw, when one morning a dog- 
 cart drove up to the door, and out of it emerged Mr. de 
 Talor. ^ 
 
 " Dear me, how Mr. de Talor has changed of late!" said 
 Dorothy, who was looking out of the window. 
 
 "How? Has he grown less like a butcher?" asked 
 Ernest. 
 
 "No," she answered; "but he looks like a worn- up 
 butcher about to go through the Bankruptcy Court. " 
 
 " Butchers never go bankrupt," said Ernest, and at 
 that moment Mr. de Talor came in. 
 
 Dorothy was right, the man was much changed. The 
 fat cheeks were flabby and fallen, the insolent air was gone, 
 and he was so shrunken that he looked not more than half 
 his former size. 
 
 " How do you do, Lady Kershaw? I saw Cardus "ad 
 got some one with him, so I drove round to pay my re- 
 spects and congratulate the bride. Why, bless me, Sir 
 Ernest, you 'ave grown since I saw you last! Ah, we used 
 to be great friends then. You remember how you used to 
 come and shoot up at the Ness " (he had once or twice 
 given the two lads a day's rabbit-shooting). " But bless 
 me, I hear that you have become quite a fire-eater since 
 then, and been knocking over the niggers right and left — 
 eh?" 
 
 He paused for breath, and Ernest said a few words, not 
 many, for he disliked the man's flattery as much as in past 
 years he used to dislike his insolence. 
 
 " Ah," went on De Talor, looking up and pointing to 
 the case containing the witch's head, " I see you've still 
 got that beastly thing that your brother once showed me,; I 
 thought it was a clock, and he pretty well frightened me 
 out of my wits. Now I think of it, I've never 'ad any luck 
 since I saw that thing." 
 
 At this moment the housekeeper Grice came to say that 
 Mr. -Cardus was ready to see Mr. de Talor if he would step 
 into the office. 
 
 Dorothy thought that their visitor turned paler at this 
 news, and it evidently occupied his mind sufficiently to 
 cause him to hurry from the room without bidding them 
 good-bye. 
 
338 THE witch's head. 
 
 Whea Mr. de Talor entered the office he found the law- 
 yer pacing up and down. 
 
 " How do you do, Cardus?" he said, jauntily. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. de Talor?" was the cold reply. 
 
 De Talor walked to the glass door and looked at the 
 glowing mass of blooming orchids. 
 
 "Pretty flowers, Cardus, those, very. Orchids, ain't 
 they? Must have cost you a pot of money." 
 
 " They have not cost me much, Mr. de Talor; I have 
 reared most of them. " 
 
 " Then you are lucky; the bill my man gives me for his 
 orchids is something awful." 
 
 " You did not come to speak to me about orchids, Mr. 
 de Talor." 
 
 " No, Cardus, I didn't; business first, pleasure afterward 
 —eh?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Cardus in his soft, jerky way. " Busi- 
 ness first, pleasure afterward." 
 
 Mr. de Talor fidgeted his legs about. 
 
 "Well, Cardus, about that mortgage. You are going 
 to give me a little more time, I hope?" 
 
 " On the contrary, Mr. de Talor, the interest being now 
 eight months overdue, I have given my London agents 
 orders to foreclose, for I don 't conduct such business my- 
 self." 
 
 De Talor turned pale. "Foreclose! Good God, Car- 
 dus! it is not possible, on such an old friend too!" 
 
 " Excuse me, it is not only possible, but a fact. Busi- 
 ness is business, even where old friends are concerned." 
 
 " But if you foreclose, what is to become of me, Car- 
 dus?" 
 
 " That, I imagine, is a matter for your exclusive con- 
 sideration." 
 
 His visitor gasped, and looked like an unfortunate fish 
 suddenly pulled out of the water. 
 
 " Let us recapitulate the facts. I have at different 
 periods within the last several years lent you sums of money 
 secured on your landed estates at Ceswick's Ness and the 
 neighborhood, amounting in all " — referring to a papeiv^ 
 " to one hundred and seventy-six thousand five hundred 
 and thirty-eight pounds ten shillings and four pence; or, 
 reckoning in the overdue interest, to one hundred and 
 
THE witch's head. 329 
 
 seventy-nine thousand and fifty-two pounds eight shil- 
 lings. That is so, I think. " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so, Cardus." 
 
 " There is no supposition about it. The documents 
 prove it." 
 
 " Well, Cardus?" 
 
 " Well, Mr. de Talor; and now, as you can not pay, I 
 have instructed iny London agents to commence an action 
 in Chancery for the sale of the lands, and to buy in the 
 property. It is a most desirable property. " 
 
 Oh, Cardus, don't be 'ard on me! I am an old man 
 now, and you led me into this speculation." 
 
 " Mr. de Talor, I also am an old man; if not very old 
 in vears, at least as old as Methuselah in heart." 
 I don't understand it all, Cardus." 
 
 " It will give me the greatest pleasure to explain. But 
 to do so, I must go back a little. Some ten or twelve years 
 ago, you may remember," he began, sitting down with his 
 back to the light, which struck full on the wretched De 
 Talor's face, that a firm named Eastrick & Codley took 
 out a patent for a new railway-grease, and set up an estab- 
 lishment in Manchester not far from the famous De Talor 
 house, which was established by your father." 
 
 " Yes, curse them!" groaned De Talor. 
 
 Mr. Cardus smiled. " By all means curse them. But 
 what did this enterprising firm do, Hr. de Talor? They 
 set to work, and sold a grease superior to the article manu- 
 factured by your house, at about eighteen per cent, 
 cheaper. But the De Talor house had the ear of the 
 markets, and the contracts with all the leading lines and 
 Continental firms, and for awhile it seemed as though the 
 new house must go to the wall; and if they had not had 
 considerable capital at command they must have gone to 
 the wall." 
 
 " Ah, and where did they get it from? That's the mys- 
 tery," said De Talor. 
 
 " Precisely; that was the mystery. I shall clear it up a 
 little presently. To return: after awhile the buyers began 
 to find that Eastrick & Codley's grease was a better grease 
 and a cheaper grease, and as the contracts lapsed, the com- 
 panies renewed them, not with the De Talor house, but 
 with the house of Eastrick & Codley. Doubtless you re- 
 member." 
 
330 THE witch's head. 
 
 Mr. de Talor groaned in acquiescence, and the lawyer 
 continued: 
 
 " In time this state of affairs produced its natural re- 
 sults: De Talor 's house was shopped up, and the bulk of 
 the trade fell into the hands of the new firm. " 
 
 " Ah, I should just like to know who they really were — 
 the low sneaks!" 
 
 " Would you? I will tell you. The firm of Eastrick & 
 Codley were — Eeginald Cardas, Esq., solicitor, of Dum's 
 Ness." 
 
 Mr. de Talor struggled out of his chair, looked wildly at 
 the lawyer, and sunk down again. 
 
 " You look ill; may I offer you a glass of vine?" 
 
 The wretched man shook his head. 
 
 " Very good. Doubtless you are curious to know how 
 I, a lawyer, and not otherwise connected with Manchester, 
 obtained the monopoly of the grease-trade, which is, by the 
 way, at this moment paying very well. I will satisfy your 
 curiosity. I have always had a mania for taking up inven- 
 tions, quite quietly, and in the names of others. Some- 
 times J have made money over them, sometimes I have 
 lost; on the whole, I have made largely. Bat whether I 
 have made or lost, the inventors have, as a rule, never 
 known who was backing them. . One day, one lucky day, 
 this railway-grease patent was brought to my notice. I 
 took it up and invested fifty thousand in it straight off the 
 reel. Then I invested another fifty thousand. Still your 
 firm cut my throat. I made an effort, and invested a 
 third fifty thousand. Had I failed, I should then have 
 been a ruined man; I liad strained ray credit to the utmost. 
 Bat fortune favors the brave, Mr. de Talor, and I suc- 
 ceeded. It was your firm that failed. I have paid all my 
 debts, and I reckon that the railway-grease concern is 
 worth, after paying liabilities, some two hundred thousand 
 pounds. If you should care to go in for it, Messrs. Ras- 
 trick & Codley will, I have no doubt, be most happy to 
 treat with you. It has served its purpose, and is now in 
 the market." 
 
 De Talor looked at him in amazement. He was too up- 
 set to speak. 
 
 " So much, Mr. de Talor, for my share in the grease 
 episode. The failure of your firm, or rather its stoppage 
 from loss of trade, left you still a rich man, but only half 
 
THE witch's head. S31 
 
 as rich as you had been. And this, you may remember, 
 made you furious. You could not bear the Idea of losing 
 money; yon would rather have lost blood from your veins 
 than sovereigns from your purse. When you thought of 
 the grease which had melted in the fire of competition, you 
 could have wept tears of rage. In this plight you came to 
 me to ask advice." 
 
 " Yes; and you told me to speculate." 
 
 " Not quite accurate, Mr. de Talor. I said — I remem- 
 ber the words well — ' You are an able man, and understand 
 the money-market; why don't you take advantage of these 
 fluctuating times, and recoup yourself for all you have 
 lost?' The prospect of gain tempted you, Mr. de Talor, 
 and you jumped at the idea. You asked me to introduce 
 you to a reliable firm, and I introduced you to Messrs. 
 Campsey & Ash, one of the best in the city." 
 
 " Confound them for a set of rogues!" answered De 
 Talor. 
 
 " Eogues! I am sorry you think so, for I have an inter- 
 est in their business." 
 
 " Good heavens! what next?" groaned De Talor. 
 
 " Well, notwithstanding the best efforts of Messrs. Camp- 
 sey & Ash on your-behalf, in pursuance of such written in- 
 structions as you from time to^time communicated to them, 
 and to which you can no doubt refer if you please, things 
 went wrong with you, Mr. de Talor, and year by year, 
 when your balance-sheet was sent in, you found that you 
 had lost more than you gained. At last, one unlucky day, 
 about three years ago, you made a plunge against the ad- 
 Vice, you may remember, of' Messrs. Campsey & Ash, and 
 lost. It was after that, that I began to lend you money. 
 The first loan was for fifty thousand; then came more 
 losses, and more loans, till at length we have reached the 
 present state of affairs." 
 
 " Oh, Card us, you don't mean to sell me up, do you? 
 What shall I do without money? And think of mv 
 daughters, 'ow will they manage without their comforts? 
 Give me time. What makes you so 'ard on me?" 
 • Mr. Card us had been walking up and down the room 
 rapidly. At De Talor's words he stopped, and going to a 
 dispatch-box, unlocked it, and drew from a bundle of 
 documents a yellow piece of stamped paper. It was a can- 
 celed bill for tea thousand pounds in the favor of Jonas A» 
 
333 ' THE witch's head. 
 
 Talor, Esquire,, This bill he came and held before his 
 visitor's eyes. 
 
 ■' That, I believe, is your signature," he said, quietly, 
 pointing to the receipt written across the bill. 
 
 De Talor turned almost livid with fear, and his lips and 
 hands began to tremble. 
 
 " Where did you get that?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Oardus regarded him, or rather all round him, with 
 the melancholy black eyes that never looked straight at 
 anything, and yet saw everything, and then answered: 
 
 " Among your friend Jones's papers. You scoundrel!" 
 he went on, with a sudden change of manner, " now per- 
 haps you begin to understand why I have hunted you down 
 step by step; why for thirty years I have waited, and 
 watched, and failed, and at last succeeded. It is for the 
 sake of Mary Atterleigh. It was you, who, infuriated be- 
 cause she would have none of such a coarse brute, set the 
 man Jones on to her. It was you who lent him the money 
 with which to buy her from old Atterleigh. There lies 
 the proof before you. By tlie way, Jones need never have 
 repaid you that ten thousand pounds, for it was marriage- 
 brokage, and therefore not recoverable at law. It was 
 you, I say, who were the first cause of my life being laid 
 waste, and who nearly drove me to the madhouse; ay! 
 who did drive Mary, my betrothed wife, into the arms of 
 that fellow, whence, God be praised, she soon passed to 
 her rest." 
 
 Mr. Cardus paused, breathing quick with suppressed rage 
 and excitement; the large white eyebrows contracted fill 
 they nearly met, and, abandoning his usual habit, he looked 
 straight into the eyes of the abject creature in the chair be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " It's a long while ago, Cardus; can't you forgive, and 
 let bygones be bygones?" 
 
 " Forgive! — yes, for my own sake I could forgive, but 
 for her sake, whom you first dishonored and then killed, I 
 will never forgive. Where are your companions in guilt? 
 Jones is dead; I ruined him. Atterleigh is there; I did 
 not ruin him, because after all he was the author of Mary's 
 life, but his ill-gotten gains did him no good; a higher 
 
 Eower than mine took vengeance on his crime, and I saved 
 im from the madhouse. And Jones's children, they are 
 h«re too, for once they lay beneath her breast. But do 
 
THB witch's HKAD. ' 333 
 
 you think that I will spare you? — ^you coarse, arrogant 
 knave — you who spawned the plot; no, not if it were to 
 cost me my own life, would I forego one jot or tittle of my 
 revenge!"' 
 
 At that moment Mr. Cardus happened to look up, and 
 saw tlirough the glass part of the door of his office, of 
 which the curtain was partially (Jrawn, the wild-looking 
 head of Hard-riding Atterleigh. He appeared to be look- 
 ing through the door, for his eyes, in which there was a 
 very peculiar look, were fixed intently upon Mr. Oardus's 
 face. When he saw that he was observed, he vanished. 
 
 " Now go," said the lawyer sternly to the prostrate De < 
 Talor; " and never let me see your face again!" 
 
 " But I haven't any money; where am I to go?" groaned 
 De Talor. 
 
 " Wherever you hke, Mr. de Talor; this is a free coun- 
 try, but, if I had control of your destination, it should be 
 —to the devil!" '_ 
 
 The wretched man staggered up. 
 
 " All right, Cardus; I'll go, I'll go. You've got it all 
 your own way now. You are damned hard, you are; but 
 perhaps you'll get it taken out of you some day. I'm glad 
 you never got hold of Mary; it must have been pleasant to 
 you to see her marry Jones!" 
 
 In another second he was gone, and Mr. Cardus was left 
 thinking, among other things, of that look in old Atter- 
 leigh's eyes which he could not get out of his mind. Thus 
 did he finally accomphsh the revenge to which he had de- 
 voted his life. 
 
 CHAPTEK XLV. 
 
 MAD ATTEELEIGH'S LAST EIDE. 
 
 A MONTH had passed since Mr. de Talor had crept, utter- 
 ly crushed, from the presence of the man whom Providence 
 had appointed to mete out to him his due. During this 
 time Mr. Cardus had been busy from morning till night. 
 He was always a busy man, writing daily with his" own 
 hand an almost incredible number of letters, for he carried 
 on all, or nearly all, his great affairs by correspondence, 
 but of late his work seemed to have doubled. 
 
 In the course of that month the society in the neighbor- 
 hood of Kesterwick experienced a pleasurable sensation of 
 
334 THE witch's head. 
 
 excitement, for suddenly the De Talor family vanished off 
 the face of the Kesterwick world, and the Ceswick Ness 
 estates, after being advertised, were put up for sale, and 
 bought, so said report, by a London firm of lawyers on be- 
 half of an unknown client. The De Talors were gone, 
 where to nobody knew, nor did they much care to inquire 
 — that is, with the exception of the servants whose wages 
 were left unpaid, and the tradespeople to whom large sums 
 were owing. They inquired, vigorously enough, but with- 
 out ^he smallest result; the De Talors had gone and left no 
 trace, except the trace of bankruptcy, and Kesterwick knew 
 them no. more, but was glad over the sensation made by 
 their disappearance. 
 
 But on one Saturday Mr. Cardus's business seemed to 
 come to a sudden stop. He wrote some letters and put 
 them to go to post, and then he went to admire his orchids. 
 
 " Life," he said aloud to himself, " shall be all orchids 
 now; my work is done. I will build a new house for Bra- 
 zilian sorts, and spend two hundred pounds on stocking it. 
 Well, I can afford it. " 
 
 This was about five o'clock. Half an hour later, when 
 he had well examined his flowers, he strolled out Tithe- 
 burgh Abbey way, and here he met Ernest and his wife who 
 had been sitting in their favorite spot. 
 
 ■' Well, my dears," he said, " and how are you?" 
 
 " Pretty jolly, uncle, thank you, and how are your" 
 
 "I? Oh, I am very jolly indeed for an old man; as 
 jolly as an individual who has just bid good-bye to work 
 forever should be," he said. 
 
 " Why, Eeginald, what do you mean?" 
 
 " Mean, Dorothy, my dear? I mean that I have wound 
 up my afPairs and retired on a modest competence. Ah, 
 you young people should be grateful to me, for let me tell 
 yon that everything is now in apple-pie order, and when I 
 slip off you will have no trouble at all, except to pay the 
 probate duty, and that will be considerable. I never "quite 
 knew till a week ago how rich I was; but as I said the 
 other day, everything I have touched has turned to gold. 
 It will be a large fortune for you to manage, my dears; you 
 will find it a great responsibilit}^" 
 
 " I hope you will live nuujy years to manage it your- 
 self," said Ernest. 
 
 " Ah, I don't know, I am pretty tough; but who can see 
 
THE witch's head. 335 
 
 tlie future? Dolly, my dear girl, " he went on in a dreamy 
 •way, " you are growing like your mother. Do you know I 
 sometimes think that I am not far ofE her now? you see I 
 speak plainly to you two. Years ago I used to think — that 
 is, sometimes — that your motlier was dust and nothing 
 more; that she had left me forever; but of late I have 
 changed my ideas. I have seen," he went on, speaking in 
 an absent way as though he were meditating to himself, 
 " how wonderfully Proyidence works even in the affairs of 
 this imperfect world, and I begin to believe that there must 
 be a place where it allows itself a larger development. 
 Yes, Ithink I shall find your mother somewhere, Dorothy, 
 my dear. I seem to feel her very near me sometimes. 
 "Well, I have avenged her." 
 
 "I think that you will find her, Keginald," she an- 
 swered; " but your vengeance is wicked and wrong. I have 
 often made bold to tell you so, though sometimes you have 
 been angry with me, and I tell you so again. It can only 
 bring evil with it. What have we, poor creatures, who do 
 not understand the reason of things, and can scarcely see 
 an inch before our noses, to do with vengeance?" 
 
 " Periiaps you are right, my love — you generally are 
 right in the main; but my defeire for vengeance upon that 
 man De Talor has been the breath of my nostrils, and be- 
 hold! I have achieved it. Man, if he only Uves long 
 enough, and has strength of will enough, he can achieve 
 anything. But man fritters away his powers over a vari- 
 ety of objects; he is led astray in pursuit of the butterfly 
 Pleasure, or the bubble Ambition, or the Destroying Angel 
 Woman; and his purposes fall to the ground between a 
 dozen stools. Most men, too, are not capable of a purpose. 
 Men are weak creatures; and yet what a mighty seed lies 
 hid in every human breast! Think, my children, what 
 man might, nay, may become, when his weakness and fol- 
 lies have fallen from him, when his rudimentary virtues 
 have been developed, and his capacities for physical and 
 mental beauties brought to an undreamed-of perfection! 
 Look at the wild flower and the flower of the hot-house— it 
 is nothing as compared to the possibilities inherent in man, 
 even as we know him. Oh, it is a splendid dream! Will 
 it ever be fulfilled, I wonder? Well, well— 
 
 " ' Whatever there is to know. 
 That we shall know one day.' 
 
836 THE witch's head. 
 
 Come, let us turn; it will soon be time to dress for dinner. 
 By the way, Dorothy, that reminds me. I don't quite like 
 the way that your respected grandfather is going on. I 
 told him tha,t I had no more deeds for him to copy, that I 
 had done with deeds, and he went and got that confounded 
 stick of his, and showed me that according to his own little 
 calculations his time was up; and then he got his slate and 
 wrote about my being the devil on it, but that I had no 
 more power over him, and that he was bound for heaven. 
 The other day, too, I caught him staring at me through 
 the glass of the door with a very queer look in his eyes." 
 
 " Ah, Eeginald, so you have noticed it. I quite agree 
 with you; I don't at all like his goings-on. Do you know, 
 I think that he had better be shut up. " 
 
 *' I don't like to shut him up, Dorothy. However, here 
 we are; we will talk about it to-morrow.'^ 
 
 Having led Ernest to his room, Dorothy, before begin- 
 ning to dress herself, went to the office to see if her grand- 
 father was still there. And there, sure enough, she found 
 him, pacing up and down, muttering, and waving his long 
 stick, out of which all the notches had now been cut. 
 
 " What are you doing, grandfather?" she asked; " why 
 haven't you gone to dress?" 
 
 He snatched up his slate and wrote rapidly upon it: 
 "Time's up! Time's up! Time's up! I've done with 
 the devil and all his works. I'm off to heaven on the big 
 black horse to find Mary. Who are you? You look like 
 Mary." 
 
 " Grandfather," said Dolly, quietly taking the slate out 
 of his hand, "what do you mean by writing such non- 
 sense? Let me hear no more of it. You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself. Now, mind, I will have no more of 
 it. Put away that stick, and go and wash your hands for 
 dinner. " 
 
 The old man did as he was bid somewhat sulkily, Dor- 
 othy thought — but when he arrived at the dinner-table 
 there was nothing noticeable about his manner. 
 
 They dined at a, quarter to seven, and dinner did not 
 take them very long. When it was over, old Atterleigh 
 drank some wine, and then, according to his habit, went 
 and sat in the ancient ingle-nook which had presumably 
 been built by the forgotten Dum for his comfort on winter 
 evenings. And on winter evenings, when there was a jolly 
 
THE witch's head. 337 
 
 •wood-fire burning on the hearth, it was a pleasant spot 
 enough; but to sit there in the dark on a lovely summer 
 night was an act, well — worthy of old Atterleigh. 
 
 After dinner the conversation turned upon that fatal day 
 when Alston's Horse was wiped out at Isandhlwana. It 
 was a painful subject both for Ernest and Jeremy, but the 
 former was gratifying his uncle's curiosity by explaining to 
 him how that last dread struggle with tlie six Zulus came 
 to determine itself in their favor. 
 
 " And how was it," asked Mr. Cardus, " that you man- 
 aged to get the better of the fellow you rolled down the hill 
 with?" 
 
 "Because the assegai broke, and, fortunately enough, 
 the blade was left in my hand. Where is it, Doll?" (for 
 Jeremy had broughb it home with him.) 
 
 Dorothy got up and reached the broken assegai, which 
 had about eight inches of shaft, from its place over the 
 mantel-piece. 
 
 " "Now, then, Jeremy, if you will be so good as to sprawl 
 upon your back on the floor, I will just show my uncle 
 what happened. " Jeremy complied, not without grumb- 
 ling about dirtying his dress-coat. 
 
 " Now, Jeremy, my boy, where are you? Oh, there! 
 Well, excuse my taking the liberty of kneeling on your 
 chest, and halloo out if the assegai goes into you. If we 
 are going to have a performance at all, it may as well be a 
 realistic one. Now, uncle, you see when we finished roll- 
 ing, which was just as this assegai snapped in two, as luck 
 would have it, I was uppermost, and managed to get my 
 knee on my friend's left arm and to hold his right with 
 my left. Then, before he could get loose, I drove this bit 
 of spear through the side of his throat, just there, so that 
 it cut the jugular vein, and he died shortly afterward — and 
 now you know all about it." 
 
 Here Ernest rose and laid the spear upon the table, and 
 Jeremy, entering into the spirit of the thing, began to die 
 as artistically as a regard for his dress-coat would allow. 
 Just then Dorothy, looking up, saw her grandfather Atter- 
 leight's distorted face peering round the wall of the ingle- 
 nook, where he was sitting in the dark, and looking at the 
 scene of mimic slaughter with that same curious gaze that 
 he had worn on several occasions lately. He withdrew his. 
 -head at once. 
 
338 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Get up, Jeremy," said his sister, sharply, " and stop 
 writhing about there liiie a great snake. You look as 
 though you had been murdered; it is horrible!" 
 
 Jeremy arose laughing, and, having obtained Dolly's per- 
 mission, they all lighted their pipes, and, sitting there in 
 the fading light, fell to talking about that sad scene of 
 slaughter, which indeed appeared that night to have a 
 strange fascination for Mr. Cardus. He asked Ernest and 
 Jeremy about it again and again — how this man was killed, 
 and that? — did they die at once, and so on. 
 
 The subject was always distressing to Ernest, and one to 
 which he rarely alluded, full as it was for him of the most 
 painful recollections, especially those connected with his 
 dear friend Alston and his son. 
 
 Dorothy knew this, and knew too that Ernest would be 
 down on his luck for at least a day after the conversation, 
 which she did her best to stop. At last she succeeded, but 
 the melancholy associations connected with the talk had 
 apparently already done their work, for everybody lapsed 
 into the most complete silence, and sat grouped together at 
 the top end of the old oak-table as quiet as though they 
 were cut in stone. Meanwhile, the twilight deepened, and 
 little gusts of wind arose, and gently shook the old-fash- 
 ioned window-lattices, making a sound as though feeble 
 hands were trying to throw them open. The dull evening 
 light crept from place to place, and threw great shadows 
 about the room, glanced upou the armor on its paneled 
 walls, and at last began to die away into darkness. The 
 whole scene was eerie, and for some unknown reason it op- 
 pressed Dorothy. She wondered why everybody was so 
 silent, and yet siae herself did not feel equal to breaking the 
 silence; there was a load upon her heart. 
 
 Just then a curious thing happened. As the reader may 
 remember, the case containing the wonderful mummied 
 head, found by Eva Ceswick, had years before been placed 
 by Jeremy upon a bracket at the end of the room. Round 
 about this case hung various pieces of armor, and among 
 others, above it, suspended by a piece of string from a pro- 
 jecting hook, was a heavy iron gauntlet. For many years 
 • — twenty or more — it had hung from the hook, but now at 
 last the string was worn through, and even as Dorothy was 
 wondering at the silence, it gave. Down came the heavy 
 
THE -VriTCH'S HEAB. 339 
 
 iron hand with a crash, and, as it passed, it caught the latch 
 of the long air-tight case, and jarred tlie door wide open. 
 
 Ev^erybody in the room sprung to their feet, and, as they 
 did so, a last ray from the setting sun struggled through 
 one of the windoM^s and rested upon the opened case, 
 staiiMng it, and all about it, the hue of blood, and filling 
 the fearful ci-ystal eyes within with a lurid light. How 
 they glowed and Ishone to be sure, after their long years of 
 sleep! — for the case had scarcely been opened for years — 
 while their tremulous glance, now dull, now intense, ac- 
 cording as the light played upon them, appeared to wander 
 round and round the room, as though m search of some- 
 body or something. 
 
 It was an awful sight that that ray of sunlight showed, 
 as it played upon the trembling crystal orbs, the scornful, 
 deathly features, and the matchless hair that streamed on 
 either side. Together with the sudden break in the silence 
 caused by the crashing fall of the gauntlet, it proved, as it 
 had done many years before, altogether too much for the 
 beholders' nerves. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Ernest, with a start, as the 
 gauntlet fell. 
 
 Dorothy glanced up and gave a little cry of horror. 
 " Oh, that dreadful head! — ^it is looking at us." 
 
 They all rose to their feet, and Dorothy, seizing Ernest 
 by one hand, and covering her eyes with the other, retreat- 
 ed, slowly followed by the others, toward the swing-door. 
 Soon they had reached the door, were through it, down the 
 passage, and out in the peaceful stillness of the evening. 
 Then Jeremy spoke, and his language was more forcible 
 than polite. 
 
 " Well, I am blowed!"'he said, wiping the cold perspir- 
 ation from his forehead. 
 
 " Oh, Reginald, I do wish you would get that horrible 
 thing out of the house; there has been nothing but mis- 
 fortune ever since it has been here. I can not bear it, I 
 can not bear it!" said Dolly, hysterically. 
 
 " Nonsense, you superstitious child!" answered Mr. 
 Card us, who was now recovering from his start. " The 
 gauntlet knocked the door open, that was all. It is noth- 
 ing but a mummied head; but, if you don't like it, I wiU 
 Bend it to the British Museum to-morrow. " 
 
340 THE witch's head. 
 
 " Oh, please do, Eeginald," answered Dorothy, who ap- 
 peared quite unhinged. 
 
 So hurried had been the retreat from the sitting-room., 
 that everybody had forgotten " Hard-riding Atterleigb " 
 sitting in the dark in the ingle-nooit. But the busfle in 
 the room had attracted him, and already, before they had 
 left, he had projected his large head covered with the 
 tangled gray locks and began to stare about. Presently his 
 eyes fell upon the crystal orbs, and then, to him, the orbs 
 appeared to cease their wanderings and rest upon his eyes. 
 For awhile the two heads stared at each other thus — the 
 golden head without a body in the box, and the gray head 
 that, thrust out as it was from the ingle-wall, seemed to 
 have no body either. They stared and stared, till at last 
 the golden head got the mastery of. the gray head, and the 
 old man crept from his corner, crept down the room till he 
 was almost beneath the baleful eyes, and nodded, nodded, 
 nodded at them. 
 
 And they too seemed to nod, nod, nod at him. Then he 
 retreated backward as slowly as he had come, nodding all 
 the while, till he came to where the broken assegai lay upon 
 the table, and taking it, thrust it up his sleeve. As he did 
 so, the ray of light faded and the fiery eyes went out. It 
 was as though the thick white lids and long eyelashes had 
 dropped over them. 
 
 None of the other four returned to the sitting-room that 
 night. 
 
 When he had recovered from his fright, Jeremy went 
 into his little room, the same in which he used to stuff 
 birds as a boy, and busied himself with his farm accounts. 
 Mr. Cardus, Dorothy, and Ernest walked about together in 
 the balmy moonlight, for very shortly after the twilight 
 had departed, the great harvest-moon came up and flooded 
 the world with light. Mr. Cardus was in a talkative, ex- 
 cited mood that night. He talked about his affairs which 
 he had now finally wound up, and about Mary Atterleigh, 
 mentioning little tricks of manner and voice which were 
 reproduced in Dorothy. He talked too about Ernest's and 
 Dorothy's marriage, and said what a comfort it was to 
 him. Finally, about ten o'clock, he said that he was tired 
 iftid was going to bed. 
 
THE witch's head. 341 
 
 " God bless you, my dears; sleep well! Good-niglit," he 
 said. " We will settle about that new orchid-house te-mor- 
 row. Good-night, good-night." 
 
 Shortly afterward Dorothy and Ernest also went to bed, 
 reaching their room by a bacii'entrance, for they neither of 
 them felt inclined to come under the fire of the crystal eyes 
 again, and soon they were asleep in each other's arms. 
 
 The minutes stole .on one by one through the silence of 
 the dead night, bearing their records with them to the ar- 
 chives of the past. / EleTen o'clocic came and fled away; 
 midnight came too, and swept on bat-like wings across the 
 world. Everywhere— on land, sky, and sea— there was 
 silence, nothing but silence sleeping in the moonlight. 
 
 HarJc ! Oh, heavens, what was that! 
 
 One fearful, heart-rending yell of agony, ringing all 
 through the ancient house, rattling the casements, 'shaking 
 the armor against the paneled walls, pulsing and throbbing 
 in horrible notes out into the night, echoing and dying far 
 away over the sea! 
 
 And then silence again, silence sleeping in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 They sprung from their beds, did every living soql be- 
 neath that roof, and rushed in their night-gear, men and 
 women together, into the sitting-room. The crystal eyes 
 seemed to be awake again, for the moon was up and played 
 upon them, causing them now and then to flash out in 
 gleams of opalescent light. 
 
 Somebody lighted a candle, somebody missed Mr. Car- 
 dus; surely he could never have slept through that! Yes, 
 he had slept through it. They rushed and tumbled, a con- 
 fused mass of white, into the., room where he lay. He was 
 there sure enough, and he slept very sound, with a red 
 gash in his throat, from which the blood fell in heavy drops 
 down, down to the ground. 
 
 They stood aghast, and as they stood, from the court- 
 yard outside there came a sound of galloping hoofs. They 
 knew the soUnd of the galloping — ^it was toat of Ernest's 
 great black stallion! 
 
 A mile or more away out on the marshes, just before you 
 come to the well-known quicksands, which have, tradition 
 says, swallowed so many unfortunates, and which shudder 
 
343 THB wetch's hbad. 
 
 palpably at times and are unpleasant to look on, stands a 
 lock-house, inhabited by one solitary man who has charge 
 of the sluice. Oq this very night it is necessary for him to 
 open his sluice-gates at a particular moment, and now he 
 stands awaiting that propitious time. He is an ancient 
 mariner; his hands are in his pockets, his pipe is in his 
 mouth, his eyes are fixed upon the sea. We have met him 
 before. Suddenly he hears the sound of a powerful horse 
 galloping furiously. He turns, and his hair begins to rise 
 upon his head, for this is what he sees in the bright moon- 
 liglit: 
 
 Pastj fast toward him thunders a great coal-black horse, 
 snorting with mingled rage and terror, and on its bare back 
 there sits, with a grip of iron, a man — an old man, for his 
 gray locks stream out behind him, who waves above his 
 head the fragment of a spear. 
 
 On they come. Before them is the wide sluice; if they 
 are mortal they will turn or plunge into it. No, the great 
 black horse gathers himself, and springs into the air. 
 
 By Heaven, he has cleared it! No horse ever took that 
 leap before, or will again. On at whirlwind speed toward 
 the shuddering quicksand two hundred yards away! 
 
 Splash! horse and man are in it, making the moist mass 
 shake and tremble for twenty yards round. The bright 
 moonlight shows it all. The horse shrieks in fear and 
 agony, as only a horse can ; the man on its back waves the 
 spear. 
 
 The horse vanishes, the man vanishes, the spear glitters 
 an instant longer in the moonlight, and then vanishes too. 
 They have all vanished forever. 
 
 They have all vanished, and again the perfect silence 
 sleeps in the moonlight. 
 
 " Bust me," says the ancient one aloud, and shaking 
 with a mortal dread, " bust me, I have stood still and seed 
 many a queer thing, but I never seed a thing like that!" 
 and he turned and fled as fast as his old legs would carry 
 him — forgetful of Dutch cheeses and of sluice-gates, forget- 
 ful of everything except that demon horse and man. 
 
 Thus ended Hard-riding Atterleigh's " maddest gal- 
 lop, and thus too ended the story of Mr. Gardus and his 
 revenge. 
 
THE witoh's head. 343 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVI. 
 Dorothy's tkiumph. 
 
 Many years passed before Eva Plowden returned to Kes- 
 terwick, aud tbea she was carried thither. Alive she did 
 not return, nor during all those years did she and Ernest 
 ever meet. 
 
 They buried her, in obedience to her last wishes, there in 
 the church-yard where lay generatioa upon generation of 
 her ancient race, and the daisies grew above her head. 
 Twice had they bloomed above her before Sir Ernest Ker- 
 shaw stood by the spot, hallowed by the presence of what 
 had held the spirit of the woman he had loved. 
 
 He was a grizzled man of nearly fifty now, nor were 
 streaks of gray wanting in Dorothy's hair, as they stood 
 that summer evening by Eva's grave. Many things had 
 happened to the pair since Mr. Cardus's tragic death. 
 They had had children — some they had lost, some remained 
 — honest English lads and lasses, with iheir father's eyes. 
 They had enjoyed great wealth, and spent it royally, giving 
 with both hands to all who needed. They had drun'k deep 
 of the cup of this world's joys and sorrows. Ernest had 
 gone into Parliament, and made something of a name 
 there. Then, impatient for the active life of earlier days, 
 h^ had accepted a high colonial a,ppointment, for which, 
 notwithstanding his blindness, his wealth and parliamentary 
 reputation eminently fitted him. 'Now he had just re- 
 turned from filling the governorship of one of the Australian 
 colonies. 
 
 Many years had passed, many things had happened. 
 And yet as he stood by that heap of turf, which he could 
 not see, it seemed but yesterday when — and he sighed. 
 
 " Not quite cured yet, Ernest?" said Dorothy, interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 " Yes, Dorothy," he answered, with a little sigh, " I 
 think I am cured. At any rate," he went on, as she took 
 his hand to lead him away from the grave, " I have learned 
 to accept the decrees of Providence without murmuring. I 
 have done with dreams, and outlived pessimism. Life 
 would, it is true, have been a different thing for me if poor 
 
344 THE witch's HEAO, 
 
 Eva had not deserted me, for she poisoned its waters at the 
 font, and so they have always tasted rather bitter. Bat 
 happiness is not the end and object of man's existence, and 
 if I could I do not think I would undo the past. Take me 
 to the old flat tombstone, Dolly, near the door." 
 
 She led him to it, and he sat down. 
 
 " Ah," he went on, " how beautiful she was! was there 
 ever woman like her, I wonder? And now her bones lie 
 there; her beauty is all gone, and there lives of her only 
 the unending issues of what she did. I have only to think, 
 Dolly, and I can see her as I saw her a score of times pass- 
 ing in and out of this church-door. Yes, I can see her, and 
 the people round her, and the clothes she wore, and the 
 smile in her beautiful dark eyes — for her eyes seemed to 
 smile, you remember, Dolly. How I worshiped her too 
 with all my heart and soul and strength, as though she 
 were an angel! and that was my mistake, Dolly. She was 
 only a woman — a weak woman. " 
 
 " You said just now that you were cured, Ernest; one 
 would hardly think it to hear your talk," put in Dorothy, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Yes, Doll, I am cured; you have cured me, my dear 
 wife, for you have crept into my life and taken possession 
 of it, so that there is httle room for anybody else, and now, 
 Dorothy, I love you with all my heart. " 
 
 She pressed his hand and smiled again, for she knew that 
 she had triumphed, and that he did love her, truly love 
 her, and that liis passion for Eva was a poor thing com- 
 pared to what it had been twenty years before — more in- 
 deed of a tender regret, not unmingled with a starry hope, 
 than a passion at all. Dorothy was a clever little person, 
 and understood something of Ernest and the human heart 
 in general. She had thought long ago that she would win 
 Ernest altogether to her in the end. By what tenderness, 
 by what devotion and nobility of character she accom- 
 plished this, the reader who knows her can well imagine, 
 but in the end she did accomplish it, as she deserved to. 
 The contrast between the conduct of the two women who 
 had mainly influenced his life was too marked for Ernest, 
 a man of a just and reasonable mind, to altogether ignore, 
 and when once he came to comparisons the natural results 
 followed. And yet, though he learned to love Dorothy so 
 dearly, it can not be said that he forgot Eva, because there 
 
THE witch's head. 346 
 
 are some things that a man can never forget, since they are 
 part of his inner life, and of these first love is unfortunately 
 one. 
 
 " Ernest," vent on Dorothy, " you remember what you 
 told me when you asked me to marry you in Titheburgh 
 Abbey, about your belief that your afEection for Eva would 
 outlast the world, and find a continued expression in the 
 lives to come. Do you still beheve that?" 
 " Yes, Doll, to a great extent." 
 His wife sat and thought for a minute. 
 " Ernest," she said, presently. 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " I have managed to hold my own against Eva in this 
 world, when she had all the chances and all the beauty on 
 her side, and what I have to say about your theories now 
 is, that when we get to the next, and are all beautiful, it 
 will be very strange if I don't manage to hold it there. She 
 had .her chance and she threw it away; now I have got 
 mine, and I don't mean to throw it away either in this 
 world or the next. " 
 
 Ernest laughed a little. " I must say, my dear, it would 
 be a very poor heaven if you were not there." 
 
 " I should think so indeed. Those whom God hath 
 joined together let not man put asunder, or woman either. 
 But what is the good of our stopping here to talk such stuff 
 about things of which we really understand nothing. 
 Come, Ernest, Jeremy and the boys will be waiting for us." 
 And so hand in hand they went on homeward through 
 the quiet twiUght. 
 
 the sitd. 
 
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