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

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

“You’re not looking well, Harry,” said the mother.

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

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

“Bless my soul! is it you, Trelyon?” he cried with apparent delight.  “You mayn’t believe it, but I am really glad to see you.  I have been going to write to you for many a day back.  I’ll send somebody for your horse:  come into the house.”

The young man, having fastened up the bridle, followed his host.  There was a calm and business-like rather than a holiday look on his face.  “And what were you going to write to me about?” he asked.

“Oh, you know,” said Roscorla good-naturedly.  “You see, a man takes very different views of life when he knocks about a bit.  For my part, I am more interested in my business now than in anything else of a more tender character; and I may say that I hope to pay you back a part of the money you lent me as soon as our accounts for this year are made up.  Well, about that other point:  I don’t see how I could well return to England, to live permanently there, for a year or two at the soonest; and—­and, in fact, I have often wondered, now, whether it wouldn’t be better if I asked Miss Rosewarne to consider herself finally free from that—­from that engagement.”