What Mark's object was in following his devious course along the lanes more and more into the country Richard Frayne did not pause to consider; all he thought was that at last, after many efforts, he was going to run his cousin down, and bring him to bay right away from the possibility of interruption, and where, out in the open fields, they would, for the time being, occupy the position not of officer and private--with the tremendous barrier of rank between them, which was like some large breastwork protecting Mark from a.s.sault--but as man to man.

And there, a few hundred yards in advance, Mark walked rapidly on, never once, as far as his cousin could see, looking back, though Richard felt sure that he was aware of being followed, and was awaiting his opportunity to get out of sight and then make for the town.

Richard knew that by running he might now overtake the young officer, but he left this for a last resource, meaning to walk steadily on until he caught up to Mark or forced him to turn back and meet him face to face.

The way grew more rural and secluded, and the chalk hills, with their sides broken up by frost and weathering, stood out white, and dotted with patches of heath and bracken. Here and there a dense copse could be seen, while in sheltered hollows--forming in the distance what looked like squares worked in tapestry patterns--was a huge fabric of green, looped and flowered, where the hops hung in luxuriant grape-like cl.u.s.ters.

Every now and then Mark was lost to sight, as he plunged into some copse, following a devious footpath, but Richard caught sight of him again soon after. Then the quarry was missed once more, as he crossed one of the hop-gardens; yet, always the same, Richard dogged him with unerring patience for hours.

"What does he mean?" thought Richard at last. "He can't know I am following him. He is simply having a long walk to keep himself in training, and will soon turn back."

At last, about half an hour after pa.s.sing a long village lying low down in a hollow among the hills, and where there was no sign of farmhouse or cottage anywhere in the broken, wooded landscape, Mark plunged into a great patch of coppice, which had been cut down for hop-poles a few years before, and had sprung up again, forming a dense wilderness of ash, hazel, and sweet chestnut, running right up a steep, bank-like hill, away below which, well sheltered from the north and westerly gales, lay another of the many hop-fields, heavy with its green and golden bines.

Here all at once Richard found himself at fault, and he stood gazing onward, with a feeling of annoyance rapidly growing as the thought came insistent that, after all, he was to have his long, exciting walk for nothing.

Only a few minutes before he had seen the erect figure pa.s.s in among the trees, and it must, he felt, be exactly where he stood; but there was no sight of it going onward, and, as far as he could make out, there was no lane near, unless one pa.s.sed over by the red-brick building which topped an eminence to the right--a building with a couple of the great cowls of the hop-kilns rising from its roof.

"He must have made for these," thought Richard. And feeling pretty certain that if he took a short cut down through the hop-garden he would strike the track, and find his cousin coming up the lane deep down in the coppice, or pa.s.sing onward on his return, he pa.s.sed rapidly on.

Down he went along the steep slope, threading the tall, thin growing-poles to right and left, till he came suddenly upon the edge of the hop-garden, with its little hills, each squared by its four poles, running in direct lines, and forming shady alleys, completely embowered in many places by the vines which festooned the poles and leaped over from side to side.

Keeping to the edge of the garden for a few yards, and pa.s.sing alley after alley, till he came upon the end of one which looked fairly open, and which ran in the direction of the oast-house on the hill, Richard was about to plunge down this, when, all at once, there was a sharp, thin sound, followed by the loud whirr of wings, as an early covey of strongly-pinioned partridges, alarmed by the crack, sprang up, and flew over the tops of the poles, completely hidden by the vines.

Eager and excited now, Richard pa.s.sed into the next alley and the next, gazing sharply down them for him who had struck that match to light a cigar.

"At last!" he said to himself; for not a dozen yards down the next--a particularly dark, thickly-embowered lane of verdure--there stood Mark, with his back to him, holding a second match to his cigar, from which the grey smoke rose up, to disappear amid the vine-like leaves.

Drawing a long breath, Richard walked down this alley. But Mark did not move, standing, coolly smoking there, till his cousin was within a couple of yards, when he started round as if surprised, and the two young men stood in the greenish twilight of that solitude, utterly hidden, while in all probability there was not a human being within a couple of miles.

"Ah, my lad," said Mark, quietly, "having a walk? Rather hot."

He turned as if to go, but was arrested by Richard's imperious order--

"Stop!"

Mark turned round, frowning and scowling.

"You don't belong to my regiment, my lad, but you know that this is not the way to address an officer."

"That will do, Mark Frayne," cried Richard, sternly. "It is time we understood one another."

"Mark Frayne!" cried the officer, angrily. Then, with a half-laugh, "Oh! I see--205th, from the Town Barracks. You have got hold of my name, my lad."

"Got hold of your name!" exclaimed Richard, angrily. "There, no more of that. I tell you I can bear this no longer. It is time we came to an understanding."

"My good fellow, have you been drinking?" said Mark, with a forced laugh; "or is it a touch of sunstroke? Here, you had better make for the nearest stream, have a good draught of water, and then get back to barracks."

"So that's how Mr Mark Frayne would prescribe for sunstroke!" said Richard, sarcastically.

"My good fellow, we are not in garrison now, and I like to be kind and friendly to men in the ranks; but there are bounds. Recollect that you are addressing your officer, and do not be insolent!"

"Insolent?" cried Richard.

"Yes, sir, insolent!" said Mark, speaking in a low voice. "You have got hold of my name; but I am Sir Mark Frayne."

"Mark Frayne," cried Richard, fiercely, "and my cousin! Once more I tell you that this can go on no longer!"

"Are you mad, fellow?" said Mark, speaking beneath his breath.

"Almost, at being face to face with you alone after all I have suffered at your hands! There, set aside this miserable show of not knowing me!

You recognised me that night of the ball. You knew me directly, though you tried hard to a.s.sume ignorance. Now, then, I don't want to be hard upon you. I have held back from going to lawyers, for I have felt that it would be better if we settled the matter ourselves. Do you dare to tell me that you do not know me?"

Mark gazed at him searchingly, and then his face seemed to light up.

"Why, yes; of course, I know you now--the bandsman Smithson. Of course.

You are the man who helped me out of the burning tent."

"Yes; I saved the life of one who had sent me into this miserable exile!"

"Of course, I see now. You had a serious illness after, Smithson, and it affected your head. The doctor told me all about it."

"It was needless," said Richard, gazing full in the eyes which were half-closed, and which kept on glancing from their corners up and down the long dim alley where they stood.

"No; I am glad he told me, my lad. That explains a good deal. Now, take my advice, and get back to barracks. You were not fit to come so far."

This a.s.sumption of ignorance staggered Richard for the moment. Then, with his voice sounding very deep and stern--

"Look here, Mark," he said; "your poor father is dead, but I presume that my aunt is living, and for her sake I am unwilling to take steps that may give her pain. You proved yourself an unprincipled scoundrel over that bill transaction, and now, even as an officer, you cannot act like a gentleman."

Mark was very pale now as he stood facing his cousin; but he showed no sign of resentment, and Richard went on--

"Your conduct towards Miss Deane has been that of a dishonourable blackguard; towards Mr Lacey, that of a sharper and a cheat. You see, I know; but I am willing to spare you, for your mother's sake. You will at once communicate with your lawyers, and tell them your a.s.sumption of the property and t.i.tle has been a mistake, and that you are willing to surrender all claims at once."

"Poor fellow!" said Mark, softly, as he stood with his hands in his jacket pockets and with a peculiar thin smile upon his tightened lips; "the result of the fever. What a fancy to get into his head!"

"Do you mean to take that line?" said Richard. "Think better of it, and give it up. It will save you trouble, your mother pain, and I promise you that I will not be ungenerous toward you."

"How singular these crazes are!" said Mark, softly, as if speaking to himself.

"Then you mean to fight me?" said Richard.

"My poor fellow, what nonsense you have got into your bewildered head!

I had a cousin, Sir Richard Frayne, who once, in a mad fit, attacked me, and afterwards threw himself into a river, and was drowned."

"And was not drowned," said Richard, quietly.

"Yes, he was drowned. They found the body, and he was buried close to his estate, and in the church there is a handsome monument to his memory, saying kindly things that he did not deserve, for he committed suicide in remorse for having obtained money by false pretences."

"You are an unmitigated scoundrel, Mark!" said Richard, with his brow now knit angrily. "Once more, will you accept my terms?"