Mile after mile of field, and woodland, in undulating beauty, spread themselves out before me, while away in the distance was a fringe of rocky tors and wild moor-land.

At the bottom of the hill on the side of which the house stood ran a clear, sparkling river, which wound itself away down the valley like a ribbon of silver, hidden only here and there by trees and brushwood.

So enamoured was I that I stood like one entranced, and did not notice the two men who had entered, until St. Mabyn spoke.

Captain Horace Springfield was a tall, dark, lean man from thirty to thirty-five years of age, and from what I learnt afterwards, had spent a great deal of time abroad. Although still young, his intensely black hair was becoming tinged with grey, and his deeply-lined cheeks, and somewhat sunken eyes made him look older than he really was. Although he was home on sick leave, he showed no sign of weakness; his every movement suggested strength and decision.

'Glad to know you,' he said; 'it's a degrading sort of business to go round the country persuading men to do their duty, but since there are so many shirkers in the country, some one's obliged to do it. We shall need all the strength of England, and of the Empire, before we've done, if this job is to be finished satisfactorily; the Germans will need a lot of licking.'

'Still, our chaps are doing very well,' I ventured.

'Oh, yes, they are all right. But naturally these new fellows haven't the staying power of the men in the old Army. They, poor chaps, were nearly all done for in the early days of the war. Still, the Territorials saved the situation.'

'You've seen service in the East?' I ventured.

'Yes, Egypt and India.'

'It was in Egypt that Captain Springfield knew my brother Maurice,' and George St. Mabyn glanced quickly at him as he spoke.

'The country lost a fine soldier in Maurice St. Mabyn,' said Springfield. 'If he had lived, he'd have been colonel by now; in fact, there is no knowing what he mightn't have become. He had a big mind, and was able to take a broad grasp of things. I'd like to have seen him at the General Headquarters in France. What Maurice St. Mabyn didn't know about soldiering wasn't worth knowing. Still, he's dead, poor chap.'

'Were you with him when he died?' I asked.

'Yes, I was,--that is I was in the show when he was killed. It was one of those affairs which make it hard to forgive Providence. You see, it was only a small skirmish; some mad mullah of a fellow became a paid agitator among the natives. He stirred up a good deal of religious feeling, and quite a number of poor fools joined him. By some means, too, he obtained arms for them. St. Mabyn was ordered to put down what the English press called "a native rebellion." He was able to do it easily for although he hadn't many men, he planned our attack so perfectly that we blew them into smithereens in a few hours.'

'And you were in it?' I asked.

'Yes,' and then in a few words he described how Maurice St. Mabyn was killed.

'It's jolly hard when a friend dies like that,' I said awkwardly.

'Yes,' was Springfield's reply, 'it is. Of course it is one of the risks of the Army, and I am sure that Maurice would have gone into it, even if he had known what would take place. He was that sort. In a way, too, it was a glorious death. By his pluck and foresight he made the whole job easy, and put down what might have been a big rebellion.

But that isn't quite how I look at it. I lost a pal, the best pal a man ever had. His death bowled me over, too, and I wasn't fit for anything for months. Poor old Maurice!'

I must confess that I was moved by the man's evident feeling. He had not struck me as an emotional man,--rather, at first, he gave me the impression of being somewhat hard and callous. His deep-set eyes, high cheek-bones, and tall gaunt form, suggested one of those men who was as hard as nails, and who could see his own mother die without a quiver of his lips.

'Forgive me, Lus...o...b..,' he said, 'I'm not a sloppy kind of chap as a rule, and sentiment isn't my strong point. I have seen as much hard service as few men, and death has not been a rare thing to me. I have been in one or two little affairs out in India, and seen men die fast.

It is no make-belief over in France, either, although I have seen no big engagement there. But to lose a pal is---- I say, shall we change the subject?'

After this, we went out into the grounds, and talked of anything rather than war or soldiering, and I must confess that Springfield talked well. There was a kind of rough strength about him which impressed me.

That he was on good terms with George St. Mabyn was evident, for they called each other by their Christian names, and I judged that their friendship was of long standing.

After I had been there a little over an hour, and was on the point of telling the chauffeur to take me back to Granitelands, George St. Mabyn informed me that he and Springfield were going there to lunch. I was rather surprised at this, as no mention of it had been made before, and I wondered why, if they had arranged to be at Granitelands, I should have been asked to visit them that morning. Still, I did not give the matter a second thought, and before one o'clock St. Mabyn appeared in the seventh heaven of delight, for he was walking around the grounds of Granitelands with Norah Blackwater by his side.

I left soon after lunch, but before I went I had a few minutes' chat with Lorna Bolivick.

'You will remember your promise, won't you?' and she looked eagerly into my face as she spoke.

'What promise?'

'You know. The promise, you made about that man, Paul Edgec.u.mbe. I want you to promise something else, too.'

'What is that?'

'I want you to let me know when you have found him.'

'What possible interest can you have in him, Miss Bolivick?'

'I only know that I _am_ interested in him; I couldn't sleep last night for thinking about him. It's--it's just awful, isn't it? Do you like Captain Springfield?'

'I neither like nor dislike him. I only met him an hour or two ago, and in all probability I shall never see him again.'

'Oh, but you will. You are a friend of Sir Roger Granville's, aren't you?'

'Scarcely. I happen to have been brought into contact with him because of this work I am doing, and he has been very kind to me. That is all.

I have never been here before, and probably I shall never come again.'

'Oh, yes, you will. Sir Roger likes you, so does Lady Granville; they said so last night after you went to bed. I am sure you will come here again.'

'I shall be awfully glad if I do, especially if it will lead to my seeing you.'

'Don't be silly,' and she spoke with all the freedom of a child; 'all the same, I'd like you to meet my father. He'd like to know you, too.

We only live about five miles away. Ours is a dear old house; it is close by the village of South Petherwin. Can you remember that?'

'If I have to write you about Paul Edgec.u.mbe, will that find you?'

'Yes. You needn't put Bolivick, which is the name of the house, because every one who is called Bolivick lives at Bolivick, don't you see? I shall expect to hear from you directly you find him. You are sure you won't forget?'

I laughed at the girl's insistence. 'To make it impossible,' I said, 'I will put it down in my diary. Here we are. May 29,--you see there is a good big s.p.a.ce for writing. "I give my promise, that as soon as I have found the man, Paul Edgec.u.mbe, I will write Miss Lorna Bolivick and acquaint her of the fact."'

'That's right. Now then, sign your name.'

I laughingly did as she desired.

'I am going to witness it,' she said, and there was quite a serious tone in her voice. She took my pencil, and wrote in a somewhat crude, schoolgirl hand,--'Witnessed by Lorna Bolivick, Bolivick, South Petherwin.' 'You can't get rid of it now,' she said.

While she was writing, I happened to look up, and saw Norah Blackwater, who was accompanied by George St. Mabyn and Captain Springfield.

'What deep plot are you engaged in?' asked Norah Blackwater.

'It's only some private business Mr. Lus...o...b.. and I are transacting,'

she replied, whereupon the others laughed and pa.s.sed on.

'Do you know what that Captain Springfield makes me think of?' she asked.

'No,' I replied.

'Snakes,' she said.