“To get up a little earlier in the morning when he wants to try his pumping apparatus. But what made you give that start? Don't you know that all I could tell would be some of our old larks, and he wouldn't have thought anything the worse of you on account of them? Hang it all, you don't mean to say you're going into holy orders, that you mind having any of the old times brought back? If you do, I'm afraid that it will be awkward for you if I talk in my ordinary way. I won't bind myself not to tell as many of our larks as chime in with the general conversation. I only object on principle to be pumped.” “Talk away,” said Oswin spasmodically. “Tell of all our larks. How could I be affected by anything you may tell of them?” “Bravo! That's what I say. Larks are larks. There was no manslaughter nor murder. No, there was no murder.” “No, there was no murder,” said Markham. The other burst into a laugh that startled a Malay in the street below. “By heavens, from the way you said that one would fancy there had been a murder,” he cried. Then there was a long pause, which was broken by Markham. “You still intend to go out to dine with that man you met yesterday?” he said. “Don't call him a man, Oswin; you wouldn't call a bishop a man, and why call a king one. Yes, I have ordered a horse that is said to know the way across those Flats without a pocket compass.” “Where did you say the house was?” “It's near a place called Rondebosch. I remember the locality well, though it's ten years since I was there. The shortest way back is through a pine-wood at the far end of The Flats--you know that place, of course.” “I know The Flats. And you mean to come through the pine-wood?” “I do mean it. It's a nasty place to ride through, but the horse always goes right in a case like that, and I'll give him his head.” “Take care that you have your own at that time,” said Markham. “The house of the Irishman is not like Colonel Gerald's.” “I hope not, for a more thirsty evening I never spent than at your friend's cottage. The good society hardly made up for the want of drink. It put me in mind of the story of the man that found the pearls when he was starving in the desert. What are bishops and kings to a fellow if he is thirsty?” “You will leave the house to return here between eleven and twelve, I suppose?” said Oswin. “Well, I should say that about eleven will see me on my way.” “And you will go through the pine-wood?” “I will, my boy, and across The Flats until I pass the little river--it's there still, I suppose. And now suppose I buy you a drink?” But Oswin Markham declined to be the object of such a purchase. He went back to his own room, and threw himself on his bed, where he remained for more than an hour. Then he rose and wiped his forehead.