Sir Paget thought he would take that lady's advice, and try change of scene; and conceiving, not unwisely, that she would be infinitely better away from the military associations of Portsmouth--the incessant arrival and departure of crowded transports, the marching in and out, the bugling, drumming, and drilling daily and hourly of 'those infernal soldiers' on the grassy common between Puddicombe Villa and Southsea Castle, he resolved to take her abruptly to his house in London, though the season was long since over, the town and the parks empty--not that the latter fact would affect Eveline in the least. 'He is taking me to London, Olive dear, away from you,' said she, sadly; for with Olive alone could she commune in secret. 'He is wise. London will not be associated with Evan Cameron. You cannot think so much there as here by the seashore.' 'I shall think of him, anywhere and everywhere.' 'Change of scene, faces, places, and people will do much. Try, dear, to forget.' But poor Eveline only looked yearningly, and kissed the soft cheeks of her handsome cousin, with much caressing and many tears. CHAPTER II. AT TEL-EL-KEBIR. A letter from Allan Graham to Lady Aberfeldie proved, by its introduction, a very bitter one to Olive, and the source of many tears. 'Belbeis, September. 'My DEAREST MOTHER, 'But for Evan Cameron of Ours saving my life at the risk of his own in action two days ago, I had not been alive to write you this letter--the first I have had time to attempt since we landed. 'Poor Evan! 'Whatever the mysterious influence was that that scoundrel Holcroft possessed over Olive is ended now, as I saw him fall into the sea, where he was drowned like a dog. I could not help him or save him, even had I been disposed to do so. Strange it is that a blackleg, a sharper, and worse, for such he became, should have been preferred by her at Dundargue to me, the companion and playmate of her childhood--her cousin, her affianced husband under her father's will, absurd in its tenor though that document be; and now, neither verbally nor in writing, shall I ever refer to her again. My pride--if I ever had any--has indeed been humbled in the dust, and by her! 'After quitting our camp on the evening before last, we moved to the sandhills above Kassassin, where we piled arms, and the men lay upon the sand or sat in groups, all chatting gaily and hopefully of the coming conflict at Tel-el-Kebir. 'Carslogie, who was always in wild spirits, was busy spouting Shakespeare-- "Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we marched on without impediment,--" and so forth, and I overheard some of our men remarking that he "was surely _fey_," when word was passed to stand to our arms, unpile, and advance at one in the morning.