Dorothy flushed a pale pink with pleasure. Rising, she went up to her great strong brother, and standing on tip-toe, managed to kiss him on the chin. “That is like you, Jeremy dear,” she said, softly. Mr. Cardus looked up too, and after his fashion let his eyes wander round Jeremy before he spoke. “You shall have as much money as you like, Jeremy,” he said presently; “and if you bring Ernest back safe, I will leave you twenty thousand pounds;” and he struck his hand down upon his knee, an evidence of excitement which it was unusual for him to display. “I don’t want your twenty thousand pounds—I want Ernest,” answered the young man, gruffly. “No, I know you don’t, my lad; I know you don’t. But find him and keep him safe, and you shall have it. Money is not to be sneezed at, let me tell you. I say keep him, for I forgot you cannot bring him back till this accursed business has blown over. When will you go?” “By the next mail, of course. They leave every Friday; I will not waste a day. To-day is Saturday; I will sail next Friday.” “That is right: you shall go at once. I will give you a cheque for £500 to-morrow, and mind, Jeremy, you are not to spare money. If he has gone to the Zambesi, you must follow him. Never think of the money; I will think of that.” Jeremy soon made his preparations. They consisted chiefly of rifles. He was to leave Dum’s Ness early on the Thursday. On the Wednesday afternoon it occurred to him that he might as well tell Eva Ceswick that he was going in search of Ernest, and ask if she had any message. Jeremy was the only person, or thought that he was the only person, in the secret of Ernest’s affection for Eva. Ernest had asked him to keep it secret, and he had kept it as secret as the dead, never breathing a word of it, even to his sister. It was about five o’clock on a windy March afternoon when he set out for the Cottage. On the edge of the hamlet of Kesterwick, some three hundred yards from the cliff, stood two or three little hovels, turning their naked faces to the full fury of the sea-blast. He was drawing near to these when he came to a stile which gave passage over a sod wall that ran to the edge of the cliff, marking the limits of the village common. As he approached the stile the wind brought him the sound of voices—a man’s and a woman’s—engaged apparently in angry dispute on the farther side of the wall. Instead of getting over the stile, he stepped to the right and looked over the wall, and saw the new clergyman, Mr. Plowden, standing with his back towards him, and, apparently very much against her will, holding Eva Ceswick by the hand. Jeremy was too far off to overhear his words, but from his voice it was clear that Plowden was talking in an excited, masterful tone. Just then Eva turned her head a little, and he did hear what she said, her voice being so much clearer: “No, Mr. Plowden, no! Let go my hand. Ah! why will you not take an answer?”