"He is quite dead," she says sorrowfully, tears standing in her eyes. "I can see the marks of teeth on his throat." "Poor little beggar! Do you know you too might be dead at this moment for the sake of recovering the lifeless body of a dog? You must be off your head, Eleanor, to do such an utterly insane thing. Whatever were you thinking of?" "I was excited--my blood was up. I am like that," she answers apologetically. They ride silently home. "We shall miss him," sighs Eleanor at last. "Who? The dog?" "Yes. We must let Captain Stevenson know." "I wonder what animal killed him?" "I saw nothing; only I fancy I heard a rustle in the trees to my right, and the sound of a horse's hoofs scampering towards the jungle. It may have been only imagination, or perhaps the stalwart lady with the fine eyes was hovering near us." Quinton's face blanches. He turns to her sharply: "If you _did_ imagine it, I wish you would not romance." Eleanor is sorry she has told him, since he appears anxious and uncomfortable. He has never been quite the same since his wrestle with the masked man. He is easily startled and alarmed. She blames herself inwardly for want of discretion, and reassures him with a smile. "Oh! it was nothing, dearest; if anyone had been riding I must have seen him--I mean--her." Eleanor knows this is not the case, but seeing Carol's relief at the words, does not regret them. "We must expect adventures now and again," she continues cheerfully, trying to throw off her depression. "I shall never forget that night," says Carol, "when I rode away from you in the dark. I _did_ wish I was on Charing Cross Station." "It was too bad of me; I might have had the sense not to pursue you, sheer idiotcy on my part." "Has it ever struck you, Eleanor, to wonder how long we shall go on living in this out-of-the way hole?" She catches her breath. "No, Carol. I am quite contented to be here, though I suppose in time you will weary of the place, and we shall move elsewhere. Yours is rather a roving spirit, I fear, never happy for long in one spot. I feel rooted to this restful retreat; but directly you tire of it, only say the word, and I will follow you to the end of the world. We have our home here, and there is plenty of sport for you, so I expect we shall jog along for a while!" with a feeble attempt at a laugh. Any signs of discontent on Carol's part fill her with vague dread and suspense. "Would it not seem strange," he continues, "to go back to England and be respectable? Imagine yourself in a prim little village, posing as a good young widow, playing Lady Bountiful to the poor, and being called on by the county magnates, while I lived a virtuous bachelor life in the dreary precincts of Clifford's Inn." "Apart! _Us_ apart!" gasps Eleanor.