"Then you know more than I do," retorted Sarby. "I told Mrs. Dallas that I loved Isabella and she said that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see us married." "You shan't marry her!" cried Maurice, angrily rising. "I shall!" said David, and rose also. "Boys! boys!" said Jen, annoyed at this quarrel, "do not be so positive. If you are both in love with the same woman, let the woman decide." "She has decided!" said Alymer, sharply. "She loves me." "I don't care two straws about that," said David, coldly. "I have not spoken to her yet, but all the same I intend her to become my wife. I give you fair warning, Maurice, that you are not to poach upon my preserves." "Your preserves. Confound your insolence!" "Upon my word, David," said Jen, seeing that Maurice could hardly speak for rage, "you go too far. The girl loves Maurice and not you; and it would be much more honorable for you not to press your suit." "I don't care two pins for honor, major! I love Isabella, and I intend to marry her. But become the wife of Maurice she never shall; I'd rather see her married to Etwald." "The third Richmond who is in the field," scoffed Maurice. "Well, he has as good a chance as you. Dido supports his pretensions; Mrs. Dallas is your champion. As for me, I have the love of Isabella, so I'm afraid of nothing." "Are you not?" said Sarby, with a peculiar smile. "Remember what Etwald said about your life-in-death!" "I don't believe in that rubbish, David, and I should be very sorry to think you did." "As to that, I don't care about discussing the point," was the reply. "Our own beliefs are our own business. But I must say that Etwald is a dangerous man, both to you and to me." "I daresay," replied Maurice, coolly. "The more so, as I believe he has stolen the devil-stick." "What!" David made a step forward and stared at the wall. His face was quite pale, and his hands trembled in spite of his efforts to control himself. "The devil-stick gone!" he said, turning on his heel. "Both you and I must be careful, Maurice." CHAPTER VIII. A CRY IN THE NIGHT. So far the reader may wonder at the constituent elements of this story. African witchcraft, mysterious strangers, and barbaric women seem to be out of place when set in the sober framework of an English provincial town. But romance is not dependent upon landscape or on surroundings for its occurrence: it is to be found everywhere, and very often in the most unlikely places. Here, for instance, by some trick of Fate, certain people had come together, certain passions had been aroused, and now that the drama had been set in motion, it seemed likely that it would play itself out to a tragical conclusion. Tragical, certainly; for herein the elements of comedy seem to be wanting. But then Fate is so pessimistic.