“Yes; I left the herd, like a wounded deer, seven long years ago. I have hidden myself from them, and I am entirely forgotten. People are forgotten out here sooner, more completely, than in any other country.”
“Why do you say so?” asked his son, incredulously.
“Because life is so full; events march rapidly, changes occur daily. Cholera, war, accidents, sweep away men—and memories.”
When the table had been cleared and cigarettes produced, and Fuzzil and his satellite had somewhat reluctantly departed, Major Jervis looked steadily at his companion for some time, and exclaimed at last—
“You are very like me, Mark! I can see it myself; and I was considered a good-looking fellow. I had a bigger frame, though; I rode a couple of stone heavier. But you are a stronger man than your father; you have a square jaw and a stern will. You can say no. I never could get out that word in time—and many troubles were my lot. You wish me to go home with you, my boy?”
“I do,” was the laconic and emphatic reply.
“And I want you to stay with me; you must remain with me. I have not long to live. Look at me well.”
Mark glanced at his sunken eyes, his worn, emaciated features.
“And you must see the last of me. I don’t intend to let you go; no, for once I, too, can say no.”
“But, nevertheless, I’m afraid you must let me go, sir, and shortly. I promised Uncle Dan——”