“At last!” he said to himself; for not a dozen yards down the next—a particularly dark, thickly-embowered lane of verdure—there stood Mark, with his back to him, holding a second match to his cigar, from which the grey smoke rose up, to disappear amid the vine-like leaves.
Drawing a long breath, Richard walked down this alley. But Mark did not move, standing, coolly smoking there, till his cousin was within a couple of yards, when he started round as if surprised, and the two young men stood in the greenish twilight of that solitude, utterly hidden, while in all probability there was not a human being within a couple of miles.
“Ah, my lad,” said Mark, quietly, “having a walk? Rather hot.”
He turned as if to go, but was arrested by Richard’s imperious order—
“Stop!”
Mark turned round, frowning and scowling.
“You don’t belong to my regiment, my lad, but you know that this is not the way to address an officer.”
“That will do, Mark Frayne,” cried Richard, sternly. “It is time we understood one another.”
“Mark Frayne!” cried the officer, angrily. Then, with a half-laugh, “Oh! I see—205th, from the Town Barracks. You have got hold of my name, my lad.”
“Got hold of your name!” exclaimed Richard, angrily. “There, no more of that. I tell you I can bear this no longer. It is time we came to an understanding.”