“The result was startling.”
“He will hardly like to show that honourable wound,” reflected Jeremy, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow with every sign of satisfaction.
Then he went and picked his fallen enemy out of the bush, where he had nearly fainted, smoothed his clothes, tied the white tie as neatly as he could, and put the wide hat on the dishevelled hair. Then he sat him down on the furze to recover himself.
“Good-night, Mr. Plowden, good-night. Next time you wish to hit a man with a big stick, do not wait till his back is turned. Ah, I daresay your head aches. I should advise you to go home and have a nice sleep.”
And Jeremy departed on his way, filled with a fearful joy.
When he reached the Cottage he found everything in a state of confusion. Miss Ceswick, it appeared, had been suddenly taken very seriously ill; indeed, it was feared that she had got a stroke of apoplexy. He managed, however, to send up a message to Eva to say that he wished to speak to her for a minute. Presently she came down, crying.
“O, my poor aunt is so dreadfully ill,” she said. “We think that she is dying!”
Jeremy offered some awkward condolences, and indeed was much distressed. He liked old Miss Ceswick.
“I am going to South Africa to-morrow. Miss Eva,” he said.
She started violently, and blushed up to her hair.