"Most exciting," Julian replied, himself as cool as ice. "Quite a field-day." And then he went on to give his cousin, who had by now dismounted and was sitting near him, a résumé of the whole day's adventures--not forgetting to tell him also of the interesting discovery of the coral snake in his bed.
"If," he thought to himself, "he wants to see how little he can frighten one of her Majesty's sailors, he shall see it now."
He had, however, some slight hesitation in narrating the retaliation of Paz upon the unknown, would-be assassin--for such the person must have been who had fired at where the deer was not--he being in some doubt as to how this fact would be received.
At first it was listened to in silence, Sebastian only testifying how much he was impressed at the recountal by the manner in which he kept his eyes fixed on Julian--and also by the whiteness of his lips, to which the circulation seemed unable to find its way. Also, it seemed as though, when he heard of the drop of blood upon the leaf, once more the blood in his own veins was impeded--and as if his heart was standing still. Then, when the recital was concluded, he said:
"Paz did right. It was a cowardly affair. I wish he had killed the villain. I suppose it was some enemies of his. Some fellow half-caste. Paz has enemies," he added.
"Probably," said Julian quietly.
"And," went on Sebastian now in a voice of considerable equanimity, though still his bronze and sunburn were not what they usually were; "and how did you leave Madame Carmaux? Was she not horrified at such a dastardly outrage?"
"I did not have much time with her. Not time enough indeed to tell her. She went to bed directly I got back----"
"Went to bed! Why?"
"She was not well. Said she had a headache, or rather sent word to that effect. Nor did she come down to breakfast. Rather slow, you know, all alone by myself, so I thought I'd come on here for a ride. Must do something with one's time."