"Dear Mother: The horses and carriage will be at Launceston Station by the first train on Saturday morning. Will you please send Jakes over for them? And bid him take the horses up to Mr. ——'s stables, and have them fed, watered and properly rested before he drives them over. Your affectionate son, Harry Trelyon."
Next morning, as Mabyn Rosewarne was coming briskly up the Trevenna road, carrying in her arms a pretty big parcel, she was startled by the appearance of a young man, who suddenly showed himself overhead, and then scrambled down the rocky bank until he stood beside her.
"I've been watching for you all the morning, Mabyn," said Trelyon. "I—I want to speak to you. Where are you going?"
"Up to Mr. Trewhella's. You know his granddaughter is very nearly quite well again, and there is to be a great gathering of children there to-night to celebrate her recovery. This is a cake I am carrying that Wenna has made herself."
"Is Wenna to be there?" Trelyon said eagerly.
"Why, of course," said Mabyn petulantly. "What do you think the children could do without her?"
"Look here, Mabyn," he said. "I want to speak to you very particularly. Couldn't you just as well go round by the farm-road? Let me carry your cake for you."
Mabyn guessed what he wanted to speak about, and willingly made the circuit by a more private road leading by one of the upland farms. At a certain point they came to a stile, and here they rested. So far, Trelyon had said nothing of consequence.
"Oh, do you know, Mr. Trelyon," Mabyn remarked quite innocently, "I have been reading such a nice book—all about Jamaica."
"So you're interested about Jamaica too?" said he rather bitterly.