nt had my enemy Chubb become in
anticipation, so derisive would he be in case of my withdrawal.

If I receded, Chubb would have ground to think the message a device to
get me out of a peril at the last moment, after I had pretended to
face it so intrepidly thereunto. For I could not say what my letter
contained, or who it was from, without betraying Meadows and perhaps
Mr. Faringfield, which both Philip's injunction and my own will
prohibited my doing. Thus, I hesitated awhile before yielding to
Philip what he claimed so rightly as his own. But I am glad I had the
courage to face Chubb's probable suspicions and possible contempt.

"Gentlemen," said I, folding up the letter for concealment and
preservation, "I am very sorry to have brought you out here for
nothing. I must make some other kind of reparation to you, Captain
Falconer. I can't fight you."

There was a moment's pause; during which Lieutenant Chubb looked from
me to his principal, with a mirthful grin, as much as to say I was a
proven coward after all my swagger. But the captain merely replied:

"Oh, let the matter rest as it is, then. I'm sorry I had to disappoint
a lady, to come out here on a fool's errand, that's all."

He made that speech with intention, I'm sure, by way of revenge upon
me, though doubtless 'twas true enough; for he must have known how it
would sting a man who thought kindly of Madge Faringfield. It was the
first cutting thing I had ever heard him say; it showed that he was no
longer unwilling to antagonise me; it proved that he, too, could throw
off the gentleman when he chose: and it made him no longer difficult
for me to hate.

CHAPTER XVIII.

_Philip Comes at Last to London._

A human life will drone along uneventfully for years with scarce a
perceptible progress, retrogression, or change; and then suddenly,
with a few leaps, will cover more of alteration and event in a week
than it has passed through in a decade. So will the critical
occurrences of a day fill chapters, after those of a year have failed
to yield more material than will eke out a paragraph. Experience
proceeds by fits and starts. Only in fiction does a career run in an
unbroken line of adventures or memorable incidents.

The personal life of Philip Winwood, as distinguished from his
military career, which had no difference from that of other commanders
of rebel partisan horse, and which needs no record at my hands, was
marked by no conspicuous event f