and away in the King," murmured Rake, as he led
Forest King away slowly and sorrowfully, while the hunter pulled and
fretted to force his way to his master. "Well, it's only natural like.
I've cause to care for him, and plenty on it; but he ain't no sort of
reason to think about me."

That was the way the philosopher took his wound.

Alone, Cecil flung himself full-length down on the turf beneath the
beech woods; his arms thrown forward, his face buried in the grass, all
gay with late summer forest blossoms; for the first time the whole might
of the rain that had fallen on his was understood by him; for the first
time it beat him down beneath it, as the overstrained tension of nerve
and of self-restraint had their inevitable reaction. He knew what this
thing was which he had done--he had given up his whole future.

Though he had spoken lightly to his servant of his intention to enter
a foreign army, he knew himself how few the chances were that he could
ever do so. It was possible that Rockingham might so exert his influence
that he would be left unpursued, but unless this chanced so (and Baroni
had seemed resolute to forego no part of his demands), the search for
him would be in the hands of the law, and the wiles of secret police and
of detectives' resources spread too far and finely over the world for
him to have a hope of ultimate escape.

If he sought France, the Extradition Treaty would deliver him up;
Russia--Austria--Prussia were of equal danger; he would be identified,
and given up to trial. Into the Italian service he knew many a scoundrel
was received unquestioned; and he might try the Western world; though he
had no means to pay the passage, he might work it; he was a good sailor.
Yachts had been twice sunk under him, by steamers, in the Solent and the
Spezzia, and his own schooner had once been fired at by mistake for a
blockade runner, when he had brought to, and given them a broadside from
his two shotted guns before he would signal them their error.

As these things swept, disordered and aimless, through his mind, he
wondered if a nightmare were upon him; he, the darling of Belgravia, the
Guards' champion, the lover of Lady Guenevere, to be here outlawed
and friendless; wearily racking his brains to solve whether he had
seamanship enough to be taken before the mast, or could stand before
the tambour-major of a French regiment, with a chance to serve the same
flag!

For a while he lay like a drunke