above nestling, leafy valleys; on and on, on and on, while he knew
nothing, as the opium-like sleep of intense weariness held him in it
stupor.

He awoke at last with a start; it was evening; the stilly twilight was
settling over all the land, and the train was still rushing onward,
fleet as the wind. His eyes, as they opened dreamily, fell on a face
half obscured in the gleaming; he leaned forward, bewildered and
doubting his senses.

"Rake!"

Rake gave the salute hurriedly and in embarrassment.

"It's I, sir!--yes, sir."

Cecil thought himself dreaming still.

"You! You had my orders?"

"Yes, sir, I had your orders," murmured the ex-soldier, more confused
than he had ever been in the whole course of his audacious life, "and
they was the first I ever disobeyed--they was. You see, sir, they was
just what I couldn't swallow nohow--that's the real, right-down fact!
Send me to the devil, Mr. Cecil, for you, and I'll go at the first
bidding, but leave you just when things are on the cross for you, damn
me if I will!--beggin' your pardon, sir!"

And Rake, growing fiery and eloquent, dashed his cap down on the floor
of the coupe with an emphatic declaration of resistance. Cecil looked
at him in silence; he was not certain still whether this were not a
fantastic folly he was dreaming.

"Damn me if I will, Mr. Cecil! You won't keep me--very well; but you
can't prevent me follerin' of you, and foller you I will; and so there's
no more to be said about it, sir; but just to let me have my own lark,
as one may say. You said you'd go to the station, I went there; you
took your ticket, I took my ticket. I've been travelling behind you till
about two hours ago, then I looked at you; you was asleep sir. 'I don't
think my master's quite well,' says I to Guard; 'I'd like to get in
there along of him.' 'Get in with you, then,' says he (only we was
jabbering that willainous tongue o' theirs), for he sees the name on my
traps is the same as that on your traps--and in I get. Now, Mr.
Cecil, let me say one word for all, and don't think I'm a insolent,
ne'er-do-well for having been and gone and disobeyed you; but you
was good to me when I was sore in want of it; you was even good to my
dog--rest his soul, the poor beast! There never were a braver!--and
stick to you I will till you kick me away like a cur. The truth is, it's
only being near of you, sir, that keeps me straight; if I was to leave
you I should become a bad 'un again, r