he made any secret of it now, and so he told the tale of the escape
much as the letter had given it. His companion was delighted, he
laughed with pleasure, and congratulated Mark on the joy he supposed
him to feel, until the latter could hardly bear it.

'Who would have hoped for this,' he said, 'when we were talking about
the dead coming to life some time ago, eh? and yet it's
happened--poor, dear old Vincent! And did you say he is coming home
soon?'

'Very soon; in about a fortnight,' said Mark; 'he--he wants me to go
down to Plymouth and meet him, but of course I can't do that.'

'A fortnight!' cried Caffyn. 'Capital! But how do you make it out,
though?'

'Easily,' said Mark; 'he talks of coming by the "Coromandel" and
starting about a fortnight after he wrote--so----'

'I see,' said Caffyn; 'I suppose you've looked at the date? No? Then
let me--look here, it's more than five weeks old--look at the
postmark--why, it's been in England nearly a fortnight!'

'It was delayed at my people's,' said Mark, not seeing the importance
of this at first, 'that's how it was.'

'But--but don't you see?' Caffyn said, excitedly for him, 'if he
really has sailed by this "Coromandel," he must be very near now. He
might even be in Plymouth by this time.'

'Good God!' groaned Mark, losing all control as the truth flashed
upon him while the grey grass heaved under his unstable feet.

Caffyn was watching him, with a certain curiosity which was not
without a malicious amusement. 'You didn't expect that,' he said.
'It's capital, isn't it?'

'Capital!' murmured Mark.

'He'll be in time for your wedding,' pursued Caffyn.

'Yes,' said Mark heavily, 'he'll be in time for that now.'

Yes, his doom was advancing upon him fast, and he must wait patiently
for it to fall; he was tied down, without possibility of escape,
unless he abandoned all hope of Mabel. Perhaps he might as well do
that first as last.

'Well,' said Caffyn, 'what are you going to do about it?'

'Do?' echoed Mark. 'What can I do? I shall see him soon enough, I
suppose.'

'That's a composed way of expecting a long-lost friend certainly,'
said Caffyn, laughing.

'Can't you understand,' retorted Mark, 'that--that, situated as I am
... coming at such a time as this ... even a man's dearest friend
might be--might be----'

'Rather in the way? Why, of course, I never thought of that--shows how
dull I'm getting! He _will_ be in the way--deucedly in the way, if he
c