I shall write to her." But Trent shook his head.
"No," he said sternly, "it is too late now.

That moment taught me all I wanted to know.

It was her love I wanted, Fred, and--that--no use hoping for that, or she would have trusted me.

After all I was half a madman ever to have expected it--a rough, coarse chap like me, with only a smattering of polite ways! It was madness! Some day I shall get over it! We'll chuck work for a bit, soon, Fred, and go for some lions.

That'll give us something to think about at any rate." But the lions which Trent might have shot lived in peace, for on the morrow he was restless and ill, and within a week the deadly fever of the place had him in its clutches.