not offered him the chance to show what sort of a good fellow he might
be, and as Judge Holcombe's son certain things had been debarred him.
Here he was only the richest tourist since Farwell, the diamond
smuggler from Amsterdam, had touched there in his yacht.

[Illustration: The boar hunt.]

The week of boar-hunting was spent out-of-doors, on horseback, and in
tents; the women in two wide circular ones, and the men in another,
with a mess tent, which they shared in common, pitched between them.
They had only one change of clothes each, one wet and one dry, and
they were in the saddle from nine in the morning until late at night,
when they gathered in a wide circle around the wood-fire and played
banjoes and listened to stories. Holcombe grew as red as a sailor, and
jumped his horse over gaping crevasses in the hard sun-baked earth as
recklessly as though there were nothing in this world so well worth
sacrificing one's life for as to be the first in at a dumb brute's
death. He was on friendly terms with them all now--with Miss Terrill,
the young girl who had been awakened by night and told to leave Monte
Carlo before daybreak, and with Mrs. Darhah, who would answer to Lady
Taunton if so addressed, and with Andrews, the Scotch bank clerk, and
Ollid the boy officer from Gibraltar, who had found some difficulty in
making the mess account balance. They were all his very good friends,
and he was especially courteous and attentive to Miss Terrill's wants
and interests, and fixed her stirrup and once let her pass him to
charge the boar in his place. She was a silently distant young woman,
and strangely gentle for one who had had to leave a place, and such a
place, between days; and her hair, which was very fine and light, ran
away from under her white helmet in disconnected curls. At night,
Holcombe used to watch her from out of the shadow when the firelight