 Part 2, Chapter 26 of After London. Three mornings the shepherds marched in the same manner, when they came in view of a range of hills so high that to Felix they appeared mountains. The home of the tribe was in these hills, and once there they were comparatively safe from attack. In early spring, when the herbage on the downs was scarce, the flocks moved to the meadow-like lands far in the valleys. In summer they returned to the hills. In autumn they went to the veils again. Even after noon on the third day, the scouts reported that a large body of gypsies were moving in a direction which would cut off their course to the hills on the morrow. The chief held a council, and it was determined that a forced march should be made at once by another route more to the left, and it was thought that in this way they might reach the base of the slopes by evening. The distance was not great, and could easily have been traversed by the men. The flocks and herds, however, could not be hurried much. A messenger was dispatched to the hills for assistance, and the march began. It was a tedious movement. Felix was wearied and walked in a drowsy state. Towards six o'clock, as he guessed, the trees began to thin, and the column reached the first slopes of the hills. Here about thirty shepherds joined them, a contingent from the nearest camp. It was considered that the danger was now passed, and that the gypsies would not attack them on the hill, but it was a mistake. A large body almost immediately appeared, coming along the slope on the right, not less than two hundred, and from their open movements and numbers it was evident that they intended battle. The flocks and herds were driven hastily into a coom or narrow valley, and there left to their fate. All the armed men formed in a circle, the women occupied the centre. Felix took his stand outside the circle by a gnarled and decayed oak. There was just there a slight rise in the ground, which he knew would give him some advantage in discharging his arrows, and would also allow him a clear view. These friends earnestly entreated him to enter the circle, and even sought to bring him within it by force, till he explained to them that he could not shoot if so surrounded, and promised if the gypsies charged, to rush inside. Felix unslung his quiver, and placed it on the ground before him. A second quiver he put beside it. Four or five arrows he stuck upright in the sword, so that he could catch hold of them quickly. Two arrows he held in his left hand, another he fitted to the string. Thus prepared he watched the gypsies advance. They came walking their short, wiry horses to within half a mile, when they began to trot down the slope. They could not surround the shepherds because of the steep-sided coom and some brushwood, and could advance only on two fronts. Felix rapidly became so excited that his sight was affected and his head whirled. His heart beat with such speed that his breath seemed going. His limbs tottered, and he dreaded lest he should faint. His intensely nervous organisation, strung up to its highest pitch, shook him in its grasp, and his will was powerless to control it. He felt that he should disgrace himself once more before these rugged but brave shepherds who betrayed not the slightest symptom of agitation. For one hour of Oliver's calm courage and utter absence of nervousness he would have given years of his life. His friends in the circle observed his agitation, and renewed their entreaties to him to come inside it. This only was needed to complete his discomforture. He lost his head altogether. He saw nothing but a confused mass of yellow and red rushing towards him. For each of the gypsies wore a yellow or red scarf, some about the body, some over the shoulder, others round the head. They were now within three hundred yards. A murmur from the shepherd's spearman. Felix had discharged an arrow. It stuck in the ground about twenty paces from him. He shot again. It flew wild and quivering, and dropped harmlessly. Another murmur. They expressed to each other their contempt for the bow. This immediately restored Felix. He forgot the enemy as an enemy. He forgot himself. He thought only of his skill as an archer, now in question. Pride upheld him. The third arrow he fitted properly to the string. He planted his left foot slightly in advance, and looked steadfastly at the horseman before he drew his bow. At a distance of one hundred and fifty yards they had paused, and were widening out so as to advance in loose open rank, and allow each man to throw his javelin. They shouted. The spearman in the circle replied, and levelled their spears. Felix fixed his eye on one of the gypsies who was ordering and marshalling the rest, a chief. He drew the arrow swiftly but quietly. The string hummed. The pliant you obeyed, and the long arrow shot forward in a steady, swift flight, like a line of gossamer drawn through the air. It missed the chief, but pierced the horse he rode just in front of the rider's thigh. The maddened horse reared and fell backwards on his rider. The spearman shouted. Before the sound could leave their lips another arrow had sped. A gypsy threw up his arms with a shriek the arrow had gone through his body. A third, a fourth, a fifth, six gypsies rolled on the sword. Shout upon shout, rent the air from the spearman. The unused to this mode of fighting the gypsies fell back. Still the fatal arrows pursued them, and air they were out of range three others fell. Now the rage of battle burned in Felix. His eyes gleamed, his lips were open, his nostrils wide like a horse running a race. He shouted to the spearman to follow him, and snatching up his quiver ran forward. Together in a group the gypsy band consulted. Felix ran at full speed. Swift of foot he left the heavy spearman behind. Alone he approached the horseman. All the acquiller courage was up within him. He kept the higher ground as he ran, and stopped suddenly on a little knoll or tumulus. His arrow flew, a gypsy fell, again and a third. Their anger gave them fresh courage to be repulsed by one only. Twenty of them started to charge and run him down. The keen arrows flew faster than their horses' feet. Now the horse and now the man met those sharp points. Six fell. The rest returned. The shepherds came running. Felix ordered them to charge the gypsies. His success gave him authority, they obeyed, and as they charged he shot nine more arrows, nine more deadly wounds. Suddenly the gypsy band turned and fled into the brushwood on the lower slopes. Breathless Felix sat down on the knoll, and the spearman swarmed around him. Hardly had they begun to speak to him than there was a shout, and they saw a body of shepherds descending the hill. There were three hundred of them. Warned by the messenger the whole country had risen to repel the gypsies. Too late to join in the fight they had seen the last of it. They examined the field. There were ten dead and six wounded who were taken prisoners. The rest escaped though hurt. In many cases the arrow had gone clean through the body. Then for the first time they understood the immense power of the you-bow in strong and skillful hands. Felix was overwhelmed. They almost crushed him with their attentions. The women fell at his feet and kissed them. But the archer could scarcely reply. His intense nervous excitement had left him weak and almost faint. His one idea was to rest. As he walked back to the camp between the chiefs of the shepherd's spearman his eyes closed, his limbs tottered, and they had to support him. At the camp he threw himself on the sword under the gnarled oak, and was instantly fast asleep. Immediately the camp was stilled not to disturb him. His adventures in the marshes of the buried city, his canoe, his archery, were talked of the live-long night. Next morning the camp set out for their home in the mountains, and he was escorted by nearly four hundred spearmen. They had saved for him the ornaments of the gypsies who had fallen, golden earrings and nose-rings. He gave them to the women, except one, a finger-ring set with turquoise and evidently of ancient make which he kept for Aurora. Two marches brought them to the home of the tribe where the rest of the spearmen left them. The place was called Wolfstead. Felix saw at once how easily this spot might be fortified. There was a deep and narrow valley like a groove or green trench opening to the south. At the upper end of the valley rose a hill, not very high, but steep, narrow at the ridge and steep again on the other side. Over it was a broad, wooded and beautiful veil. Beyond that again the higher mountains. Towards the foot of the narrow ridge here there was a succession of chalk cliffs, so that to climb up on that side in the face of opposition would be extremely difficult. In the gorge of the enclosed narrow valley a spring rose. The shepherds had formed eight pools, one after the other, water being of great importance to them, and farther down where the valley opened there were forty or fifty acres of irrigated meadow. The spring then ran into a considerable brook across which was the forest. Felix's idea was to run a palisade along the margin of the brook and up both sides of the valley to the ridge. There he would build a fort. The edges of the chalk cliffs he would connect with a palisade or a wall, and so form a complete enclosure. He mentioned his scheme to the shepherds. They did not greatly care for it, as they had always been secure without it, the rugged nature of the country not permitting horsemen to penetrate. But they were so completely under his influence that to please him they set about the work. He had to show them how to make a palisade, they had never seen one, and he made the first part of it himself. At building a wall with loose stones without mortar the shepherds were skillful. The wall along the verge of the cliffs was soon up, and so was the fort on the top of the ridge. The fort consisted merely of a circular wall, breast high, with embrasures or crenellations. When this was finished Felix had a sense of mastership, for in this fort he felt as if he could rule the whole country. From day to day shepherds came from the more distant parts to see the famous archer and to admire the enclosure. Though the idea of it had never occurred to them, now they saw it, they fully understood its advantages, and two other chiefs began to erect similar forts and palisades. End of Part 2, Chapter 26. After London, or Wild England by Richard Jeffries. Part 2, Wild England, Chapter 27, Surprised Felix was now anxious to continue his journey, but he did not like to leave the shepherds, with whom his life was so pleasant. As usual when deliberating he wandered about the hills, and then into the forest. The shepherds at first insisted on at least two of their number accompanying him. They were fearful lest the gypsies should seize him, or a bushman assassinate him. This company was irksome to Felix. In time he convinced them that he was a much better hunter than any of the tribe, and they permitted him to roam alone. During one of these excursions into the forest he discovered a beautiful lake. He looked down on the water from the summit of one of the green mountains. It was he thought half a mile across, and the opposite shore was open woodland, grassy and meadow-like, and dotted with fine old oaks. By degrees these closed together, and the forest succeeded. Beyond it again, at a distance of two miles, were green hills. A little clearing only was wanted to make the place fit for a castle and enclosure. Through the grassland opposite he chased the course of a large brook down to the lake. Another entered it on the right, and the lake gradually narrowed to a river on his left. Could he erect a tower there, and bring a rawer to it, how happy he would be. A more beautiful spot he had never seen, nor one more suited for every purpose in life. He followed the course of the stream which left the lake, every now and then disturbing wild goats from the cliffs, and twice he saw deer under the oaks across it. On rounding a spur of down he saw that the river debushed into a much wider lake, which he conjectured must be the sweet waters. He went on till he reached the mouth of the river, and had then no doubt that he was standing once more on the shore of the sweet water sea. On this the southern side the banks were low, on the other a steep chalky cliff almost overhung the river, and jutted out into the lake, curving somewhat towards him. A fort on that cliff would command the entrance to the river. The cliff was a natural breakwater, so that there was a haven at its base. The river appeared broad and deep enough for navigation, so that vessels could pass from the Great Lake to the inland water, about six or seven miles, he supposed. Felix was much taken with this spot. The beauty of the inland lake, the evident richness of the soil, the river communicating with the Great Lake, the cliff commanding its entrance. Over in all his wanderings had he seen a district so well suited for a settlement, and the founding of a city. If he had but a thousand men, how soon would he bring a rora there, and build a tower, and erect a palisade? So occupied was he with the thought that he returned the whole distance to the spot where he had made the discovery. There he remained a long time, designing it all in his mind. The tower he would build yonder, three-quarters of a mile, perhaps a mile inland from the opposite shore, on a green knoll at the base of which the brook flowed. It would be even more pleasant there than on the shore of the lake. The forest he would clear back a little, and put up a stout palisade in closing at least three miles of grassy land. By the shore of the lake he would build his town, so that his vessels might be able to go forth into the great Sweetwater Sea. So strongly did imagination hold him, that he did not observe how near it was to sunset, nor did he remark the threatening aspect of the sky. Thunder awoke him from his dream. He looked, and saw a storm rapidly coming from the northeast. He descended the hill, and sheltered himself as well as possible among some thick fir trees. After the lightning the rain poured so heavily that it penetrated the branches, and he unstrung his bow and placed the string in his pocket that it might not become wet. Instantly there was a whoop on either side, and two gypsies darted from the undergrowth towards him. While the terrible bow was bent they had followed him, tracking his footsteps. The moment he unstrung the bow they rushed out. Felix crushed through between the firs by main force getting through, but only opening a passage for them to follow. They could easily have thrust their darts through him, but their object was to take him alive and gratify the revenge of the tribes with torture. Felix doubled from the firs and made towards the far distant camp, but he was faced by three more gypsies. He turned again and made for the steep hill he had descended. With all his strength he raced up it. His likeness of foot carried him in advance, and he reached the summit a hundred yards ahead, but he knew he must be overtaken presently unless he could hit upon some stratagem. In the instant that he paused to breathe on the summit a thought struck him. Like the wind he raced along the ridge, making for the great sweet water, the same path he had followed in the morning. Once on the ridge the five pursuers shouted. They knew they should have him now there were no more hills to breast. It was not so easy as they imagined. Felix was in splendid training. He kept his lead and even drew a little on them. Until he knew in time he must succumb, just as the stag, though swifter of foot, ultimately succumbs to the hounds. They would track him till they had him. If only he could gain enough to have time to string and bend his bow. But with all his efforts he could not get away more than the hundred yards, and that was not far enough. It could be traversed in ten seconds. They would have him before he could string it and fit an arrow. If only he had been fresh as in the morning, but he had had a long walk during the day and not much food. He knew that his burst of speed must soon slacken, but he had a stratagem yet. Keeping along the ridge till he reached the place where the lake narrowed to the river, suddenly he rushed down the hill towards the water. The edge was encumbered with brushwood and fallen trees. He scrambled over and threw anyhow. He tore a path through the bushes and plunged in. But his jacket caught in a branch he had his knife out and cut off the shred of cloth. Then with the bow and knife in one hand he struck out for the opposite shore. His hope was that the gypsies being horsemen and passing all their lives on their horses might not know how to swim. His conjecture was right. They stopped on the brink and yelled their loudest. When he had passed the middle of the slowest stream, their rage rose to a shriek, startling a heron far down the water. Felix reached the opposite shore in safety, but the bowstring was now wet and useless. He struck off at once straight across the grasslands, past the oaks he had admired, past the green knoll where in imagination he had built his castle and brought a rawer. Through the brook, which he found was larger than it appeared at a distance and required two or three strokes to cross, a few more paces and the forest sheltered him. Under the trees he rested and considered what course to pursue. The gypsies would expect him to endeavour to regain his friends and would watch to cut off his return. Felix determined to make instead for another camp farther east, and to get even there via detour. Bitterly he reproached himself for his folly in leaving the camp, knowing that gypsies were about with no other weapon than the bow. The knife at his belt was practically no weapon at all, useful only in the last extremity. Had he a short sword or javelin he would have faced the two gypsies who first sprang towards him. Worse than this was the folly of wandering without the least precaution into a territory at that time full of gypsies who had every reason to desire his capture. If he had used the ordinary precautions of Woodcraft he would have noticed their traces, and he would not have exposed himself in full view on the ridges of the hills where a man was visible for miles. If he perished through his carelessness, how bitter it would be. To lose Aurora by the nearest folly would indeed be humiliating. He braced himself to the journey before him, and set off at a good swinging hunter's pace, as it is called, that is, a pace rather more than a walk and less than a run, with the limbs somewhat bent and long springy steps. The forest was in the worst possible condition for movement. The rain had damped the fern and undergrowth, and every branch showered raindrops upon him. It was now past sunset and the dusk was increasing. This he welcomed as hiding him. He travelled on till nearly dawn, and then, turning to the right, swept round and regained the line of the mountainous hills after sunrise. There he rested, and reached a camp about nine in the morning, having walked altogether since the preceding morning fully fifty miles. This camp was about fifteen miles distant from that of his friends. The shepherds knew him, and one of them started with the news of his safety. In the afternoon ten of his friends came over to see him, and to reproach him. His weariness was so great that for three days he scarcely moved from the hut, during which time the weather was wet and stormy, as is often the case in summer after a thunderstorm. On the fourth morning it was fine, and Felix, now quite restored to his usual strength, went out with the shepherds. He found some of them engaged in throwing up a heap of stones, flint and chalk lumps, near an oak tree in a plain at the foot of the hill. They told him that during the thunderstorm two cows and ten sheep had been killed there by lightning, which had scarcely injured the oak. It was their custom to pile up a heap of stones wherever such an event occurred, to warn others from staying themselves or allowing their sheep or cattle to stay near the spot in thunder, as it was observed that where lightning struck once, it was sure to strike again sooner or later. Then, said Felix, you may be sure there is water there. He knew from his study of the knowledge of the ancients that lightning frequently leapt from trees or buildings to concealed water, but he had no intention of indicating water in that particular spot he meant the remark in a general sense. But the shepherds ever desirous of water, and looking on Felix as a being of a different order to themselves, took his casual observation in its literal sense. They brought their tools and dug, and, as it chanced, found a copious spring. The water gushed forth and formed a streamlet. Upon this the whole tribe gathered, and they saluted Felix as one almost divine. It was in vain that he endeavoured to repel this homage, and to explain the reason of his remark, and that it was only in a general way that he intended it. Facts were too strong for him. They had heard his words, which they considered an inspiration, and there was the water. It was no use, there was the spring, the very thing they most wanted. Perforce Felix was invested with attributes beyond nature. The report spread, his own old friends came in a crowd to see the new spring, others journeyed from afar. In a week, Felix having meanwhile returned to Wolstead, his fame had, for the second time, spread all over the district. Some came a hundred miles to see him. Nothing he could say was listened to. These simple straightforward people understood nothing but facts, and the defeat of the gypsies and the discovery of the spring seemed to them little less than supernatural. Besides which, in innumerable little ways, Felix's superior knowledge had told upon them. His very manners spoke of high training. His persuasive voice won them. His constructive skill and power of planning, as shown in the palisades and enclosure, showed a grasp of circumstances new to them. This was a man such as they had never before seen. They began to bring him disputes to settle. He shrank from this position of judge, but it was useless to struggle. They would wait as long as he liked, but his decision they would have, and no other. Next came the sick begging to be cured. Here Felix was firm, he would not attempt to be a physician, and they went away. But, unfortunately, it happened that he let out his knowledge of plants and back they came. Felix did not know what course to pursue. If by chance he did any one good, crowds would beset him. If injury resulted, perhaps he would be assassinated. This fear was quite unfounded. He really had not the smallest idea of how high he stood in their estimation. After much consideration, Felix hit upon a method which would save him from many inconveniences. He announced his intention of forming a herb garden, in which to grow the best kind of herbs, and at the same time said he would not administer any medicine himself, but would tell their own native physicians and nurses all he knew, so that they could use his knowledge. The herb garden was at once begun in the valley. It could not contain much till next year, and meantime, if any diseased persons came, Felix saw them, expressed his opinion to the old shepherd who was the doctor of the tribe, and the latter carried out his instructions. Felix did succeed in relieving some small ailments, and thereby added to his reputation. And thereby added to his reputation. End of Part 2 Chapter 27 Part 2 Chapter 28 of After London This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding After London, or Wild England, by Richard Jeffries Part 2 Wild England Chapter 28 For Aurora Felix now began to find out for himself the ancient truth that difficulties always confront man. Success only changes them and increases their number. Difficulties faced him in every direction. At home it had seemed impossible for him to do anything. Now that success seemed to smile on him, and he had become a power, instead of everything being smooth and easy, new difficulties sprang up for solution at every point. He wished to continue his journey, but he feared that he would not be permitted to depart. He would have to start away in the night, in which case he could hardly return to them again, and yet he wished to return to these the first friends he had had, and amongst whom he hoped to found a city. Another week slipped away, and Felix was meditating his escape, when, one afternoon, a deputation of ten spearmen arrived from a distant tribe who had nominated him their king, and sent their principal men to convey the intelligence. Fame is always greatest at a distance, and this tribe in the mountains of the east had actually chosen him as king, and declared that they would obey him whether he took up his residence with them or not. Felix was naturally greatly pleased how delighted Aurora would be, but he was in perplexity what to do, for he could not tell whether the Wolfsted people would be favourably inclined or would resent his selection. He had not long to consider. There was an assembly of the tribe, and they too chose him by common consent as their king. Secretly they were annoyed that another tribe had been more forward than themselves, and were anxious that Felix should not leave them. Felix declined the honour. In spite of his refusal, he was treated as if he were the most despotic monarch. Four days afterwards, two other tribes joined the movement, and sent their acceptance of him as their monarch. Others followed, and so quickly now that a day never passed without another tribe sending a deputation. Felix thought deeply on the matter. He was, of course, flattened, and ready to accept the dignity, but he was alive to considerations of policy. He resolved that he would not use the title, nor exercise the functions of a king as usually understood. He explained his plan to the chiefs. It was that he should be called simply leader, the leader of the war, that he should only assume royal authority in time of war, that the present chiefs should retain their authority and each governor's before in accordance with ancient custom. He proposed to be king only during wartime. He would, if they liked, ride out their laws for them in a book, and so give their customs cohesion and shape. To this plan the tribes readily agreed. It retained all the former customs. It left the chiefs their simple patriarchal authority, and it gave all of them the advantage of combination in war. As the leader Felix was henceforth known. In the course of a fortnight upwards of six thousand men had joined the Confederacy, and Felix wrote down the names of twenty tribes on a sheet of parchment which he took from his chest. A hut had long since been built for him, but he received all the deputations and held the assemblies which were necessary in the circular fort. He was so pressed to visit the tribes that he could not refuse to go to the nearest, and thus his journey was again postponed. During this progress from tribal camp to tribal camp, Felix gained the adhesion of twelve more, making a total of thirty-two names of camps, representing about eight thousand spearmen. With pride Felix reflected that he commanded a far larger army than the Prince of Ponzi, but he was not happy. Months had now elapsed since he had parted from Aurora. There were no means of communicating with her. A letter could be conveyed only by a special messenger. He could not get a messenger, and even if one had been forthcoming he could not instruct him how to reach Timer Castle. He did not know himself. The country was entirely unexplored. Except that the direction was West, he had no knowledge whatever. He had often inquired of the shepherds, but they were perfectly ignorant. Anchor's Gate was the most westerly of all their settlements, which chiefly extended eastwards. Beyond Anchor's Gate was the trackless forest, of which none but the Bushmen knew anything. They did not understand what he meant by a map. All they could tell him was that the range of mountainous hills continued westerly and southerly for an unassetained distance, and that the country was uninhabited except by wandering gypsy tribes. South was the sea, the salt water, but they never went down to it, or near it, because there was no sustenance for their flocks and herds. Till now Felix did not know that he was near the sea. He resolved at once to visit it. As nearly as he could discover, the great fresh water lake did not reach any farther south. Wolfestead was not far from its southern margin. He concluded, therefore, that the shore of the lake must run continually westward, and that if he followed it, he should ultimately reach the very creek from which he had started in his canoe. How far it was, he could not reckon. There were none of the shepherds who could be sent with a letter. They were not hunters, and were unused to woodcraft. There was not one capable of the journey. Unless he went himself, he could not communicate with Aurora. Two routes were open to him, one straight through the forest on foot, the other by water, which latter entailed the construction of another canoe. Journey by water, too, he had found was subject to unforeseen risks. Till he could train some of the younger men to row a galley, he decided not to attempt the voyage. There was but the forest route left, and that he resolved to attempt. But when, and how, without offending his friends? Meantime, while he revolved the subject in his mind, he visited the river and the shore of the great lake, this time accompanied by ten spears. The second visit only increased his admiration of the place, and his desire to take possession of it. He ascended a tall larch, from whose boughs he had a view out over the lake. The shore seemed to go almost directly west. There were no islands, and no land in sight. The water was open and clear. Next day he started for the sea, he wished to see it for its own sake, and secondly, because if he could trace the trend of the shore, he would perhaps be able to put together a mental map of the country, and so assure himself of the right route to pursue when he started for time a castle. His guides took him directly south, and in three marches, three days, brought him to the strand. This journey was not in a straight line. They considered it was about five and thirty or forty miles to the sea, but the country was covered with almost impenetrable forests, which compelled a circuitous path. They had also to avoid a great ridge of hills, and to slip through a pass or river valley, because these hills were frequently traversed by the gypsies, who were said, indeed, to travel along the river, to travel along them for hundreds of miles. Through the river valley, therefore, which wound between the hills, they approached the sea, so much on a level with it, that Felix did not catch a distant glimpse. In the afternoon of the third day they heard a low murmur, and soon afterwards came out from the forest itself upon a wide bed of shingle, thinly bordered with scattered bushes on the inland side. Climbing over this, Felix saw the green line of the sea rise and extend itself on either hand. In the glory of the scene he forgot his anxieties and his hopes. They fell from him together, leaving the mind alone with itself and love. For the memory of Aurora rendered the beauty before him still more beautiful. Love, like the sunshine, threw a glamour over the waves. His old and highest thoughts returned to him in all their strength. He must follow them. He could not help himself. Standing where the foam came nearly to his feet, the resolution to pursue his aspirations took possession of him as strong as the sea. When he turned from it, he said to himself, This is the first step homewards to her. This is the first step of my renewed labour. To fulfil his love and his ambition was one and the same thing. He must see her, and then again endeavour with all his abilities to make himself a position which she could share. Towards the evening, leaving his escort, he partly ascended the nearest slope of the hills to ascertain more perfectly than was possible at a lower level the direction in which the shore trended. It was nearly east and west, and as the shore of the inland lake ran west, it appeared that between them there was a broad belt of forest. Through this he must pass, and he thought if he continued due west he should cross an imaginary line drawn south from his own home through Timer Castle. Then, by turning to the north, he should presently reach that settlement. But when he should cross this line, how many days travelling it would need to reach it was a matter of conjecture, and he must be guided by circumstances, the appearance of the country, and his hunter's instinct. On the way back to Wolfstead, Felix was occupied in considering how he could leave his friends and yet be able to return to them and resume his position. His general idea was to build a fortified house or castle at the spot which had so pleased him, and to bring Aurora to it. He could then devote himself to increasing and consolidating his rule over these people, and perhaps in time organise a kingdom. But without Aurora the time it would require would be unendurable. By some means he must bring her. The whole day long as he walked he thought and thought, trying to discover some means by which he could accomplish these things. Yet the more he considered, the more difficult they appeared to him. There seemed no plan that promised success. All he could do would be to risk the attempt. But two days after returning from the sea, it chanced towards the afternoon he fell asleep, and on awakening found his mind full of ideas which he felt sure would succeed if anything would. The question had solved itself during sleep. The mind, like a weary limb, strained by too much effort, had recovered its elasticity and freshness, and he saw clearly what he ought to do. He convened an assembly of the chief men of the nearest tribes, and addressed them in the circular fort. He asked them if they could place sufficient confidence in him to assist him in carrying out certain plans, although he should not be able to altogether disclose the object he had in view. They replied as one man that they had perfect confidence in him, and would implicitly obey. He then said that the first thing he wished was the clearing of the land by the river, in order that he might erect a fortified dwelling suitable to his position as their leader in war. Next he desired their permission to leave them for two months, at the end of which he would return. He could not at that time explain the reasons, but until his journey had been made he could not finally settle among them. To this announcement they listened in profound silence. It was evident that they disliked him leaving them, yet did not wish to seem distrustful by expressing the feeling. Thirdly he continued, he wanted them to clear a path through the forest commencing at Anchor's Gate and proceeding exactly west, the track to be thirty yards wide in order that the undergrowth might not encroach upon it, and to be carried on straight to the westward until his return. The distance to which this path was cleared he should take as the measure of their loyalty to him. They immediately promised to fulfil this desire, but added that there was no necessity to wait till he left them. It should be commenced the very next morning. To his reiterated request for leave of absence they preserved an ominous silence, and as he had no more to say the assembly then broke up. It was afternoon, and Felix, as he watched the departing chiefs, reflected that these men would certainly set a watch upon him to prevent his escape. Without another moment's delay he entered his hut, and took from their hiding-place the diamond bracelet, the turquoise ring, and other presents for Aurora. He also secured some provisions, and put two spare bow-strings in his pocket. His bow, of course, he carried. Telling the people about that he was going to the next settlement, Biedsten, and was anxious to overtake the chief from that place who had attended the assembly, he started. So soon as he knew he could not be seen from the settlement he quitted the trail, and made a wide circuit till he faced westwards. Anchor's Gate was a small outlying post, the most westerly from Wolstead. He went near it to get a true direction, but not sufficiently near to be observed. This was on the fourth of September. The sun was declining as he finally left the country of his friends, and entered the immense forest which lay between him and Aurora. Not only was there no track, but no one had ever traversed it, unless indeed it were Bushman who to all intents might be confused with the wild animals which it contained. Yet his heart rose as he walked rapidly among the oaks. Already he saw her. He felt the welcoming touch of her hand. The danger of Bushman or Gypsy was nothing. The forest at the commencement consisted chiefly of oaks, trees which do not grow close together, and so permitted of quick walking. Felix pushed on, absorbed in thought. The sun sank, still onward, and as the dusk fell, he was still moving rapidly westwards. End of After London or Wild England by Richard Jeffries