ROSA MUNDI AND OTHER STORIES

by

ETHEL M. DELL

Author of _The Bars of Iron_, _The Keeper of the Door_, _The Knave ofDiamonds_, _The Obstacle Race_, _The Rocks of Valpré_, _The Way of anEagle_, etc. 

CONTENTS

ROSA MUNDI

A DEBT OF HONOUR I. --HOPE AND THE MAGICIAN II. --THE VISITOR III. --THE FRIEND IN NEED IV. --HER NATURAL PROTECTOR V. --MORE THAN A FRIEND VI. --HER ENEMY VII. --THE SCRAPE VIII. --BEFORE THE RACE IX. --THE RACE X. --THE ENEMY'S TERMS XI. --WITHOUT DEFENCE XII. --THE PENALTY XIII. --THE CURSE OF THE VALLEY XIV. --HOW THE TALE WAS TOLD XV. --THE NIGHT OF DESPAIR XVI. --THE COMING OF HOPE

THE DELIVERER I. --A PROMISE OF MARRIAGE II. --A RING OF VALUE III. --THE HONEYMOON IV. --A GRIEVOUS WOUND V. --A STRUGGLE FOR MASTERY VI. --AN OFFER OF HELP VII. --THE DELIVERER VIII. --AFTER THE ACCIDENT IX. --THE END OF A MYSTERY X. --TAKEN TO TASK XI. --MONEY'S NOT EVERYTHING XII. --AFTERWARDS--LOVE

THE PREY OF THE DRAGON

THE SECRET SERVICE MAN I. --A TIGHT PLACE II. --A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP III. --DERRICK'S PARADISE IV. --CARLYON DEFENDS HIMSELF V. --A WOMAN'S FORGIVENESS VI. --FIEND OR KING? VII. --THE REAL COLONEL CARLYON VIII. --THE STRANGER ON THE VERANDA IX. --A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT X. --SAVED A SECOND TIME XI. --THE SECRET OUT

THE PENALTY

Rosa Mundi

Was the water blue, or was it purple that day? Randal Courteneystretched his lazy length on the shady side of the great naturalbreakwater that protected Hurley Bay from the Atlantic rollers, andwondered. It was a day in late September, but the warmth of it was as adream of summer returned. The season was nearly over, or he had notbetaken himself thither, but the spell of heat had prolonged it unduly. It had been something of a shock to him to find the place still occupiedby a buzzing crowd of visitors. He never came to it till he judged theholidays to be practically over. For he loved it only when empty. Hisidea of rest was solitude. 

He wondered how long this pearly weather would last, and scanned the skyfor a cloud. In vain! There was no cloud all round that blue horizon, and behind him the cliffs stood stark against an azure sky. Summer waslingering, and even he had not the heart to wish her gone. 

Something splashed noisily on the other side of the rocky breakwater. Something squeaked and gurgled. The man frowned. He had tramped aconsiderable distance to secure privacy. He had his new novel to thinkout. This invasion was intolerable. He had not even smoked the firstpipe of his meditations. Impatiently he prepared to rise and depart. 

But in that moment a voice accosted him, and in spite of himself hepaused. "I want to get over the breakwater, " said the voice. "There'ssuch a large crab lives this side. "

It was an engaging voice--a voice with soft, lilting notes in it--thevoice of a child. 

Courteney's face cleared a little. The grimness went out of his frown, the reluctance from his attitude. He stood up against the rocky barrierand stretched his hands over to the unseen owner of the voice. 

"I'll help you, " he said. 

"Oh!" There was an instant's pause; then two other hands, wet, cool, slender, came up, clasping his. A little leap, a sudden strain, and avery pink face beneath a cloud of golden hair laughed down into his. "You must pull, " she said; "pull hard!"

Courteney obeyed instructions. He pulled, and a pair of slim shouldersclad in white, with a blue sailor collar, came into view. He pulledagain, and a white knee appeared, just escaping a blue serge skirt. Atthe third pull she was over and standing, bare-footed, by his side. Ithad been a fairy leap. He marvelled at the lightness of her till he sawher standing so, with merry eyes upraised to his. Then he laughed, forshe was laughing--the infectious laugh of the truant. 

"Oh, thank you ever so much, " she said. "I knew it was much nicer thisside than the other. No one can see us here, either. "

"Is that why you wanted to get over?" he asked. 

She nodded, her pink face all mystery. "It's nice to get away fromeveryone sometimes, isn't it? Even Rosa Mundi thinks that. Did you knowthat she is here? It is being kept a dead secret. "

"Rosa Mundi!" Courteney started. He looked down into the innocent faceupraised to his with something that was almost horror in his own. "Doyou mean that dancing woman from Australia? What can a child like youknow of her?"

She smiled at him, the mystery still in her eyes. "I do know her. Ibelong to her. Do you know her, too?"

A sudden hot flush went up over Courteney's face. He knew the woman;yes, he knew her. Was it years ago--or was it but yesterday?--that hehad yielded to the importunities of his friend, young Eric Baron, andgone to see her dance? The boy had been infatuated, wild with the lureof her. Ah well, it was over now. She had been his ruin, just as she hadbeen the ruin of others like him. Baron was dead and free for ever fromthe evil spell of his enchantress. But he had not thought to hear hername in this place and on the lips of a child. 

It revolted him. For she had utterly failed to attract his fancy. Hewas fastidious, and all he had seen in her had been the sensuous charmof a sinuous grace which, to him, was no charm at all. He had almosthated her for the abject adoration that young Eric's eyes had held. Herart, wonderful though he admitted it to be, had wholly failed to enslavehim. He had looked her once--and once only--in the eyes, judged her, andgone his way. 

And now this merry-eyed, rosy-faced child came, fairy-footed, over thebarrier of his reserve, and spoke with a careless familiarity of theonly being in the world whom he had condemned as beyond the pale. 

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone, " she said, with sapphire eyes upliftedconfidingly to his. "She isn't--really--here before the end of the week. You won't tell, will you? Only when I saw you plodding along out here byyourself, I just had to come and tell you, to cheer you up. "

He stood and looked at her, not knowing what to say. It was as if someadverse fate were at work, driving him, impelling him. 

The soft eyes sparkled into laughter. "I know who you are, " chuckled thegay voice on a high note of merriment. "You are Randal Courteney, thewriter. It's not a bit of good trying to hide, because everybody knows. "

He attempted a frown, but failed in its achievement. "And who are you?"he said, looking straight into the daring, trusting eyes. She was, notbeautiful, but her eyes were wonderful; they held a mystery thatbeckoned and eluded in the same subtle moment. 

"I?" she said. "I am her companion, her familiar spirit. Sometimes shecalls me her angel. "

The man moved as if something had stung him, but he checked himself withinstinctive self-control. "And your name?" he said. 

She turned out her hands with a little gesture that was utterlyunstudied and free from self-consciousness. "My name is Rosemary, " shesaid. "It means--remembrance. "

"You are her adopted child?" Courteney was, looking at her curiously. Out of what part of Rosa Mundi's strange, fretted existence had thedesire for remembrance sprung to life? He had deemed her a woman of manyepisodes, each forgotten as its successor took its place. Yet it seemedthis child held a corner in her memory that was to last. 

She turned her face to the sun. "We have adopted each other, " she saidnaïvely. "When Rosa Mundi is old, I shall take her place, so that shemay still be remembered. "

The words, "Heaven forbid!" were on Courteney's lips. He checked themsharply, but something of his original grimness returned as he said, "And now that you are on the other side of the breakwater, what are yougoing to do?"

She looked up at him speculatively, and in a moment tossed back theshort golden curls that clustered at her neck. She was sublimely young. In the eyes of the man, newly awakened, she had the look of one who hasseen life without comprehending it. "I always like to get the other sideof things, don't you?" she said. "But I won't stay with you if you arebored. I am going right to the end of the rocks to see the tide comein. "

"And be washed away?" suggested Courteney. 

"Oh no, " she assured him confidently. "That won't happen. I'm not nearlyso young as I look. I only dress like this when I want to enjoy myself. Rosa Mundi says"--her eyes were suddenly merry--"that I'm notrespectable. Now, don't you think that sounds rather funny?"

"From her--yes, " said Courteney. 

"You don't like her?" The shrewd curiosity of a child who desiresunderstanding upon a forbidden subject was in the question. 

The man evaded it. "I have never seen her except in the limelight. "

"And you didn't like her--then?" Keen disappointment sounded in hervoice. 

His heart smote him. The child was young, though possibly not so youngas she looked. She had her ideals, and they would be shattered soonenough without any help from him. 

With a brief laugh he turned aside, dismissing the subject. "That formof entertainment doesn't appeal to me much, " he said. "Now it's yourturn to tell me something. I have been wondering about the colour ofthat sea. Would you call it blue--or purple?"

She looked, and again the mystery was in her face. For a moment she didnot speak. Then, "It is violet, " she said--"the colour of Rosa Mundi'seyes. "

Ere the frown had died from his face she was gone, pattering lightlyover the sand, flitting like a day-dream into the blinding sunshine thatseemed to drop a veil behind her, leaving him to his thoughts. 

 * * * * *

Randal Courteney was an old and favoured guest at the Hurley Bay Hotel. From his own particular corner of the great dining-room he wasaccustomed to look out upon the world that came and went. Frequentlywhen he was there the place was almost deserted, and always he had beentreated as the visitor of most importance. But to-night, for the firsttime, he found himself supplanted. Someone of more importance wasstaying in the hotel, someone who had attracted crowds, whose popularityamounted almost to idolatry. 

The hotel was full, but Courteney, despite his far-reaching fame, wasalmost entirely overlooked. News had spread that the wonderfulAustralian dancer was to perform at the Pier Pavilion at the end of theweek, and the crowds had gathered to do her honour. They were going tostrew the Pier with roses on the night of her appearance, and they werewatching even now for the first sign of her with all the eager curiositythat marks down any celebrity as fair prey. Courteney smiled grimly tohimself. How often it had been his lot to evade the lion-hunters! It wasan unspeakable relief to have the general attention thus diverted fromhimself. Doubtless Rosa Mundi would revel in it. It was her _rôle_ inlife, the touchstone of her profession. Adulation was the very air shebreathed. 

He wondered a little to find her seeking privacy, even for a few days. Just a whim of hers, no doubt! Was she not ever a creature of whims? Andit would not last. He remembered how once young Eric Baron had told himthat she needed popularity as a flower needs the sun. His rose of theworld had not been created to bloom unseen. The boy had been absurdlylong-suffering, unbelievably blind. How bitter, how cruel, had been hisdisillusion, Courteney could only guess. Had she ever cared, everregretted, he wondered? But no, he was sure she had not. She would carefor nothing until the bloom faded. Then, indeed, possibly, remorse mightcome. 

Someone passing his table paused and spoke--the managing director of theHurley Bay Theatre and of a score of others, a man he knew slightly, older than himself. "The hive swarms in vain, " he said. "The queenrefuses to emerge. "

Courteney's expression was supremely cynical. "I was not aware that shewas of such a retiring disposition, " he said. 

The other man laughed. He was an American, Ellis Grant by name, a man ofgross proportions, but keen-eyed, iron-jawed, and successful. "There isa rumour, " he said, "that she is about to be married. Possibly thatmight account for her shyness. "

His look was critical. Courteney threw back his head almost withdefiance. "It doesn't interest me, " he said curtly. 

Ellis Grant laughed again and passed on. He valued his acquaintanceshipwith the writer. He would not jeopardize it with over-much familiarity. But he did not believe in the utter lack of interest that he professed. No living man who knew her could be wholly indifferent to the doings ofRosa Mundi. The fiery charm of her, her passionate vitality, made thatimpossible. 

Courteney finished his dinner and went out. The night was almost as hotas the day had been. He turned his back on the Pier, that was lightedfrom end to end, and walked away down the long parade. 

He was beginning to wish himself out of the place. He had an absurdfeeling of being caught in some web of Fate that clung to himtenaciously, strive as he would. Grant's laugh of careless incredulitypursued him. There had been triumph also in that laugh. No doubt thefellow anticipated a big haul on Rosa Mundi's night. 

And again there rose before him the memory of young Eric Baron's ardentface. "I'd marry her to-morrow if she'd have me, " the boy had said tohim once. 

The boy had been a fool, but straight. The woman--well, the woman wasnot the marrying sort. He was certain of that. She was elusive as aflame. Impatiently yet again he flung the thought of her from him. Whatdid it matter to him? Why should he be haunted by her thus? He would notsuffer it. 

He tramped to the end of the parade and stood looking out over the darksea. He was sorry for that adopted child of hers. That face of innocencerose before him clear against the gathering dark. Not much chance forthe child, it seemed! Utterly unspoilt and unsophisticated at present, and the property of that _demi-mondaine_! He wondered if there could beany relationship between them. There was something in the child's eyesthat in some strange fashion recalled the eyes of Rosa Mundi. So mightshe once have gazed in innocence upon a world unknown. 

Again, almost savagely, he strove to thrust away the thoughts thattroubled him. The child was bound to be contaminated sooner or later;but what was that to him? It was out of his power to deliver her. He wasno rescuer of damsels in distress. 

So he put away from him the thought of Rosa Mundi and the thought of thechild called Rosemary who had come to him out of the morning sunlight, and went back to his hotel doggedly determined that neither the one northe other should disturb his peace of mind. He would take refuge in hiswork, and forget them. 

But late that night he awoke from troubled sleep to hear Ellis Grantlaugh again in careless triumph--the laugh of the man who knows that hehas drawn a prize. 

 * * * * *

It was not a restful night for Randal Courteney, and in the earlymorning he was out again, striding over the sunlit sands towards his ownparticular bathing-cove beyond the breakwater. 

The tide was coming in, and the dashing water filled all the world withits music. A brisk wind was blowing, and the waves were high. 

It was the sort of sea that Courteney revelled in, and he trusted that, at that early hour, he would be free from all intrusion. So accustomedto privacy was he that he had come to regard the place almost as hisown. 

But as he topped the breakwater he came upon a sight that made him drawback in disgust. A white mackintosh lay under a handful of stones uponthe shingly beach. He surveyed it suspiciously, with the air of a manwho fears that he is about to walk into a trap. 

Then, his eyes travelling seaward, he spied a red cap bobbing up anddown in the spray of the dancing waves. 

The impulse to turn and retrace his steps came to him, but some unknownforce restrained him. He remembered suddenly the current that had morethan once drawn him out of his course when bathing in those waters, andthe owner of the red cap was alone. He stood, uncertain, on the top ofthe breakwater, and watched. 

Two minutes later the very event he had pictured was taking place underhis eyes, and he was racing over the soft sand below the shingle at thetop of his speed. Two arms were beating wildly out in the shiningsparkle of water, as though they strove against the invisible bars of acage, and a voice--the high, frightened voice of a child--was callingfor help. 

He flung off his coat as he ran, and dashed without an instant's pausestraight into the green foaming waves. The water swirled around him ashe struck out; he clove his way through it, all his energiesconcentrated upon the bobbing red cap and struggling arms ahead of him. Lifted on the crest of a rushing wave, he saw her, helpless as an infantin the turmoil. Her terrified eyes were turned his way, wildlybeseeching him. He fought with the water to reach her. 

He realized as he drew nearer that she was not wholly inexperienced. Shewas working against the current to keep herself up, but no longerstriving to escape it. He saw with relief that she had not lost herhead. 

He had been prepared to approach her with caution, but she sent him asudden, brave smile that reassured him. 

"Be quick!" she gasped. "I'm nearly done. "

The current caught him, but with a powerful stroke or two he righted hiscourse and reached her. Her hand closed upon his shoulder. 

"I'm all right now, " she panted, and despite the distress of herbreathing, he caught the note of confidence in her voice. 

"We've got to get out of it, " he made grim answer. "Get your hand in mybelt; that'll help you best. Then, when you're ready, strike out withthe other and make for the open sea! We shall get out of this infernalcurrent that way. "

She obeyed him implicitly, asking no question. Side by side they drewout of the current, the man pulling strongly, his companion secondinghis efforts with a fitfulness that testified to her failing powers. Theyreached calmer water at length, and then curtly he ordered her to turnon her back and rest. 

Again without a word she obeyed him, and he floated beside her, supporting her. The early sun smote down upon them with increasingstrength. Her face was deathly pale against the red of her cap. 

"We must get to shore, " said Courteney, observing her. 

"That dreadful current!" she gasped through quivering lips. 

"No. We can avoid that. It will mean a scamper over the sands when weget there, but that will do you good. Stay as you are! I will tow you. "

Had she been less obedient, he would have found his task infinitelyharder. But she was absolutely submissive to his will. Ten minutes laterhe landed her close to his own bathing-cove, which he discovered withrelief to be deserted. 

She would have subsided in a heap upon the sand the moment she felt itwarm and dry beneath her feet; but he held her up. 

"No. A good run is what you need. Come! Your mackintosh is half-a-mileaway. "

She looked at him with dismay, but he remained inexorable. He had nodesire to have her fainting on his hands. As if she had been a boy, hegripped her by the elbow. 

Again she submitted stumblingly to his behest, but when they had coveredhalf the distance Courteney had mercy. 

"You're fagged out, " he said. "Rest here while I go and fetch it!"

She sank down thankfully on the shingle, and he strode swiftly on. 

When he returned she had hollowed a nest for herself, and was lyingcurled up in the sun. Her head was pillowed on her cap, and the softgolden curls waved tenderly above her white forehead. Once more sheseemed to him a mere child, and he looked down upon her with compassion. 

She sat up at his approach with a boyish, alert movement, and liftedher eyes to his. He likened them half-unconsciously to the purple-blueof hare-bells, in the ardent light of the early morning. 

"You are kind!" she said gratefully. 

He placed the white mackintosh around her slim figure. "Take my advice, "he said in his brief fashion, "and don't come bathing alone in thisdirection again!"

She made a small shy gesture of invitation. "Sit down a minute!" shesaid half-pleadingly. "I know you are very wet; but the sun is so warm, and they say sea-water never chills. "

He hesitated momentarily; then, possibly because she had spoken with sochildlike an appeal, he sat down in the shingle beside her. 

She stretched out a slender hand to him, almost as though feeling herway. And when he took it she made a slight movement towards him, as ofone about to make a confidence. "Now we can talk, " she said. 

He let her hand go again, and felt in the pocket of his coat, which hecarried on his arm, for his pipe. 

She drew a little nearer to him. "Mr. Courteney, " she said, "doesn't'Thank you' sound a silly thing to say?"

He drew back. "Don't! Please don't!" he said, and flushed uneasily as heopened his tobacco-pouch. "I would infinitely rather you said nothing atall to any one. Don't do it again, that's all. "

"Mustn't I even tell Rosa Mundi?" she said. 

His flush deepened as he remembered that she would probably know him byname. She must have known in those far-off Australian days that he wasworking with all his might to free young Baron from her toils. 

He sat in silence till, "Will you tell me something?" whisperedRosemary, leaning nearer. 

He stiffened involuntarily. "I don't know. "

"Please try!" she urged softly. "I feel sure you can. Why--why don't youlike Rosa Mundi?"

He looked at her, and his eyes were steely; but they softened byimperceptible degrees as they met the earnest sweetness of her answeringlook. "No, I can't tell you that, " he said with decision. 

But her look held him. "Is it because you don't think she is very good?"

"I can't tell you, " he said again. 

Still she looked at him, and again there seemed to be in her eyes thatexpression of a child who has seen life without understanding it. "Perhaps you think I am too young to know good from evil, " she saidafter a moment. "I am not. I have told you I am older than I look, andin some things I am older even than my years. Then, too, I belong toRosa Mundi. I told you, didn't I? I am her familiar spirit. She has evencalled me her angel, or her better self. I know a great many thingsabout her, and some of them are very sad. May I tell you some of thethings I know?"

He turned his eyes away from her abruptly, with the feeling that he wasresisting some curious magnetism. What was there about this child thatattracted him? He was not a lover of children. Moreover, she was vergingupon womanhood approaching what he grimly termed "the dangerous age. "

He filled his pipe deliberately while she waited for his answer, turninghis gaze upon the dazzling line of the horizon. 

"You can do as you like, " he said at last, and added formally, "May Ismoke?"

She nodded. "Yes, I would like you to. It will keep you from beingbored. I want to tell you about Rosa Mundi, because you do not judge herfairly. You only know her by repute, and I--I know her heart to heart. "

Her voice deepened suddenly, and the man glanced downwards for aninstant, but immediately looked away again. She should tell him what shewould, but by no faintest sign should she imagine that she had succeededin arousing his interest. The magnetism was drawing him. He was aware ofthe attraction, and with firmness he resisted it. Let her strive as shewould, she would never persuade him to think kindly of Rosa Mundi. 

"You think her--bad, " said Rosemary, her voice pitched very low. "Iknow--oh, I know. Men--some men--are very hard on women like her, womenwho have had to hew their own way in the world, and meet temptationalmost before"--her voice quivered a little--"they knew what temptationmeant. "

He looked down at her again suddenly and searchingly; but her clear eyesnever flinched from his. They were pleading and a little troubled, butwholly unafraid. 

"Perhaps you won't believe me, " she said. "You'll think you know best. But Rosa Mundi wasn't bad always--not at the beginning. Her dancingbegan when she was young--oh, younger than I am. It was a dreadfuluphill fight. She had a mother then--a mother she adored. Did you everhave a mother like that, I wonder? Perhaps it isn't the same with men, but there are some women who would gladly die for their mothers. And--and Rosa Mundi felt like that. A time came when her mother wasdying of a slow disease, and she needed things--many things. Rosa Mundiwasn't a success then. She hadn't had her chance. But there was a man--aman with money and influence--who was willing to offer it toher--at--at--a price. She was dancing for chance coppers outside a SanFrancisco saloon when first he made his offer. She--refused. "

Rosemary's soft eyes were suddenly lowered. She did not look like achild any longer, but a being sexless, yet very pitiful--an angel aboutto weep. 

Courteney watched her, for he could not turn away. 

Almost under her breath, she went on: "A few days later her mother beganto suffer--oh, terribly. There was no money, no one to help. She wentagain and danced at the saloon entrance. He--the man--was there. Shedanced till she was tired out. And then--and then--she was hungry, too--she fainted. " The low voice sank a little lower. "When she came toherself, she was in his keeping. He was very kind to her--too kind. Herstrength was gone, and--and temptation is harder to resist when one isphysically weak too. When she went back to her mother she hadaccepted--his--offer. From that night her fortune was made. "

Two tears gathered on the dark lashes and hung there till she put up aquick hand and brushed them away. 

The man's face was curiously softened; he looked as if he desired to drythose tears himself. 

Without looking up she continued. "The mother died--very, very soon. Life is like that. Often one pays--in vain. There is no bargaining withdeath. But at least she never knew. That was Rosa Mundi's only comfort. There was no turning back for her then. And she was so desolate, solonely, nothing seemed to matter. 

"She went from triumph to triumph. She carried all before her. He tookher to New York, and she conquered there. They strewed her path withroses. They almost worshipped her. She tried to think she was happy, butshe was not--even then. They came around her in crowds. They made loveto her. She was young, and their homage was like a coloured ball toher. She tossed it to and fro, and played with it. But she made game ofit all. They were nothing to her--nothing, till one day there came toher a boy--no, he was past his boyhood--a young man--rich, well-born, and honourable. And he--he loved her, and offered her--marriage. No onehad ever offered her that before. Can you realize--but no, you are aman!--what it meant to her? It meant shelter and peace and freedom. Itmeant honour and kindness, and the chance to be good. Perhaps you thinkshe would not care for that. But you do not know her. Rosa Mundi wasmeant to be good. She hungered for goodness. She was tired--so tired ofthe gaudy vanities of life, so--so--what is the word--so nauseated withthe cheap and the bad. Are you sorry for her, I wonder? Can you pictureher, longing--oh, longing--for what she calls respectability? Andthen--this chance, this offer of deliverance! It meant giving up hercareer, of course. It meant changing her whole life. It meantsacrifice--the sort of sacrifice that you ought to be able tounderstand--for she loved her dancing and her triumphs, just as you loveyour public--the people who read your books and love you for their sake. That is different, isn't it, from the people who follow you about andwant to stare at you just because you are prosperous and popular? Thepeople who really appreciate your art--those are the people you wouldnot disappoint for all the world. They make up a vast friendship thatis very precious, and it would be a sacrifice--a big--sacrifice--to giveit up. That is the sort of sacrifice that marriage meant to Rosa Mundi. And though she wanted marriage--and she wanted to be good--shehesitated. "

There was a little pause. Randal Courteney was no longer dissembling hisinterest. He had laid his pipe aside, and was watching with unvaryingintentness the downcast childish face. He asked no questions. There wassomething in the low-spoken words that held him silent. Perhaps hefeared to probe too deep. 

In a few moments she went on, gathering up a little handful of theshining shingle, and slowly sifting it through her fingers as though insearch of something precious. 

"I think if she had really loved the man, it wouldn't have mattered. Nothing counts like love, does it? But--you see--she didn't. She wantedto. She knew that he was clean and honourable, worthy of a good woman. He loved her, too, loved her so that he was willing to put away all herpast. For she did not deceive him about that. He was willing to give herall--all she wanted. But she did not love him. She honoured him, and shefelt for a time at least that love might come. He guessed that, and hedid his best--all that he could think of--to get her to consent. In theend--in the end"--Rosemary paused, a tiny stone in her hand that shonelike polished crystal--"she was very near to the verge of yielding, theyoung man had almost won, when--when something happened thataltered--everything. The young man had a friend, a writer, a great maneven then; he is greater now. The friend came, and he threw his wholeweight into the scale against her. She felt him--the force ofhim--before she so much as saw him. She had broken with her lover sometime before. She was free. And she determined to marry the young man wholoved her--in spite of his friend. That very day it happened. The youngman sent her a book written by his friend. She had begun to hate thewriter, but out of curiosity she opened it and read. First a bit here, then a bit there, and at last she sat down and read it--all through. "

The little shining crystal lay alone in the soft pink palm. Rosemarydwelt upon it, faintly smiling. 

"She read far into the night, " she said, speaking almost dreamily, as ifrecounting a vision conjured up in the glittering surface of the stone. "It was a free night for her. And she read on and on and on. The bookgripped her; it fascinated her. It was--a great book. It wascalled--_Remembrance_. " She drew a quick breath and went on somewhathurriedly. "It moved her in a fashion that perhaps you would hardlyrealize. I have read it, and I--understand. The writing was wonderful. It brought home to her--vividly, oh, vividly--how the past may be atonedfor, but never, never effaced. It hurt her--oh, it hurt her. But it didher good. It showed her how she was on the verge of taking a wrongturning, of perhaps--no, almost certainly--dragging down the man wholoved her. She saw suddenly the wickedness of marrying him just toescape her own prison. She understood clearly that only love could havejustified her--no other motive than that. She saw the evil of fasteningher past to an honourable man whose good name and family demanded of himsomething better. She felt as if the writer had torn aside a veil andshown her her naked soul. And--and--though the book was a good book, anddid not condemn sinners--she was shocked, she was horrified, at what itmade her see. "

Rosemary suddenly closed her hand upon the shining stone, and turnedfully and resolutely to the man beside her. 

"That night changed Rosa Mundi, " she said; "changed her completely. Before it was over she wrote to the young man who loved her and told himthat she could not marry him. The letter did not go till the followingevening. She kept it back for a few hours--in case she repented. But--though she suffered--she did not repent. In the evening she had anengagement to dance. The young man was there--in the front row. And hebrought his friend. She danced. Her dancing was superb that night. Shehad a passionate desire to bewitch the man who had waked her soul--asshe had bewitched so many others. She had never met a man she could notconquer. She was determined to conquer him. Was it wrong? Anyway, it washuman. She danced till her very heart was on fire, danced till she trodthe clouds. Her audience went mad with the delight of it. They raved asif they were intoxicated. All but one man! All but one man! And he--atthe end--he looked her just once in the eyes, stonily, piercingly, andwent away. " She uttered a sharp, choking breath. "I have nearly done, "she said. "Can you guess what happened then? Perhaps you know. The manwho loved her received her letter when he got back that night. And--and--she had bewitched him, remember; he--shot himself. Thefriend--the writer--she never saw again. But--but--Rosa Mundi has neverforgotten him. She carries him in her heart--the man who taught her themeaning of life. "

She ceased to speak, and suddenly, like a boy, sprang to her feet, tossing away the stone that she had treasured in her hand. 

But the man was almost as quick as she. He caught her by the shoulder ashe rose. "Wait!" he said. "Wait!" His voice rang hard, but there was nohardness in his eyes. "Tell me--who you are!"

She lifted her eyes to his fearlessly, without shame. "What does itmatter who I am?" she said. "What does it matter? I have told you I amRosemary. That is her name for me, and it was your book called_Remembrance_ that made her give it me. "

He held her still, looking at her with a growing compassion in hiseyes. "You are her child, " he said. 

She smiled. "Perhaps--spiritually. Yes, I think I am her child, such achild as she might have been if--Fate--had been kind to her--- or if shehad read your book before--and not after. "

He let her go slowly, almost with reluctance. "I think I should like tomeet your--Rosa Mundi, " he said. 

Her eyes suddenly shone. "Not really? You are in earnest? But--but---you would hurt her. You despise her. "

"I am sorry for her, " he said, and there was a hint of doggedness in hisvoice, as though he spoke against his better judgment. 

The child's face had an eager look, but she seemed to be restrainingherself. "I ought to tell you one thing about her first, " she said. "Perhaps you will disapprove. I don't know. But it is because ofyou--and your revelation--that she is doing it. Rosa Mundi is going tobe married. No, she is not giving up her career or anything--except herfreedom. Her old lover has come back to her. She is going to marry himnow. He wants her for his wife. "

"Ah!" It was the man who was eager now. He spoke impulsively. "She willbe happy then? She loves him?"

Rosemary looked at him with her clear, unfaltering eyes. "Oh, no, " shesaid. "He isn't that sort of man at all. Besides, there is only one manin the world that she could care for in that way. No, she doesn't lovehim. But she is doing the right thing, and she is going to be good. Youwill not despise her any more?"

There was such anxious appeal in her eyes that he could not meet it. Heturned his own away. 

There fell a silence between them, and through it the long, long roar ofthe sea rose up--a mighty symphony of broken chords. 

The man moved at last, looked down at the slight boyish figure besidehim, hesitated, finally spoke. "I still think that I should like to meetRosa Mundi, " he said. 

Her eyes smiled again. "And you will not despise her now, " she said, hertone no longer a question. 

"I think, " said Randal Courteney slowly, "that I shall never despise anyone again. "

"Life is so difficult, " said Rosemary, with the air of one who knew. 

 * * * * *

They were strewing the Pier with roses for Rosa Mundi's night. Therewere garlands of roses, festoons of roses, bouquets of roses; rosesoverhead, roses under foot, everywhere roses. 

Summer had returned triumphant to deck the favourite's path. 

Randal Courteney marked it all gravely, without contempt. It was herhour. 

No word from her had reached him, but that night he would meet her faceto face. Through days and nights of troubled thought, the resolve hadgrown within him. To-night it should bear fruit. He would not rest againuntil he had seen her. For his peace of mind was gone. She was about tothrow herself away upon a man she did not love, and he felt that it waslaid upon him to stop the sacrifice. The burden of responsibility washis. He had striven against this conviction, but it would not be denied. From the days of young Eric Baron's tragedy onward, this woman had madehim as it were the star of her destiny. To repudiate the fact wasuseless. She had, in her ungoverned, impulsive fashion, made him suretyfor her soul. 

The thought tormented him, but it held a strange attraction for himalso. If the story were true, and it was not in him to doubt it, ittouched him in a way that was wholly unusual. Popularity, adulation, hadbeen his portion for years. But this was different, this was personal--amatter in which reputation, fame, had no part. In a different sphere shealso was a star, with a host of worshippers even greater than his own. The humility of her amazed him. She had, as it were, taken her fatebetween her hands and laid it as an offering at his feet. 

And so, on Rosa Mundi's night, he went to the great Pavilion, minglingwith the crowd, determined when her triumph was over, to seek her out. There would be a good many seekers, he doubted not; but he was convincedthat she would not deny him an interview. 

He secured a seat in the third row, avoiding almost by instinct any moreconspicuous position. He was early, and while he waited, the thought ofyoung Eric Baron came to him--the boy's eager-face, the adoration of hiseyes. He remembered how on that far-off night he had realized thehopelessness of combating his love, how he had shrugged his shouldersand relinquished the struggle. And the battle had been his even then--abitter victory more disastrous than defeat. 

He put the memory from him and thought of Rosemary--the child with themorning light in her eyes, the innocence of the morning in her soul. Howtenderly she had spoken of Rosa Mundi! How sweetly she had pleaded hercause! With what amazing intuition had she understood! Something thatwas greater than pity welled up within him. Rosa Mundi's guardian angelhad somehow reached his heart. 

People were pouring into the place. He saw that it was going to bepacked. And outside, lining the whole length of the Pier, they werewaiting for her too, waiting to strew her path with, roses. 

Ah! she was coming! Above the wash of the sea there rose a roar ofvoices. They were giving her the homage of a queen. He listened to thefrantic cheering, and again it was Rosa Mundi, splendid and brilliant, who filled his thoughts as she filled the thoughts of all just then. 

The cheering died down, and there came a great press of people into theback of the building. The lights were lowered, but he heard themovement, the buzz of a delighted crowd. 

Suddenly the orchestra burst into loud music. They were playing "Queenof the Earth, " he remembered later. The curtain went up. And in a blazeof light he saw Rosa Mundi. 

Something within him sprang into quivering life. Something which tillthat moment he had never known awoke and gripped him with a forcegigantic. She was robed in shimmering, transparent gold--a queen-woman, slight indeed, dainty, fairy-like--yet magnificent. Over her head, caught in a jewelled fillet, there hung a filmy veil of gold, halfrevealing, half concealing, the smiling face behind. Trailing wisps ofgolden gossamer hung from her beautiful arms. Her feet were bound withgolden sandals. And on her breast were roses--golden roses. 

She was exquisite as a dream. He gazed and gazed upon her as oneentranced. The tumult of acclamation that greeted her swept by himunheeded. He was conscious only of a passionate desire to fling back thegolden veil that covered her and see the laughing face behind. Itselusiveness mocked him. She was like a sunbeam standing there, aflitting, quivering shaft of light, too spiritual to be grasped fully, almost too dazzling for the eye to follow. 

The applause died down to a dead silence. Her audience watched her withbated breath. Her dance was a thing indescribable. Courteney could thinkof nothing but the flashing of morning sunlight upon running water tothe silver strains of a flute that was surely piped by Pan. He could notfollow the sparkling wonder of her. He felt dazed and strangelyexhilarated, almost on fire with this new, fierce attraction. It was asif the very soul were being drawn out of his body. She called to him, she lured him, she bewitched him. 

When he had seen her before, he had been utterly out of sympathy. He hadscorned her charms, had felt an almost angry contempt for young Baron'sraptures. To him she had been a snake-woman, possessed of a fascinationwhich, to him, was monstrous and wholly incomprehensible. She had worn astrange striped dress of green--tight-fitting, hideous he had deemed it. Her face had been painted. He had been too near the stage, and she hadrevolted him. Her dance had certainly been wonderful, sinuous, gliding, suggestive--a perfectly conceived scheme of evil. And she had thought toentrap him with it! The very memory was repulsive even yet. 

But this--ah! this was different. This thing of light and air, thisdancing sunbeam, this creature of the morning, exquisite in everydetail, perfectly poised, swifter than thought, yet arresting at everyturn, vivid as a meteor, yet beyond all scrutiny, all ocular power ofcomprehension, she set every nerve in him a-quiver. She seized upon hisfancy and flung it to and fro, catching a million colours in her radiantflights. She made the hot blood throb in his temples. She beat upon thedoor of his heart. She called back his vanished youth, the passionunassuaged of his manhood. She appealed to him directly and personally. She made him realize that he was the one man who had taught--and couldteach--her the meaning of life. 

Then it was over. Like a glittering crystal shattered to fragments, hisdream of ecstasy collapsed. The noise around him was as the roar ofthundering breakers. But he sat mute in the midst of it, as one stunned. 

Someone leaned over from behind and spoke to him. He was aware of a handupon his shoulder. 

"What do you think of her?" said Ellis Grant in his ear. "Superb, isn'tshe? Come and see her before she appears again!"

As if compelled by some power outside himself, Courteney rose. He edgedhis way to the end of the row and joined the great man there. The wholehouse was a seething turmoil of sound. 

Grant was chuckling to himself as one well pleased. In Courteney's eyeshe looked stouter, more prosperous, more keenly business-like, than whenhe had spoken with him a few nights previously. He took Courteney by thearm and led him through a door at the side. 

"Let 'em yell 'emselves hoarse for a bit!" he said. "Do 'em good. Guessmy 'rose of the world' isn't going to be too cheap a commodity.... Whichreminds me, sir. You've cost me a thousand English pounds by coming hereto-night. "

"Indeed?" Courteney spoke stiffly. He felt stiff, physically stiff, asone forcibly awakened from a deep slumber. 

The man beside him was still chuckling. "Yes. The little witch! Saidshe'd manage it somehow when I told her you weren't taking any. We had athousand on it, and the little devil has won, outwitted us both. How inthunder did she do it? Laid a trap for you; what?"

Courteney did not answer. The stiffness was spreading. He felt as oneturned to stone. Mechanically he yielded to the hand upon his arm, notspeaking, scarcely thinking. 

And then--almost before he knew it--he was in her presence, face to facewith the golden vision that had caught and--for a space at least--hadheld his heart. 

He bowed, still silent, still strangely bound and fettered by thecompelling force. 

A hand that was lithe and slender and oddly boyish came out to him. Avoice that had in it sweet, lilting notes, like the voice of a laughingchild, spoke his name. 

"Mr. Courteney! How kind!" it said. 

As from a distance he heard Grant speak. "Mr. Courteney, allow me tointroduce you--my wife!"

There was a dainty movement like the flash of shimmering wings. Helooked up. She had thrown back her veil. 

He gazed upon her. "Rosemary!"

She looked back at him above the roses with eyes that were deeplypurple--as the depths of the sea. "Yes, I am Rosemary--to my friends, "she said. 

Ellis Grant was laughing still, in his massive, contented way. "But toher lover, " he said, "she is--and always has been--Rosa Mundi. "

Then speech came back to Courteney, and strength returned. He heldhimself in firm restraint. He had been stricken, but he did not flinch. 

"Your husband?" he said. 

She indicated Grant with a careless hand. "Since yesterday, " she said. 

He bowed to her again, severely formal. "May I wish you joy?" he said. 

There was an instant's pause, and in that instant something happened. She had not moved. Her eyes still met his own, but it was as if a veilhad dropped between them suddenly. He saw the purple depths no more. 

"Thank you, " said Rosa Mundi, with her little girlish laugh. 

 * * * * *

As he strode down the Pier a few minutes later, he likened the scentof the crushed roses that strewed the way to the fumes ofsacrifice--sacrifice offered at the feet of a goddess who cared fornothing sacred. Not till long after did he remember the tears that hehad seen her shed. 

A Debt of Honour

I

HOPE AND THE MAGICIAN

They lived in the rotten white bungalow at the end of the valley--Hopeand the Magician. It stood in a neglected compound that had once been aparadise, when a certain young officer belonging to the regiment ofSikhs then stationed in Ghantala had taken it and made of it a daintyhome for his English bride. Those were the days before the flood, and noone had lived there since. The native men in the valley still rememberedwith horror that awful night when the monsoon had burst in floods andwater-spouts upon the mountains, and the bride, too terrified to remainin the bungalow, had set out in the worst fury of the storm to find herhusband, who was on duty up at the cantonments. She had been drownedclose to the bungalow in a ranging brown torrent which swept over what afew hours earlier had been a mere bed of glittering sand. And from thattime the bungalow had been deserted, avoided of all men, a hauntedplace, the abode of evil spirits. 

Yet it still stood in its desolation, rotting year by year. No nativewould approach the place. No Englishman desired it. For it was well awayfrom the cantonments, nearer than any other European dwelling to thenative village, and undeniably in the hottest corner of all the GhantalaValley. 

Perhaps its general air of desolation had also influenced the minds ofpossible tenants, for Ghantala was a cheerful station, and itsinhabitants preferred cheerful dwelling-places. Whatever the cause, ithad stood empty and forsaken for more than a dozen years. 

And then had come Hope and the Magician. 

Hope was a dark-haired, bright-eyed English girl, who loved riding asshe loved nothing else on earth. Her twin-brother, Ronald Carteret, wasthe youngest subaltern in his battalion, and for his sake, she hadpersuaded the Magician that the Ghantala Valley was an ideal spot tolive in. 

The Magician was their uncle and sole relative, an old man, wizened anddried up like a monkey, to whom India was a land of perpetual delightand novelty of which he could never tire. He was engaged upon a book ofIndian mythology, and he was often away from home for the purpose ofresearch. But his absence made very little difference to Hope. Herbrother lived in the bungalow with her, and the people in the stationwere very kind to her. 

The natives, though still wary, had lost their abhorrence of the place. They believed that the Magician, as they called him, had woven a spellto keep the evil spirits at a distance. It was known that he was inconstant communication with native priests. Moreover, the miss-_sahib_who dwelt at the bungalow remained unharmed, so it seemed there wasnought to fear. 

Hope, after a very few months, cut off her hair and wore it short andcurly. This also seemed to discourage the evil ones. So at length itappeared that the curse had been removed, or at least placed inabeyance. 

As for Hope, she liked the place. Her nerves were generally good, andthe joy of being near the brother she idolized outweighed every otherconsideration. The colonel's wife, Mrs. Latimer, was very kind to herfrom the outset, and she enjoyed all the Ghantala gaieties under herprotection and patronage. 

Not till Mrs. Latimer was taken ill and had to leave hurriedly for theHills did it dawn upon Hope, after nearly eight happy months, that herposition was one of considerable isolation, and that this might, undercertain circumstances, become a matter for regret. 

II

THE VISITOR

It was on a Sunday evening of breathless heat that this conviction firsttook firm hold of Hope. Her uncle was away upon one of his frequentjourneys of research. Her brother was up at the cantonments, and she wasquite alone save for her _ayah_, and the _punkah-coolie_ dozing on theveranda. 

She had not expected any visitors. Visitors seldom came to the bungalow, for the simple reason that she was seldom at home to receive them, andthe Magician never considered himself at liberty for social obligations. So it was with some surprise that she heard footsteps that were not herbrother's upon the baked earth of the compound; and when her _ayah_ cameto her with the news that Hyde _Sahib_ was without, she was evenconscious of a sensation of dismay. 

For Hyde _Sahib_ was a man she detested, without knowing why. He was acivil servant, an engineer, and he had been in Ghantala longer than anyone else of the European population. Very reluctantly she gave the orderto admit him, hoping that Ronnie would soon return and take him off herhands. For Ronnie professed to like the man. 

He greeted her with a cool self-assurance that admitted not the smallestdoubt of his welcome. 

"I was passing, and thought I would drop in, " he told her, retaining herhand till she abruptly removed it. "I guessed you would be all forlorn. The Magician is away, I hear?"

Hope steadily returned the gaze of his pale eyes, as she replied, withdignity:

"Yes; my uncle is from home. But I am not at all lonely. I am expectingmy brother every minute. "

He smiled at her in a way that made her stiffen instinctively. She hadnever been so completely alone with him before. 

"Ah, well, " he said, "perhaps you will allow me to amuse you till hereturns. I rather want to see him. "

He took her permission for granted, and sat down in a bamboo chair onthe veranda, leaning back, and staring up at her with easy insolence. 

"I can scarcely believe that you are not lonely here, " he remarked. "Afigure of speech, I suppose?"

Hope felt the colour rising in her cheeks under his direct andunpleasant scrutiny. 

"I have never felt lonely till to-day, " she returned, with spirit. 

He laughed incredulously. "No?" he said. 

"No, " said Hope with emphasis. "I often think that there are worsethings in the world than solitude. "

Something in her tone--its instinctive enmity, its absolutehonesty--attracted his attention. He sat up and regarded her veryclosely. 

She was still on her feet--a slender, upright figure in white. She wasgrasping the back of a chair rather tightly, but she did not shrink fromhis look, though there was that within her which revolted fiercely asshe met it. But he prolonged the silent combat with brutal intention, till at last, in spite of herself, her eyes sank, and she made a slight, unconscious gesture of protest. Then, deliberately and insultingly, helaughed. 

"Come now, Miss Carteret, " he said, "I'm sure you can't mean to beunfriendly with me. I believe this place gets on your nerves. You're notlooking well, you know. "

"No?" she responded, with frozen dignity. 

"Not so well as I should like to see you, " said Hyde, still smiling hisobjectionable smile. "I believe you're moped. Isn't that it? I know thesymptoms, and I know an excellent remedy, too. Wouldn't you like to tryit?"

Hope looked at him uncertainly. She was quivering all over with nervousapprehension. His manner frightened her. She was not sure that the manwas absolutely sober. But it would be absurd, ridiculous, she told herthumping heart, to take offence, when it might very well be that theinsult existed in her imagination alone. So, with a desperate courage, she stood her ground. 

"I really don't know what you mean, " she said coldly. "But it doesn'tmatter; tell me about your racer instead!"

"Not a bit of it, " returned Hyde. "It's one thing at a time with mealways. Besides, why should I bore you to that extent? Why, I'm boringyou already. Isn't that so?"

He set his hands on the arms of his chair preparatory to rising, as hespoke; and Hope took a quick step away from him. There was a look in hiseyes that was horrible to her. 

"No, " she said, rather breathlessly. "No; I'm not at all bored. Pleasedon't get up; I'll go and order some refreshment. "

"Nonsense!" he said sharply. "I don't want it. I won't have any! Imean"--his manner softening abruptly---"not unless you will join me;which, I fear, is too much to expect. Now don't go away! Come and sithere!" drawing close to his own the chair on which she had been leaning. "I want to tell you something. Don't look so scared! It's somethingyou'll like; it is, really. And you're bound to hear it sooner or later, so it may as well be now. Why not?"

But Hope's nerves were stretched to snapping point, and she shrankvisibly. After all, she was very young, and there was that about thisman that terrified her. 

"No, " she said hurriedly. "No; I would rather not. There is nothing youcould tell me that I should like to hear. I--I am going to the gate tolook for Ronnie. "

It was childish, it was pitiable; and had the man been other than acoward it must have moved him to compassion. As it was he sprang upsuddenly, as though to detain her, and Hope's last shred of self-controldeserted her. 

She uttered a smothered cry and fled. 

III

THE FRIEND IN NEED

The road that led to the cantonments was ill-made and stony, but shedashed along it like a mad creature, unconscious of everything save theone absorbing desire to escape. Ronnie was not in sight, but shescarcely thought of him. The light was failing fast, and she knew thatit would soon be quite dark, save for a white streak of moon overhead. It was still frightfully hot. The atmosphere oppressed her like a leadenweight. It seemed to keep her back, and she battled with it as withsomething tangible. Her feet were clad in thin slippers, and at anyother time she would have known that the rough stones cut and hurt her. But in the terror of the moment she felt no pain. She only had the senseto run straight on, with gasping breath and failing limbs, till at last, quite suddenly, her strength gave out and she sank, an exhausted, sobbing heap, upon the roadway. 

There came the tread of a horse's hoofs, and she started and made aconvulsive effort to crawl to one side. She was nearer fainting than shehad ever been in her life. 

Then the hoof-beats stopped, and she uttered a gasping cry, all hernameless terror for the moment renewed. 

A man jumped to the ground and, with a word to his animal, stooped overher. She shrank from him in unreasoning panic. 

"Who is it? Who is it?" she sobbed. He answered her instantly, rathercurtly. 

"I--Baring. What's the matter? Something gone wrong?"

She felt strong hands lifting her, and she yielded herself to them, herpanic quenched. 

"Oh, Major Baring!" she said faintly. "I didn't know you!"

Major Baring made no response. He held her on her feet facing him, forshe seemed unable to stand, and waited for her to recover herself. Shetrembled violently between his hands, but she made a resolute effortafter self-control. 

"I--I didn't know you, " she faltered again. 

"What's the matter?" asked Major Baring. 

But she could not tell him. Already the suspicion that she had behavedunreasonably was beginning to take possession of her. Yet--yet--Hydemust have seen she was alarmed. He might have reassured her. Sherecalled the look in his eyes, and shuddered. She was sure he had beendrinking. She had heard someone say that he did drink. 

"I--I have had a fright, " she said at last. "It was very foolish of me, of course. Very likely it was a false alarm. Anyhow, I am better now. Thank you. "

He let her go, but she was still so shaken that she tottered andclutched his arm. 

"Really I am all right, " she assured him tremulously. "It isonly--only--"

He put his arm around her without comment; and again she yielded as achild might have yielded to the comfort of his support. 

After some seconds he spoke, and she fancied his voice sounded rathergrim. 

"I am going your way, " he said. "I will walk back with you. "

Hope was crying to herself in the darkness, but she hoped he did notnotice. 

"I think I shall go and meet Ronnie, " she said. "I don't want to goback. It--it's so lonely. "

"I will come in with you, " he returned. 

"Oh, no!" she said quickly. "No! I mean--I mean--I don't want you totrouble any more about me. Indeed, I shall be all right. "

He received the assurance in silence; and she began to wonder dolefullyif she had offended him. Then, with abrupt kindliness, he set her mindat rest. 

"Dry your eyes, " he said, "and leave off crying, like a good child!Ronnie's at the club, and won't be home at present. I didn't know youwere all alone, or I would have brought him along with me. That'sbetter. Now, shall we make a move?"

He slung his horse's bridle on his arm and, still supporting her withthe other, began to walk down the stony road. Hope made no furtherprotest. She had always considered Ronnie's major a rather formidableperson. She knew that Ronnie stood in awe of him, though she had alwaysfound him kind. 

They had not gone five yards when he stopped. 

"You are limping. What is it?"

She murmured something about the stones. 

"You had better ride, " he decided briefly. "Rupert will carry you like alamb. Ready? How's that?"

He lifted her up into the saddle as if she had been a child, and stoopedto arrange her foot in the strap of the stirrup. 

"Good heavens!" she heard him murmur, as he touched her shoe. "No wonderthe stones seemed hard! Quite comfortable?" he asked her, as hestraightened himself. 

"Quite, " she answered meekly. 

And he marched on, leading the horse with care. 

At the gate of the shadowy little compound that surrounded the bungalowshe had quitted so precipitately he paused. 

"I will leave the animal here, " he said, holding up his hands to her. 

She slipped into them submissively. 

The cry of a jackal somewhere beyond the native village made her startand tremble. Her nerves were still on edge. 

Major Baring slipped the bridle over the gate-post and took her hand inhis. The grip of his fingers was very strong and reassuring. 

"Come, " he said kindly, "let us go and look for this bogey of yours!"

But at this point Hope realized fully that she had made herselfridiculous, and that for the sake of her future self-respect she must bysome means restrain him from putting his purpose into execution. Shestood still and faced him. 

"Major Baring, " she said, her voice quivering in spite of her utmosteffort, "I want you--please--not to come any farther. I know I have beenvery foolish. I am sure of it now. And--please--do you mind going away, and not thinking any more about it?"

"Yes, I do, " said Major Baring. 

He spoke with unmistakable decision, and the girl's heart sank. 

"Listen!" he said quietly. "Like you, I think you have probably beenunnecessarily alarmed. But, even so, I am coming with you to satisfymyself. Or--if you prefer--I will go alone, and you can wait for mehere. "

"Oh, no!" said Hope quickly. "If--if you must go, I'll come, too. Butfirst, will you promise--whatever happens--not to--to laugh at me?"

Baring made an abrupt movement that she was at a loss to interpret. Itwas too dark for her to see his face with any distinctness. 

"Very well, " he said. "Yes; I promise that. "

Hope was still almost crying. She felt horribly ashamed. With her handin his, she went beside him up the short drive to the bungalow. And, asshe went, she vehemently wished that the earth would open and swallowher up. 

IV

HER NATURAL PROTECTOR

They ascended to the veranda still hand-in-hand. It was deserted. 

Baring led her straight along it till he came to the two chairs outsidethe drawing-room window. They were empty. A servant had just lighted alamp in the room behind them. 

"Go in!" said Baring. "I will come back to you. "

She obeyed him. She felt incapable of resistance just then. He passed onquietly, and she stood inside the room, waiting and listening withhushed breath and hands tightly clenched. 

The seconds crawled by, and again there came to her straining ears thecry of a jackal from far away. Then at last she caught the sound ofBaring's voice, curt and peremptory, and her heart stood still. But hewas only speaking to the _punkah-coolie_ round the corner, for almostinstantly the great fan above her head began to move. 

A few seconds more, and he reappeared at the window alone. Hope drew agreat breath of relief and awoke to the fact that she was tremblingviolently. 

She looked at him as he came quietly in. His lean, bronzed face, withthe purple scar of a sword-cut down one cheek, told her nothing. Onlyshe fancied that his mouth, under its narrow, black line of moustache, looked stern. 

He went straight up to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. 

"Tell me what frightened you!" he said, looking down at her with keenblue eyes that shone piercingly in his dark face. 

She shook her head instantly, unable to meet his look. 

"Please, " she said beseechingly, "please don't ask me! I would so muchrather not. "

"I have promised not to laugh at you, " he reminded her gravely. 

"I know, " she said. "I know. But really, really, I can't. It was sosilly of me to be frightened. I am not generally silly like that. But--somehow--to-day--"

Her voice failed her. He took his hand from her shoulder; and she knewsuddenly that, had he chosen, he could have compelled. 

"Don't be distressed!" he said. "Whatever it was, it's gone. Sit down, won't you?"

Hope dropped rather limply into a chair. The security of Baring'sprotecting presence was infinitely comforting, but her fright andsubsequent exertion had made her feel very weak. Baring went to thewindow and stood there for some seconds, with his back to her. She notedhis height and breadth of shoulder with a faint sense of pleasure. Shehad always admired this man. Secretly--his habitual kindness to hernotwithstanding--she was also a little afraid of him, but her fear didnot trouble her just then. 

He turned quietly at length and seated himself near the window. 

"How long does your uncle expect to be away?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"I never know; he may come back to-morrow, or perhaps not for days. "

Baring's black brows drew together. 

"Where is he?" he asked. She shook her head again. 

He said nothing; but his silence was so condemnatory that she feltherself called upon to defend the absent one. 

"You see, he came here in the first place because I begged so very hard. And he has to travel because of his book. I always knew that, so Ireally can't complain. Besides, I'm not generally lonely, and hardlyever nervous. And I have Ronnie. "

"Ronnie!" said Baring; and for the first time he looked contemptuous. 

Hope sighed. 

"It's quite my own fault, " she said humbly. "If I hadn't--"

"Pardon me! It is not your fault, " he interrupted grimly. "It isiniquitous that a girl like you should be left in such a place as thisentirely without protection. Have you a revolver?"

Hope looked startled. 

"Oh, no!" she said. "If I had, I should never dare to use it, even if Iknew how. "

Baring looked at her, still frowning. 

"I think you are braver than that, " he said. 

Hope flushed vividly, and rose. 

"No, " she said, a note of defiance in her voice. "I'm a miserablecoward, Major Baring. But no one knows it but you and, perhaps, oneother. So I hope you won't give me away. "

Baring did not smile. 

"Who else knows it?" he asked. 

Hope met his eyes steadily. She was evidently resolved to be weak nolonger. 

"It doesn't matter, does it?" she said. 

He did not answer her; and again she had a feeling that he was offended. 

There was a considerable pause before he spoke again. He seemed to berevolving something in his mind. Then at last, abruptly, he began totalk upon ordinary topics, and at once she felt more at her ease withhim. They sat by the window after that for the best part of an hour;till, in fact, the return of her brother put an end to their_tête-à-tête_. 

By those who were least intimate with the Carteret twins it was oftensaid that in feature they were exactly alike. Those who knew them bettersaw no more than a very strong resemblance in form and colouring, but itwent no farther. In expression they differed utterly. The boy's facelacked the level-browed honesty that was so conspicuous in the girl's. His mouth was irresolute. His eyes were uncertain. Yet he was agood-looking boy, notwithstanding these defects. He had a pleasant laughand winning manner, and was essentially kind-hearted, if swift to takeoffence. 

He came in through the window, walking rather heavily, and halted justinside the room, blinking, as if the light dazzled him. Baring gave hima single glance that comprehended him from head to foot, and rose fromhis chair. 

Again it seemed to Hope that she saw contempt upon his face; and a rushof indignation checked the quick words of welcome upon her lips. 

Her brother spoke first, and his words sounded rather slurred, as if hehad been running. 

"Hullo!" he said. "Here you are! Don't get up! I expected to find you!"

He addressed Baring, who replied instantly, and with extreme emphasis:

"That I am sure you did not. "

Ronnie started, and put his hand to his eyes as if confused. 

"Beg pardon, " he said, a moment later, in an odd tone of shame. "Ithought it was Hyde. The light put me off. It--it's Major Baring, isn'tit?"

"Yes; Baring. " Baring repeated his own name deliberately; and, as by asingle flash of revelation Hope understood the meaning of his contempt. 

She stood as if turned to stone. She had often seen Ronnie curiouslyexcited, even incoherently so, before that night, but she had never seenhim like this. She had never imagined before for a single instant whatnow she abruptly knew without the shadow of a doubt. 

A feeling that was like physical sickness came over her. She looked fromRonnie to Ronnie's major with a sort of piteous appeal. Baring turnedgravely towards her. 

"You will let me have a word alone with your brother?" he said quietly. "I was waiting to see him, as you know. "

She felt that he had given her a definite command, and she obeyed itmutely, almost mechanically. He opened the door for her, and she wentout in utter silence, sick at heart. 

V

MORE THAN A FRIEND

Two days later Hope received an invitation from Mrs. Latimer to join herat the Hill Station for a few weeks. 

She hesitated, for her brother's sake, to accept it, but he, urgedthereto by some very plain speaking from his major, persuaded her sostrongly that she finally yielded. 

Though she would not have owned it, Hope was, in fact, in sore need ofthis change. The heat had told upon her nerves and spirits. She had hadno fever, but she was far from well, as her friend, Mrs. Latimer, realized as soon as she saw her. 

She at once prescribed complete rest, and the week that followed was toHope the laziest and the most peaceful that she had ever known. She wasalways happy in Mrs. Latimer's society, and she had no desire just thenfor gaiety. The absolute freedom from care acted upon her like a tonic, and she very quickly began to recover her usual buoyant health. 

The colonel's wife watched her unobserved. She had by her a letter, written in the plain language of a man who knew no other, and she oftenreferred to this letter when she was alone; for there seemed to besomething between the lines, notwithstanding its plainness. 

As a result of this suspicion, when Hope rode back in Mrs. Latimer's_rickshaw_ from an early morning service at the little English church onthe hill, on the second Sunday after her arrival, a big figure, clad inwhite linen, rose from a _charpoy_ in Mrs. Latimer's veranda, andstepped down bareheaded to receive her. 

Hope's face, as she recognized the visitor, flushed so vividly that shewas aware of it, and almost feared to meet his eyes. But he spoke atonce, and thereby set her at her ease. 

"That's much better, " he said approvingly, as if he had only parted fromher the day before. "I was afraid you were going on the sick-list, but Isee you have thought better of it. Very wise of you. "

She met his smile with a feeling of glad relief. 

"How is Ronnie?" she said. 

He laughed a little at the hasty question. 

"Ronnie is quite well, and sends his love. He is going to have a fivedays' leave next week to come and see you. It would have been this week, but for me. "

Hope looked up at him enquiringly. 

"You see, " he quietly explained, "I was coming myself, and--it will seemodd to you, of course--I didn't want Ronnie. "

Hope was silent. There was something in his manner that baffled her. 

"Selfish of me, wasn't it?" he said. 

"I don't know, " said Hope. 

"It was, I assure you, " he returned; "sheer selfishness on my part. Arewe going to breakfast on the veranda? You will have to do the honours, Iknow. Mrs. Latimer is still in bed. "

Hope sat down thoughtfully. She had never seen Major Baring in thislight-hearted mood. She would have enjoyed it, but for the thought ofRonnie. 

"Wasn't he disappointed?" she asked presently. 

"Horribly, " said Baring. "He turned quite green when he heard. I don'tthink I had better tell you what he said. "

He was watching her quietly across the table, and she knew it. After amoment she raised her eyes. 

"Yes; tell me what he said, Major Baring!" she said. 

"Not yet, " said Baring. "I am waiting to hear you tell me that you areeven more bitterly disappointed than he was. "

"I don't see how I can tell you that, " said Hope, turning her attentionto the coffee-urn. 

"No? Why not?"

"Because it wouldn't be very friendly, " she answered gravely. 

"Do you know, I almost dared to fancy it was because it wouldn't betrue?" said Baring. 

She glanced up at that, and their eyes met. Though he was smiling alittle, there was no mistaking the message his held for her. Shecoloured again very deeply, and bent her head to hide it. 

He did not keep her waiting. Very quietly, very resolutely, he leanedtowards her across the table, and spoke. 

"I will tell you now what your brother said to me, Hope, " he said, hisvoice half-quizzical, half-tender. "He's an impertinent young rascal, but I bore with him for your sake, dear. He said: 'Go in and win, oldfellow, and I'll give you my blessing!' Generous of him, wasn't it? Butthe question is, have I won?"

Yet she could not speak. Only as he stretched out his hands to her, shelaid her own within them without an instant's hesitation, and sufferedthem to remain in his close grasp. When he spoke to her again, his voicewas sunk very low. 

"How did I come to propose in this idiotic fashion across thebreakfast-table?" he said. "Never mind, it's done now--or nearly done. You mustn't tremble, dear. I have been rather sudden, I know. I shouldhave waited longer; but, under the circumstances, it seemed better tospeak at once. But there is nothing to frighten you. Just look me in theface and tell me, may I be more than a friend to you? Will you have mefor a husband?" Hope raised her eyes obediently, with a sudden sense ofconfidence unutterable. They were full of the quick tears of joy. 

"Of course!" she said instantly. "Of course!" She blushed againafterwards, when she recalled her prompt, and even rapturous, answer tohis question. But, at the time, it was the most natural and spontaneousthing in the world. It was not in her at that moment to have answeredhim otherwise. And Baring knew it, understanding so perfectly that noother word was necessary on either side. He only bent his head, and heldher two hands very closely to his lips before he gently let them go. Itwas his sole reply to her glad response. Yet she felt as if there wassomething solemn in his action; almost as if thereby he registered avow. 

VI

HER ENEMY

Notwithstanding her determination to return to Ghantala after thebreaking of the monsoon. Hope stayed on at the Hill Station with Mrs. Latimer till the rains were nearly over. She had wished to return, buther hostess, her _fiancé_, and her brother were all united in theresolve to keep her where she was. So insistent were they that theyprevailed at length. It had been a particularly bad season at Ghantala, and sickness was rife there. 

Baring even went so far as positively to forbid her to return till thisshould have abated. 

"You will have to obey me when we are married, you know, " he grimly toldher. "So you may as well begin at once. "

And Hope obeyed him. There was something about this man that compelledher obedience. Her secret fear of him had not wholly disappeared. Therewere times when the thought that she might one day incur his displeasuremade her uneasy. His strength awed even while it thrilled her. Behindhis utmost tenderness she felt his mastery. 

And so she yielded, and remained at the Hill Station till Mrs. Latimerherself returned to Ghantala in October. She and Ronnie had not beentogether for nearly six weeks, and the separation seemed to her like asmany months. He was at the station to meet them, and the moment she sawhim she was conscious of a shock. She had never before seen him look sohollow-eyed and thin. 

He greeted her, however, with a gaiety that, in some degree, reassuredher. He seemed delighted to have her with him again, was full of thenews and gossip of the station, and chattered like a schoolboythroughout the drive to their bungalow. 

Her uncle came out of his room to welcome her, and then burrowed backagain, and remained invisible for the rest of the evening. But Hope didnot want him. She wanted no one but Ronnie just then. 

The night was chilly, and they had a fire. Hope lay on a sofa before it, and Ronnie sat and smoked. Both were luxuriously comfortable till a handrapped smartly upon the window and made them jump. 

Ronnie exclaimed with a violence that astonished Hope, and started tohis feet. She also sprang up eagerly, almost expecting to see her_fiancé_. But her expectations were quickly dashed. 

"It's that fellow Hyde!" Ronnie said, looking at her rather doubtfully. "You don't mind?"

Her face fell, but he did not wait for her reply. He stepped across tothe window, and admitted the visitor. 

Hyde sauntered in with a casual air. 

He came across to her, smiling in the way she loathed, and almost beforeshe realized it he had her hand in a tight, impressive grip, and hispale eyes were gazing full into hers. 

"You look as fresh as an English rose, " was his deliberate greeting. 

Hope freed her hand with a slight, involuntary gesture of disgust. Tillthe moment of seeing him again she had almost forgotten how utterlyobjectionable he was. 

"I am quite well, " she said coldly. "I think I shall go to bed, Ronnie. I'm tired. "

Ronnie was pouring some whisky into a glass. She noticed that his handwas very shaky. 

"All right, " he said, not looking at her. 

"You're not going to desert us already?" said Hyde; still, as she felt, mocking her with his smile. "It will be dark, indeed, when Hope iswithdrawn. "

He went to the door, but paused with his hand upon it. She looked at himwith the wild shrinking of a trapped creature in her eyes. 

"Never mind, " he laughed softly; "I am very tenacious. Even now--youwill scarcely believe it--I still have--Hope!"

He opened the door with the words, and, as she passed through inunbroken silence, her face as white as marble, there was something inhis words, something of self-assured power, almost of menace, thatstruck upon her like a breath of evil. She would have stayed and defiedhim had she dared. But somehow, inexplicably, she was afraid. 

VII

THE SCRAPE

Very late that night there came a low knock at Hope's door. She waslying awake, and she instantly started up on her elbow. 

"Who is it?" she called. 

The door opened softly, and Ronnie answered her. 

"I thought you would like to say good-night, Hope, " he said. 

"Oh, come in, dear!" Hope sat up eagerly. She had not expected thisattention from Ronnie. "I'm wide awake. I'm so glad you came!"

He slipped into the room, and, reaching her, bent to kiss her; then, asshe clung closely to him, he sat down on the edge of her bed. 

"I'm sorry Hyde annoyed you, " he said. 

She leaned her head against him, and was silent. 

"It'll be a good thing for you when you're married, " Ronnie went onpresently. "Baring will take better care of you than I do. "

Something in his tone went straight to her heart. Her clinging armstightened, but still she was silent. For what he said was unanswerable. 

When he spoke again, she felt it was with an effort. 

"Baring came round to-night to see you. I went out and spoke to him. Itold him you had gone to bed, and so he didn't come in. I was glad hedidn't. Hyde was there, and they don't hit it particularly well. Infact--" he hesitated. "I would rather he didn't know Hyde was here. Baring's a good chap--the best in the world. He's done no end for me;more than I can ever tell you. But he's awfully hard in some ways. Ican't tell him everything. He doesn't always understand. "

Again there sounded in his voice that faint, wistful note that so smoteupon Hope's heart. She drew nearer to him, her cheek against hisshoulder. 

"Oh, Ronnie, " she said, and her voice quivered passionately, "neverthink that of me, dear! Never think that I can't understand!"

He kissed her forehead. 

"Bless you, old girl!" he whispered huskily. 

"My marriage will make no difference--no difference, " she insisted. "Youand I will still be to each other what we have always been. There willbe the same trust between us, the same confidence. Rather than losethat, I will never marry at all!"

She spoke with vehemence, but Ronnie was not carried away by it. 

"Baring will have the right to know all your secrets, " he said gloomily. 

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Hope impulsively. "He would never expect that. He knows that we are twins, and there is no tie in the world that isquite like that. "

Ronnie was silent, but she felt that it was not the silence ofacquiescence. She took him by the shoulders and made him face her. 

"Ronnie, " she said very earnestly, "if you will only tell me things, andlet me help you where I can, I swear to you--I swear to you mostsolemnly--that I will never betray your confidence to Monty, or to anyone else: I know that he would never ask it of me; but even if hedid--even if he did--I would not do it. " She spoke so steadfastly, soloyally, that he was strongly moved. He thrust his arm boyishly roundher. 

"All right, dear old girl, I trust you, " he said. "I'll tell you allabout it. As I see you have guessed, there is a bit of a scrape; but itwill be all right in two or three weeks. I've been a fool, and got intodebt again. Baring helped me out once. That's partly why I'm soparticularly anxious that he shouldn't get wind of it this time. Factis, I'm very much in Hyde's power for the time being. But, as I say, itwill be all right before long. I've promised to ride his Waler for theGhantala Valley Cup next month. It's a pretty safe thing, and if I pullit off, as I intend to do, everything will be cleared, and I shall beout of his hands. It's a sort of debt of honour, you see. I can't getout of it, but I shall be jolly glad when it's over. We'll chuck himthen, if he isn't civil. But till then I'm more or less helpless. Soyou'll do your best to tolerate him for my sake, won't you?"

A great sigh rose from Hope's heart, but she stifled it. Hyde's attitudeof insolent power was explained to her, and she would have given all shehad at that moment to have been free to seek Baring's advice. 

"I'll try, dear, " she said. "But I think the less I see of him thebetter it will be. Are you quite sure of winning the Cup?"

"Oh, quite, " said Ronnie, with confidence. "Quite. Do you remember theraces we used to have when we were kids? We rode barebacked in thosedays. You could stick on anything. Remember?"

Yes, Hope remembered; and a sudden, almost fierce regret surged upwithin her. 

"Oh, Ronnie, " she said, "I wish we were kids still!"

He laughed at her softly, and rose. 

"I know better, " he said; "and so does Baring. Good-night, old girl!Sleep well!"

And with that he left her. But Hope scarcely slept till break of day. 

VIII

BEFORE THE RACE

Hope had arranged to go to the races with Mrs. Latimer after previouslylunching with her. 

When the day arrived she spent the morning working on the veranda in thesunshine. It was a perfect day of Indian winter, and under its influenceshe gradually forgot her anxieties, and fell to dreaming while sheworked. 

Down below the compound she heard the stream running swiftly between itsbanks, with a bubbling murmur like half-suppressed laughter. It wasfuller than she had ever known it. The rains had swelled the riverhigher up the valley, and they had opened the sluice-gates to relievethe pressure upon the dam that had been built there after the disastrousflood that had drowned the English girl years before. 

Hope loved to hear that soft chuckling between the reeds. It made herthink of an English springtime. The joy of spring was in her veins. Sheturned her face to the sunshine with a smile of purest happiness. Onlytwo months more to the zenith of her happiness!

There came the sound of a step on the veranda--a stumbling, uncertainstep. She turned swiftly in her chair, and sprang up. Ronnie hadreturned to prepare for the race, and she had not heard him. She had notseen him before that day, and she felt a momentary compunction as shemoved to greet him. And then--her heart stood still. 

He was standing a few paces away, supporting himself against a pillar ofthe veranda. His eyes were fixed and heavy, like the eyes of a manwalking in his sleep. He stared at her dully, as if he were looking at acomplete stranger. 

Hope stopped short, gazing at him in speechless consternation. 

After several moments he spoke thickly, scarcely intelligibly. 

"I can't race to-day, " he said. "Not well enough. Hyde must find asubstitute. "

He could hardly articulate the last word, but Hope caught his meaning. The whole miserable tragedy was written up before her in plain, unmistakable characters. 

But almost as quickly as she perceived it came the thought that no oneelse must know. Something must be done, even though it was at theeleventh hour. 

Her first instinct was to send for Baring, but she thrust it from her. No! She must find another way. There must be a way out if she were onlyquick enough to see it--some way by which she could cover up hisdisgrace so that none should know of it. There was a way--surely therewas a way! Ronnie's dull stare became intolerable. She went to him, bravely, steadfastly. 

"Go and lie down!" she said. "I will see about it for you. "

Something in her own words sent a sudden flash through her brain. Shecaught her breath, and her face turned very white. But her steadfastnessdid not forsake her. She took Ronnie by the arm and guided him to hisroom. 

IX

THE RACE

"Such a pity. Hope can't come!"

Mrs. Latimer addressed Baring, who had just approached her across theracecourse. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the scene was verygay. 

Baring, who had drawn near with a certain eagerness, seemed to stiffenat her words. 

"Can't come!" he echoed. "Why not?"

Mrs. Latimer handed him a note. 

"She sent this round half an hour ago. "

Baring read the note with bent brows. It merely stated that the writerhad been working all the morning and was a little tired. Would Mrs. Latimer kindly understand and excuse her?

He handed it back without comment. 

"Where is young Carteret?" he asked. "Have you seen him yet?"

"No, " she answered. "Somebody was saying he was late. Ah! There he is, surely--just going into the weighing-tent. What a superb horse that isof Mr. Hyde's! Do you think he will win the Cup?"

Baring thought it likely, but he said it with so preoccupied an air thatMrs. Latimer smiled, and considerately refrained from detaining him. 

She watched him walk down towards the weighing-tent; but before hereached it, she saw the figure of young Carteret issue forth at thefarther end, and start off at a run with his saddle on his shouldertowards the enclosure where the racers were waiting. He was late, andshe thought he looked flurried. 

A few minutes later Baring returned to her. 

"The boy is behindhand, as usual, " he remarked. "I didn't get near him. Time is just up. I hear the Rajah thinks very highly of Hyde's Waler. "

Mrs. Latimer looked across at the Indian Prince who was presenting theCup. He was seated in the midst of a glittering crowd of natives andBritish officers. She saw that he was closely scanning the restless lineof horses at the starting-point. 

Through her glasses she sought the big black Waler. He was foaming andstamping uneasily, and she saw that his rider's face was deadly pale. 

"I don't believe Ronnie can be well, " she said. "He looks so nervous. "

Baring grunted in a dissatisfied note, but said nothing. 

Another two minutes, and the signal was given. There were ten horses inthe race. It was a fair start, and the excitement in the watching crowdbecame at once intense. 

Baring remained at Mrs. Latimer's side. She was on her feet, andscarcely breathing. The black horse stretched himself out like agreyhound, galloping splendidly over the shining green of the course. His rider, crouched low in the saddle, looked as if at any instant hemight be hurled to the earth. 

Baring watched him critically, his jaw set and grim. Obviously, the boywas not himself, and he fancied he knew the reason. 

"If he pulls it off, it'll be the biggest fluke of his life, " hemuttered. 

"Isn't it queer?" whispered Mrs. Latimer. "I never saw young Carteretride like that before. "

Baring was silent. He began to think he understood Hope's failure to putin an appearance. 

Gradually the black Waler drew away from all but two others, who hotlycontested the leadership. He was running superbly, though he apparentlyreceived but small encouragement from his rider. 

As they drew round the curve at the further end of the course, he wasgalloping next to the rails. As they finally turned into the straightrun home, he was leading. 

But the horse next to him, urged by his rider, who was also his owner, made so strenuous an effort that it became obvious to all that he wasgaining upon the Waler. 

A great yell went up of "Carteret! Carteret! Wake up, Carteret! Don'tgive it away!" And the Waler's rider, as if startled by the cry, suddenly and convulsively slashed the animal's withers. 

Through a great tumult of shouting the two horses dashed past thewinning-post. It seemed a dead heat; but, immediately after, the newsspread that Hyde's horse was the winner. The Waler had gained hisvictory by a neck. 

Hyde was leading his horse round to the Rajah's stand. His jockey, looking white and exhausted, sat so loosely in the saddle that he seemedto sway with the animal's movements. He did not appear to hear thecheering around him. 

Baring took up his stand near the weighing-tent, and, a few minuteslater, Hyde and his jockey came up together. The boy's cap was draggeddown over his eyes, and he looked neither to right nor left. 

Hyde, perceiving Baring, pushed forward abruptly. 

"I want a word with you, " he said. "I've been trying to catch you forsome days past. But first, what did you think of the race?" He coollyfastened on to Baring's elbow, and the latter had to pause. Hyde'scompanion passed swiftly on; and Hyde, seeing the look on Baring's face, began to laugh. 

"It's all right; you needn't look so starched. The little beggar's beenstarving himself for the occasion, and overdone it. He'll pull roundwith a little feeding up. Tell me what you thought of the race! Splendidchap, that animal of mine, eh?"

He kept Baring talking for several minutes; and, when they finallyparted, his opportunity had gone. 

Baring went into the weighing-tent, but Ronnie was nowhere to be seen. And he wondered rather grimly as he walked away if Hyde had detained himpurposely to give the boy a chance to escape. 

X

THE ENEMY'S TERMS

It was nearly dark that evening when Hope stood again on the veranda ofthe Magician's, bungalow, and listened to the water running through thereeds. She thought it sounded louder than in the morning--- moreinsistent, less mirthful. She shivered a little as she stood there. Shefelt lonely; her uncle was away for a couple of days, and Ronnie was inhis room. She was bracing herself to go and rouse him to dress for mess. Slowly, at last, she turned to go. But at the same instant a voicecalled to her from below, and she stopped short. 

"Ah, don't run away!" it said. "I've come on purpose to see you--on amatter of importance. "

Reluctantly Hope waited. She knew the voice well, and it made her quiverin every nerve with the instinct of flight. Yet she summoned all herresolution and stood still, while Hyde calmly mounted the veranda stepsand approached her. He was in riding-dress, and he carried a crop, walking with all the swaggering insolence that she loathed. 

"There's something I want to say to you, " he said. "I can come in, Isuppose? It won't take me long. "

He took her permission for granted, and turned into the drawing-room. Hope followed him in silence. She could not pretend to this man that hispresence was a pleasure to her. She hated him, and deep in her heart shefeared him as she feared no one else in the world. 

He looked at her with eyes of cynical criticism by the light of theshaded lamp. She felt that there was something worse than insolenceabout him that night--something of cruelty, of brutality even, fromwhich she was powerless to escape. 

"Come!" he said, as she did not speak. "Doesn't it occur to you that Ihave been a particularly good friend to you to-day?"

Hope faced him steadily. Twice before she had evaded this man, but sheknew that to-night evasion was out of the question. She must confronthim without panic, and alone. 

"I think you must tell me what you mean, " she said, her voice very low. 

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and then laughed at her--hisabominable, mocking laugh. 

"I have noticed before, " he said, "that when a woman finds herself in atight corner, she invariably tries to divert attention by askingunnecessary questions. It's a harmless little stratagem that may serveher turn. But in this case, let me assure you, it is sheer waste oftime. I hold you--and your brother, also--in the hollow of my hand. Andyou know it. "

He spoke slowly, with a confidence from which there was no escape. Hiseyes still closely watched her face. And Hope felt again that wildterror, which only he had ever inspired in her, knocking at her heart. 

She did not ask him a second time what he meant. He had made her realizethe utter futility of prevarication. Instead, she forced herself tomeet his look boldly, and grapple with him with all her desperatecourage. 

"My brother owed you a debt of honour, " she said; "and it has been paid. What more do you want?"

A glitter of admiration shone for a moment through his cynicism. Thiswas better than meek surrender. A woman who fought was worth conquering. 

"You are not going to acknowledge, then, " he said, "that you--youpersonally--are in any way indebted to me?"

"Certainly not!" The girl's eyes did not flinch before his. Save thatshe was trembling, he would scarcely have detected her fear. "You havedone nothing for me, " she said. "You only served your own purpose. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Hyde softly. "So that is how you look at it, is it?"

He moved, and went close to her. Still she did not shrink. She wasfighting desperately--desperately--a losing battle. 

"Well, " he said, after a moment, in which she withstood him silentlywith all her strength, "in one sense that is true. I did serve my ownpurpose. But have you, I wonder, any idea what that purpose of minewas?"

He waited, but she did not answer him. She was nearly at the end of herstrength. Hyde did not offer to touch her. He only smiled a little atthe rising panic in her white face. 

"Do you know what I am going to do now?" he said. "I am going tomess--it's a guest night--and they will drink my health as the winner ofthe Ghantala Cup. And then I shall propose someone else's health. Canyou guess whose?"

She shrank then, shrank perceptibly, painfully, as the victim mustshrink, despite all his resolution, from the hot iron of the torturer. 

Hyde stood for a second longer, watching her. Then he turned. There wasfiendish triumph in his eyes. 

"Good-bye!" he said. 

She caught her breath sharply, spasmodically, as one who suppresses acry of pain. And then, before he reached the window, she spoke:

"Please wait!"

He turned instantly, and came back to her. 

"Come!" he said. "You are going to be reasonable after all. "

"What is it that you want?" Her desperation sounded in her voice. Shelooked at him with eyes of wild appeal. Her defiance was all gone. Thesmile went out of Hyde's face, and suddenly she saw the primitive savagein possession. She had seen it before, but till that moment she hadnever realized quite what it was. 

"What do I want?" he said. "I want you, and you know it. That fellowBaring is not the man for you. You are going to give him up. Do youhear? Or else--if you prefer it--he will give you up. I don't care whichit is, but one or the other it shall be. Now do we understand oneanother?"

Hope stared at him, speechless, horror-stricken, helpless!

He came nearer to her, but she did not recoil, for as a serpent holdsits prey, so he held her. She wanted to protest, to resist him fiercely, but she was mute. Even the power to flee was taken from her. She couldonly stand as if chained to the ground, stiff and paralyzed, awaitinghis pleasure. No nightmare terror had ever so obsessed her. The agony ofit was like a searing flame. 

And Hyde, seeing her anguished helplessness, came nearer still with asort of exultant deliberation, and put his arm about her as she stood. 

"I thought I should win the trick, " he said, with a laugh that seemed toturn her to ice. "Didn't I tell you weeks ago that I had--Hope?"

She did not attempt to answer or to resist. Her lips were quitebloodless. A surging darkness was about her, but yet she remainedconscious--vividly horribly conscious--of the trap that had so suddenlyclosed upon her. Through it she saw his face close to her own, with thatsneering, devilish smile about his mouth that she knew so well. And theeyes with their glittering savagery were mocking her--mocking her. 

Another instant and his lips would have pressed her own. He held herfast, so fast that she felt almost suffocated. It was the most hideousmoment of her life. And still she could neither move nor protest. Itseemed as if, body and soul, she was his prisoner. 

But suddenly, unexpectedly, he paused. His arms slackened and fellabruptly from her; so abruptly that she tottered, feeling vaguely forsupport. She saw his face change as he turned sharply away. Andinstinctively, notwithstanding the darkness that blinded her, she knewthe cause. She put her hand over her eyes and strove to recover herself. 

XI

WITHOUT DEFENCE

When Hope looked up, the silence had become unbearable. She saw Baringstanding quite motionless near the window by which he had entered. Hewas not looking at her, and she felt suddenly, crushingly, that she hadbecome less than nothing in his sight, not so much as a thing, to beignored. 

Hyde, quite calm and self-possessed, still stood close to her. But hehad turned his back upon her to face the intruder. And she felt herselfto be curiously apart from them both, almost like a spectator at a play. 

It was Hyde who at last broke the silence when it had begun to tortureher nerves beyond endurance. 

"Perhaps this _rencontre_ is not as unfortunate as it looks at firstsight, " he remarked complacently. "It will save me the trouble ofseeking an interview with you to explain what you are now in a positionto see for yourself. I believe a second choice is considered a woman'sprivilege. Miss Carteret, as you observe, has just availed herself ofthis. And I am afraid that in consequence you will have to abdicate inmy favour. "

Baring heard him out in complete silence. As Hyde ended, he movedquietly forward into the room. Hope felt him drawing nearer, but shecould not face him. His very quietness was terrible to her, and she wasdesperately conscious that she had no weapon of defence. 

She had not thought that he would so much as notice her, but she waswrong. He passed by Hyde without a glance, and reached her. 

"What am I to understand?" he said. 

She started violently at the sound of his voice. She knew that Hyde hadturned towards her again, but she looked at neither of them. She wastrembling so that she could scarcely stand. Her very lips felt cold, andshe could not utter a word. 

After a brief pause Baring spoke again: "Can't you answer me?"

There was no anger in his voice, but there was also no kindness. Sheknew that he was watching her with a piercing scrutiny, and she darednot raise her eyes. She shook her head at last, as he waited for herreply. 

"Are you willing for me to take an explanation from Mr. Hyde?" heasked; and his tone rang suddenly hard. "Has he the right to explain?"

"Of course I have the right, " said Hyde easily. 

"Tell him so, Hope!"

Baring bent towards the girl. 

"If he has the right, " he said, his voice quiet but very insistent, "look me in the face--and tell me so!"

She made a convulsive effort and looked up at him. 

"Yes, " she said in a whisper. "He has the right. "

Baring straightened himself abruptly, almost as if he had received ablow in the face. 

He stood for a second silent. Then:

"Where is your brother?" he asked. 

Hope hesitated, and at once Hyde answered for her. 

"He isn't back yet. He stopped at the club. "

"That, " said Baring sternly, "is a lie. "

He laid his hand suddenly upon Hope's shoulder. 

"Surely you can tell me the truth at least!" he said. 

Something in his tone pierced the wild panic at her heart. She looked upat him again, meeting the mastery of his eyes. 

"He is in his room, " she said. "Mr. Hyde didn't know. "

Hyde laughed, and at the sound the hand on Hope's shoulder closed like avice, till she bit her lip with the effort to endure the pain. Baringsaw it, and instantly set her free. 

"Go to your brother, " he said, "and ask him to come and speak to me!"

The authority in his voice was not to be gainsaid. She threw animploring look at Hyde, and went. She fled like a wild creature alongthe veranda to her brother's room, and tapped feverishly, frantically atthe window. Then she paused listening intently for a reply. But shecould hear nothing save the loud beating of her heart. It drummed in herears like the hoofs of a galloping horse. Desperately she knocked again. 

"Let me in!" she gasped. "Let me in!"

There came a blundering movement, and the door opened. 

"Hullo!" said Ronnie, in a voice of sleepy irritation. "What's up?"

She stumbled into the dark room, breathless and sobbing. 

"Oh, Ronnie!" she cried. "Oh, Ronnie; you must help me now!"

He fastened the door behind her, and as she sank down half-fainting in achair, she heard him groping for matches on the dressing-table. 

He struck one, and lighted a lamp. She saw that his hand was very shaky, but that he managed to control it. His face was pale, and there weredeep shadows under his heavy eyes, but he was himself again, and athrill of thankfulness ran through her. There was still a chance, stilla chance!

XII

THE PENALTY

Five minutes later, or it might have been less, the brother and sisterstepped out on to the veranda to go to the drawing-room. They had toturn a corner of the bungalow to reach it, and the moment they did soHope stopped dead. A man's voice, shouting curses, came from the openwindow; and, with it, the sound of struggling and the sound ofblows--blows delivered with the precision and regularity of amachine--frightful, swinging blows that sounded like revolver shots. 

"What is it?" gasped Hope in terror. "What is it?" But she knew verywell what it was; and Ronnie knew, too. 

"You stay here, " he said. "I'll go and stop it. "

"No, no!" she gasped back. "I am coming with you; I must. " She slippedher cold hand into his, and they ran together towards the commotion. 

Reaching the drawing-room window, Ronnie stopped, and put the tremblinggirl behind him. But he himself did not enter. He only stood still, witha cowed look on his face, and waited. In the middle of the room, Baring, his face set and terrible, stood gripping Hyde by the torn collar of hiscoat and thrashing him, deliberately, mercilessly, with his ownriding-whip. How long the punishment had gone on the two at the windowcould only guess. But it was evident that Hyde was nearing exhaustion. His face was purple in patches, and the curses he tried to utter camemaimed and broken and incoherent from his shaking lips. He had almostceased to struggle in the unwavering grip that held him; he only movedconvulsively at each succeeding blow. 

"Oh, stop him!" implored Hope, behind her brother. "Stop him!" Then, ashe did not move, she pushed wildly past him into the room. 

Baring saw her, and instantly, almost as if he had been awaiting her, stayed his hand. He did not speak. He simply took Hyde by the shouldersand half-carried, half-propelled him to the window, through which hethrust him. 

He returned empty-handed and closed the window. Ronnie had entered, andwas standing by his sister, who had dropped upon her knees by the sofaand hidden her face in the cushions, sobbing with a pasionateabandonment that testified to nerves that had given way utterly at lastbeneath a strain too severe to be borne. Baring just glanced at her, then turned his attention to her brother. 

"I have been doing your work for you, " he remarked grimly. "Aren't youashamed of yourself?" He put his hand upon Ronnie, and twisted him roundto face the light, looking at him piercingly. "Aren't you ashamed ofyourself?" he repeated. 

Ronnie met his eyes irresolutely for a moment, then looked away towardsHope. She had become very still, but her face remained hidden. There wassomething tense about her attitude. After a moment Ronnie spoke, hisvoice very low. 

"I suppose you had a reason for what you have just been doing?"

"Yes, " Baring said sternly, "I had a reason. Do you mean me tounderstand that you didn't know that fellow to be a blackguard?"

Ronnie made no answer. He stood like a beaten dog. 

"If you didn't know it, " Baring continued, "I am sorry for yourintelligence. If you did, you deserve the same treatment as he has justreceived. "

Hope stirred at the words, stirred and moaned, as if she were in pain;and again momentarily Baring glanced at her. But his face showed nosoftening. 

"I mean what I say, " he said, turning inexorably to Ronnie. "I told youlong ago that that man was not fit to associate with your sister. Youmust have known it for yourself; yet you continued to bring him to thehouse. What I have just done was in her defence. Mark that, for--as youknow--I am not in the habit of acting hastily. But there are someoffences that only a horsewhip can punish. " He set the boy free with acontemptuous gesture, and crossed the room to Hope. "Now I havesomething to say to you, " he said. 

She started and quivered, but she did not raise her head. Very quietlyhe stooped and lifted her up. He saw that she was too upset for themoment to control herself, and he put her into a chair and waited besideher. After several seconds she slipped a trembling hand into his, andspoke. 

"Monty, " she said, "I have something to say to you first. "

Her action surprised him. It touched him also, but he did not show it. 

"I am listening, " he said gravely. 

She looked up at him and uttered a sharp sigh. Then, with an effort, sherose and faced him. 

"You are very angry with me, " she said. "You are going to--to--give meup. "

His face hardened. He looked back at her with a sternness that sent theblood to her heart. He said nothing whatever. She went on withdifficulty. 

"But before you do, " she said, "I want to tell you that--that--eversince you asked me to marry you I have loved you--with my whole heart;and I have never--in thought or deed--been other than true to my love. Ican't tell you any more than that. It is no good to question me. I mayhave done things of which you would strongly disapprove, which you wouldeven condemn, but my heart has always been true to you--always. "

She stopped. Her lips were quivering painfully. She saw that her wordshad not moved him to confidence in her, and it seemed as if the wholeworld had suddenly turned dark and empty and cold--a place to wander in, but never to rest. 

A long silence followed that supreme effort of hers. Baring'seyes--blue, merciless as steel--were fixed upon her in a gaze thatpierced and hurt her. Yet he forced her to endure it. He held her infront of him ruthlessly, almost cruelly. 

"So I am not to question you?" he said at last. "You object to that?"

She winced at his tone. 

"Don't!" she said under her breath. "Don't hurt me more--more than youneed!"

He was silent again, grimly, interminably silent, it seemed to her. Andall the while she felt him doing battle with her, beating down herresistance, mastering her, compelling her. 

"Hope!" he said at length. 

She looked up at him. Her knees were shaking under her. Her heart wasbeginning to whisper that her strength was nearly spent; that she wouldnot be able to resist much longer. 

"Tell me, " he said very quietly, "this one thing only! What is the holdthat Hyde has over you?"

She shook her head. 

"That is the one thing--"

"It is the one thing that I must know, " he said sternly. 

She was white to the lips. 

"I can't answer you, " she said. 

"You must answer me!" He turned her quivering face up to his own. "Doyou hear me, Hope?" he said. "I insist upon your answering me. "

He still spoke quietly, but she was suddenly aware that he was puttingforth his whole strength. It came upon her like a physical, crushingweight. It overwhelmed her. She hid her face with an anguished cry. Hehad conquered her. 

In another moment she would have yielded. Her opposition was dead. Butabruptly, unexpectedly, there came an interruption. Ronnie, very pale, and looking desperate, came between them. 

"Look here, sir, " he said, "you--you are going too far. I can't have mysister coerced in this fashion. If she prefers to keep this matter toherself, she must do so. You can't force her to speak. "

Baring released Hope and turned upon him almost violently, but, seeingthe unusual, if precarious, air of resolution with which Ronnieconfronted him, he checked himself. He walked to the end of the room andback before he spoke. His features were set like a mask when hereturned. 

"You may be right, " he said, "though I think it would have been betterfor everyone if you had not interfered. Hope, I am going. If you cannotbring yourself to tell me the whole truth without reservation, there canbe nothing further between us. I fear that, after all, I spoke too soon. I can enter upon no compact that is not based upon absoluteconfidence. "

He spoke coldly, decidedly, without a trace of feeling; and, havingspoken, he went deliberately to the window. There he stood for a fewseconds with his back turned upon the room; then, as the silenceremained unbroken, he quietly lifted the catch and let himself out. 

In the room he left not a word was spoken for many tragic minutes. 

XIII

THE CURSE OF THE VALLEY

Hope had some difficulty in persuading Ronnie to attend mess that night, though, as a matter of fact, she was longing for solitude. 

He went at last, and she was glad, for a great restlessness possessedher to which it was a relief to give way. She wandered about the verandain the dark after his departure, trying to realize fully what hadhappened. It had all come upon her so suddenly. She had been forced toact throughout without a moment's pause for thought. Now that it was allover she wanted to collect herself and face the worst. 

Her engagement was at an end. It was mainly that fact that she wished tograsp. But somehow she found it very difficult. She had grown into thehabit of regarding herself as belonging exclusively and for all time toMontagu Baring. 

"He has given me up! He has given me up!" she whispered to herself, asshe paced to and fro along the crazy veranda. She recalled the look hisface had worn, the sternness, the pitilessness of his eyes. She hadalways felt at the back of her heart that he had it in him to be hard, merciless. But she had not really thought that she would ever shrinkbeneath the weight of his anger. She had trusted blindly to his love tospare her. She had imagined herself to be so dear to him that she mustbe exempt. Others--it did not surprise her that others feared him. Butshe--his promised wife--what could she have to fear?

She paused at the end of the veranda, looking up. The night was full ofstars, and it was very cold. At the bottom of the compound she heard thewater running swiftly. It did not chuckle any more. It had become aminiature roar. It almost seemed to threaten her. 

She remembered how she had listened to it in the morning, sitting in thesunshine, dreaming; and her heart suddenly contracted with a painintolerable. Those golden dreams were over for ever. He had given herup. 

Again her restlessness urged her. Cold as it was, she could not bringherself to go indoors. She descended into the compound, passed swiftlythrough it, and began to climb the rough ground of the hill that rosebehind it above the native village. 

The Magician's bungalow looked very ghostly in the starlight. Presentlyshe paused, and stood motionless, gazing down at it. She rememberedhow, when she and her uncle had first come to it, the native servantshad told them of the curse that had been laid upon it; of the evilspirits that had dwelt there; of voices that had cried in the night! Wasit true, she wondered vaguely? Was it possible for a place to be cursed?

A faint breeze ran down the valley, stirring the trees to a furtivewhispering. Again, subconsciously, she was aware of the cold, and movedto return. At the same moment there came a sound like the report of acannon half a mile away, followed by a long roar that was unlikeanything she had ever heard--a sound so appalling, so overwhelming, thatfor an instant, seized with a nameless terror, she stood as one turnedto stone. 

And then--before the impulse of flight to the bungalow had reached herbrain--the whole terrible disaster burst upon her. Like a monster ofdestruction, that which had been a gurgling stream rose above its banksin a mighty, brown flood, surged like an inrushing sea over the moonlitcompound, and swept down the valley, turning it into a whirling turmoilof water. 

XIV

HOW THE TALE WAS TOLD

Ronnie Carteret was the subject of a good deal of chaff that night atmess. The Rajah was being entertained, and he was the only man who paidthe young officer any compliments on the matter of his achievement onthe racecourse. Everyone else openly declared that the horse, and notits rider, was the one to be congratulated. 

"Never saw anything so ludicrous in my life, " one critic said. "Helooked like a rag doll in the saddle. How he managed to stick on passesme. Is it the latest from America, Ronnie? Leaves something to bedesired, old chap! I should stick to the old style, if I were you. "

Ronnie had no answer for the comments and advice showered upon him fromall sides. He received them all in silence, sullenly ignoring derisivequestions. 

Hyde was not present, to the surprise of every one. All knew that he hadbeen invited, and there was some speculation upon his non-appearance. 

Baring was there, quiet and self-contained as usual. No one ever chaffedBaring. It was generally recognized that he did not provide good sport. When the toasts were over he left the table. 

It was soon after his departure that a sound like a distant explosionwas heard by those in the messroom, causing some discussion there. 

"It's only some fool letting off fireworks, " someone said; and as thisseemed a reasonable explanation, no one troubled to enquire further. Andso fully half an hour passed before the truth was known. 

It was Baring who came in with the news, and none who saw it everforgot his face as he threw open the messroom door. It was like the faceof a man suddenly stricken with a mortal hurt. 

"Heavens, man! What's the matter?" the colonel exclaimed, at sight ofhim. "You look as if--as if--"

Baring glanced round till his eyes fell upon Ronnie, and, when he spoke, he seemed to be addressing him alone. 

"The dam has burst, " he said, his words curt, distinct, unfaltering. "The whole of the lower valley is flooded. The Magician's bungalow hasbeen swept away!"

"What?" gasped Ronnie. "What?"

He sprang to his feet, the awful look in Baring's eyes reflected in hisown, and made a dash for the doorway in which Baring stood. He stumbledas he reached, it and the latter threw out a supporting arm. 

"It's no use your going, " he said, his voice hard and mechanical. "There's nothing to be done. I've been as near as it is possible to get. It's nothing but a raging torrent half a mile across. "

He moved straight forward to a chair, and thrust the boy down into it. There was a terrible stiffness--almost a fixity--about him. He did notseem conscious of the men that crowded round him. It was not hishabitual reserve that kept him from collapse at that moment; it wasrather a stunned sense of expediency. 

"There's nothing to be done, " he repeated. 

He looked down at Ronnie, who was clutching at the table with bothhands, and making ineffectual efforts to speak. 

"Give him some brandy, one of you!" he said. 

Someone held a glass against the boy's chattering teeth. The colonelpoured some spirit into another and gave it to Baring. He took it with ahand that seemed steady, but the next instant it slipped through hisfingers and smashed on the floor. He turned sharply, not heeding it. Most of the men in the room were on their way out to view thecatastrophe for themselves. He made as if to follow them; then, as ifstruck by a sudden thought, he paused. 

Ronnie, deathly pale, and shaking all over, was fighting his way back toself-control. Baring moved back to him with less of stiffness and moreof his usual strength of purpose. 

"Do you care to come with me?" he said. 

Ronnie looked up at him. Then, though he still shivered violently, hegot up without speaking; and, in silence, they went away together. 

XV

THE NIGHT OF DESPAIR

Not till more than two hours later did Ronnie break his silence. Hewould have tramped the hills all night above the flooded valley, butBaring would not suffer it. He dragged him almost forcibly away fromthe scene of desolation, where the water still flowed strongly, carryingtrees and all manner of wreckage on its course. And, though he wasalmost beside himself, the boy yielded at last. For Baring compelledobedience that night. He took Ronnie back to his own quarters, but onthe threshold Ronnie drew back. 

"I can't come in with you, " he said. 

Baring's hand was on his shoulder. 

"You must, " he answered quietly. 

"I can't, " Ronnie persisted, with an effort. "I can't! I'm a cur; I'mworse. You wouldn't ask me if you knew. "

Baring paused, then, with a strange, unwonted gentleness, he took theboy's arm and led him in. "Never mind!" he said. 

Ronnie went with him, but in Baring's room he faced him with the courageof despair. 

"You'll have to know it, " he said jerkily. "It was my doing thatyou--and she--parted as you did. She was going to tell you the truth. Iprevented her--for my own sake--not hers. I--I came between you. "

Baring's hand fell, but neither his face nor his tone varied as he madesteady reply. 

"I guessed it might be that--afterwards. I was on my way to tell her sowhen the dam went. "

"That isn't all, " Ronnie went on feverishly. "I'm worse than that, worseeven than she knew. I engaged to ride Hyde's horse to--to discharge adebt I owed him. I told her it was a debt of honour. It wasn't. It wasto cover theft. I swindled him once, and he found out. I hated ridinghis horse, but it would have meant open disgrace if I hadn't. She knewit was urgent. And then at the last moment I was thirsty; I overdid it. No; confound it, I'll tell you the truth! I went home drunk, too drunkto sit a horse. And so she--she sent me to bed, and went in my place. That's the thing she wouldn't tell you, the thing Hyde knew. She alwayshated the man--always. She only endured him for my sake. " He broke off. Baring was looking at him as if he thought that he were raving. After amoment Ronnie realized this. "It's the truth, " he said. "I've told youthe truth. I never won the cup. I didn't know anything more about ittill it was over and she told me. I don't wonder you find it hard tobelieve. But I swear it's the truth. Now let me go--and shoot myself!"

He flung round distractedly, but Baring stopped him. There was no longerany hardness about him, only compassionate kindness, as he made him sitdown, and gravely shut the door. When he spoke, it was not to utter aword of reproach or blame. 

"No, don't go, boy!" he said, in a tone that Ronnie never forgot. "We'llface this thing together. May God help us both!"

And Ronnie, yielding once more, leaned his head in his hands, and burstinto anguished tears. 

XVI

THE COMING OF HOPE

How they got through the dragging hours of that awful night neither ofthem afterwards quite knew. They spoke very little, and slept not atall. When morning came at last they were still sitting in silence as ifthey watched the dead, linked together as brothers by a bond that wassacred. 

It was soon after sunrise that a message came for Ronnie from thecolonel's bungalow next door to the effect that the commanding-officerwished to see him. He looked at Baring as he received it. 

"I wish you'd come with me, " he said. 

Baring rose at once. He knew that the boy was depending very largelyupon his support just then. The sunshine seemed to mock them as theywent. It was a day of glorious Indian winter, than which there isnothing more exquisite on earth, save one of English spring. The colonelmet them on his own veranda. He noted Ronnie's haggard face with a quickglance of pity. 

"I sent for you, my lad, " he said, "because I have just heard a piece ofnews that I thought I ought to pass on at once. "

"News, sir?" Ronnie echoed the word sharply. 

"Yes; news of your sister. " The colonel gave him a keen look, then wenton in a tone of reassuring kindness that both his listeners foundmaddeningly deliberate. "She was not, it seems, in the bungalow at thetime the dam burst. She was out on the hillside, and so--My dear fellow, for Heaven's sake pull yourself together! Things are better than youthink. She--" He did not finish, for Ronnie suddenly sprang past himwith a loud cry. A girl's figure had appeared in the doorway of thecolonel's drawing-room. Ronnie plunged in, and it was seen no more. 

The colonel turned to Baring for sympathy, and found that the latter hadabruptly, almost violently, turned his back. It surprised himconsiderably, for he had often declared his conviction that under nocircumstances would this officer of his lose his iron composure. Baring's behaviour of the night before had seemed to corroborate this;in fact, he had even privately thought him somewhat cold-blooded. 

But his present conduct seemed to indicate that even Baring was human, notwithstanding his strength; and in his heart the colonel liked him forit. After a moment he began to speak, considerately ignoring the other'sattitude. 

"She was providentially on the further hill when it happened, and shehad great difficulty in getting round to us; lost her way several times, poor girl, and only panic-stricken natives to direct her. It's been ashocking disaster--the native village entirely swept away, though notmany European lives lost, I am glad to say. But Hyde is among themissing. You knew Hyde?"

"I knew him--well. " Baring's words seemed to come with an effort. 

"Ah, well, poor fellow; he probably didn't know much about it. Terrible, a thing of this sort. It's impossible yet to estimate the damage, butthe whole of the lower valley is devastated. The Magician's bungalow hasentirely disappeared, I hear. A good thing the old man was away fromhome. "

At this point, to Colonel Latimer's relief, Baring turned. He was palerthan usual, but there was no other trace of emotion about him. 

"If you will allow me, " he said, "I should like to go and speak to her, too. "

"Certainly, " the colonel said heartily. "Certainly. Go at once! No doubtshe is expecting you. Tell the youngster I want him out here!"

And Baring went. 

 * * * * *

If Hope did expect him, she certainly did not anticipate the manner ofhis coming. The man who entered the colonel's drawing-room was not theman who had striven with a mastery that was almost brutal to bring herinto subjection only the day before. She could not have told wherein thedifference lay, but she was keenly aware of its existence. And becauseof her knowledge she felt no misgiving, no shadow of fear. She did notso much as wait for him to come to her. Simply moved by the woman'sinstinct that cannot err, she went straight to him, and so into hisarms, clinging to him with a little sobbing laugh, and not speaking atall, because there were no words that could express what she yet foundit so sublimely easy to tell him. Baring did not speak either, but hehad a different reason for his silence. He only held her closely to him, till presently, raising her face to his, she understood. And she laughedagain, laughed through tears. 

"Weren't you rather quick to give up--hope?" she whispered. 

He did not answer her, but she found nothing discouraging in hissilence. Rather, it seemed to inspire her. She slipped her arms roundhis neck. Her tears were nearly gone. 

"Hope doesn't die so easily, " she said softly. "And I'll tell youanother thing that is ever so much harder to kill, that can never die atall, in fact; or, perhaps I needn't. Perhaps you can guess what it is?"

And again he did not answer her. He only bent, holding her fast pressedagainst his heart, and kissed her fiercely, passionately, evenviolently, upon the lips. 

"My Hope!" he said. "My Hope!"

The Deliverer[1]

I

A PROMISE OF MARRIAGE

The band was playing very softly, very dreamily; it might have been alullaby. The girl who stood on the balcony of the great London house, with the moonlight pouring full upon her, stooped, and nervously, fumblingly, picked up a spray of syringa that had fallen from among theflowers on her breast. 

The man beside her, dark-faced and grave, put out a perfectly steadyhand. 

"May I have it?" he said. 

She looked up at him with the start of a trapped animal. Her face wasvery pale. It was in striking contrast to the absolute composure of his. Very slowly and reluctantly she put the flower into his outstretchedhand. 

He took it, but he took her fingers also and kept them in his own. 

"When will you marry me, Nina?" he asked. 

She started again and made a frightened effort to free her hand. 

He smiled faintly and frustrated it. 

"When will you marry me?" he repeated. 

She threw back her head with a gesture of defiance; but the courage inher eyes was that of desperation. 

"If I marry you, " she said, "it will be purely and only for your money. "

He nodded. Not a muscle of his face moved. 

"Of course, " he said. "I know that. "

"And you want me under those conditions?"

There was a quiver in the words that might have been either of scorn orincredulity. 

"I want you under any conditions, " he responded quietly. "Marry my moneyby all means if it attracts you! But you must take me with it. "

The girl shrank. 

"I can't!" she whispered suddenly. 

He released her hand calmly, imperturbably. 

"I will ask you again to-morrow, " he said. 

"No!" she said sharply. 

He looked at her questioningly. 

"No!" she repeated, with a piteous ring of uncertainty in her voice. "Mr. Wingarde, I say No!"

"But you don't mean it, " he said, with steady conviction. 

"I do mean it!" she gasped. "I tell you I do!"

She dropped suddenly into a low chair and covered her face with a moan. 

The man did not move. He stared absently down into the empty street asif waiting for something. There was no hint of impatience about hisstrong figure. Simply, with absolute confidence, he waited. 

Five minutes passed and he did not alter his position. The soft strainsin the room behind them had swelled into music that was passionatelyexultant. It seemed to fill and overflow the silence between them. Thencame a triumphant crash and it ended. From within sounded the gay buzzof laughing voices. 

Slowly Wingarde turned and looked at the bent, hopeless figure of thegirl in the chair. He still held indifferently between his fingers thespray of white blossom for which he had made request. 

He did not speak. Yet, as if in obedience to an unuttered command, thegirl lifted her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were full of miseryand indecision. They wavered beneath his steady gaze. Slowly, stillmoving as if under compulsion, she rose and stood before him, white andslim as a flower. She was quivering from head to foot. 

The man still waited. But after a moment he put out his hand silently. 

She did not touch it, choosing rather to lean upon the balustrade of thebalcony for support. Then at last she spoke, in a whisper that seemed tochoke her. 

"I will marry you, " she said--"for your money. "

"I thought you would, " Wingarde said very quietly. 

He stood looking down at her bent head and white shoulders. There weresparkles of light in her hair that shone as precious metal shines inore. Her hands were both fast gripped upon the ironwork on which sheleant. 

He took a step forward and was close beside her, but he did not againoffer her his hand. 

"Will you answer my original question?" he said. "I asked--when?"

In the moonlight he could see her shivering, shivering violently. Sheshook her head; but he persisted. 

His manner was supremely calm and unhurried. 

"This week?" he said. 

She shook her head again with more decision. 

"Oh, no--no!" she said. 

"Next?" he suggested. 

"No!" she said again. 

He was looking at her full and deliberately, but she would not look athim. She was quaking in every limb. There was a pause. Then Wingardespoke again. 

"Why not next week?" he asked. "Have you any particular reason?"

She glanced at him. 

"It would be--so soon, " she faltered. 

"What difference does that make?" A very strange smile touched his grimlips. "Having made up your mind to do something disagreeable, do youfind shirking till the last moment makes it any easier--any morepalatable? Surely the sooner it's over--"

"It never will be over, " she broke in passionately. "It is for all mylife! Ah, what am I saying? Mr. Wingarde"--she turned towards him, herface quivering painfully--"be patient with me! I have given my promise. "

The smile on his face deepened into something that closely resembled asneer. 

"How long do you want me to wait?" he said. "Fifty years?"

She drew back sharply. But almost instantly he went on speaking. 

"I will yield a point, " he said, "if it means so much to you. But, youknow, the wedding-day will dawn eventually, however remote we make it. Will you say next month?"

The girl's eyes wore a hunted look, but she kept them raised withdesperate resolution. She did not answer him, however. After a moment herepeated his question. His face had become stern. The lines about hismouth were grimly resolute. 

"Will you say next month, Nina?" he said. "It shall be the last day ofit if you wish. But--next month. "

His tone was inexorable. He meant to win this point, and she knew it. 

Her breath came quickly, unevenly; but in face of his mastery she made agreat effort to control her agitation. 

"Very well, " she said, and she spoke more steadily than she had spokenat all during the interview. "I will marry you next month. "

"Will you fix the day?" he asked. 

She uttered a sudden, breathless laugh--the reckless laugh of the loser. 

"Surely that cannot matter!" she said. "The first day or the last--asyou say, what difference does it make?"

"You leave the choice tome?" he asked, without the smallest change ofcountenance. 

"Certainly!" she said coldly. 

"Then I choose the first, " he rejoined. 

And at the words she gave a great start as if already she repented themoment of recklessness. 

The notes of a piano struck suddenly through the almost tragic silencethat covered up the protest she had not dared to utter. A few quietchords; and then a woman's voice began to sing. Slowly, with deep, hidden pathos, the words floated out into the night; and, involuntarilyalmost, the man and the girl stood still to listen:

 Shadows and mist and night, Darkness around the way, Here a cloud and there a star, Afterwards, Day!

 Sorrow and grief and tears, Eyes vainly raised above, Here a thorn and there a rose; Afterwards, Love!

The voice was glorious, the rendering sublime. The spell of the singerwas felt in the utter silence that followed. 

Wingarde's eyes never left his companion's face. But the girl had turnedfrom him. She was listening, rapt and eager. She had forgotten his verypresence at her side. As the last passionate note thrilled into silenceshe drew a long breath. Her eyes were full of tears. 

Suddenly she came to earth--to the consciousness of his watchingeyes--and her expression froze into contemptuous indifference. Sheturned her head and faced him, scorning the tears she could not hide. 

In her look were bitter dislike, fierce resistance, outraged pride. 

"Some people, " she said, with a little, icy smile, "would prefer to say'Afterwards, Death!' I am one of them. "

Wingarde looked back at her with complete composure. He also seemedfaintly contemptuous. 

"You probably know as much of the one as of the other, " he coollyresponded. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: I desire to acknowledge my indebtedness to the Author--Iregret to say unknown to me--of the little poem which I have quoted inthis story. ]

II

A RING OF VALUE

"So Nina has made up her mind to retrieve the family fortunes, " yawnedLeo, the second son of the house. "Uncommonly generous of her. My onlyregret is that it didn't occur to her that it would be a useful thing todo some time back. Is the young man coming to discuss settlementsto-night?"

"What a beast you are!" growled Burton, the eldest son. 

"We're all beasts, if it comes to that, " returned Leo complacently. "Mayas well say it as think it. She has simply sold herself to the highestbidder to get the poor old pater out of Queer Street. And we shall, Ihope, get our share of the spoil. I understand that Wingarde is lavishwith his worldly goods. He certainly ought to be. He's a millionaire ofthe first water. A thousand or so distributed among his wife's relationswould mean no more to him than the throwing of the crusts to thesparrows. " He stopped to laugh lazily. "And the wife's relations wouldflock in swarms to the feast, " he added in a cynical drawl. 

Burton growled again unintelligibly. He strongly resented the sacrifice, though he could not deny that there was dire need for it. 

The family fortunes were at a very low ebb. His father's lands weremortgaged already beyond their worth, and he and his brother had beentrained for nothing but a life of easy independence. 

There were five more sons of the family, all at various stages ofeducation--two at college, three at Eton. It behooved the only girl ofthe family to put her shoulder to the wheel if the machine were to bekept going on its uphill course. Lord Marchmont had speculateddesperately and with disastrous results during the past five years. Hiswife was hopelessly extravagant. And, of late, visions of the bankruptcycourt had nearly distracted the former. 

It had filtered round among his daughter's admirers that money, notrank, would win the prize. But somehow no one had expected HerefordWingarde, the financial giant, to step coolly forward and secure it forhimself. He had been regarded as out of the running. Women did not likehim. He was scarcely ever seen in Society. And it was freely rumouredthat he hated women. 

Nina Marchmont, moreover, had always treated him with marked coldness, as if to demonstrate the fact that his wealth held no attractions forher. On the rare occasions that they met she was always ready to turnaside with half-contemptuous dislike on her proud face, and amuseherself with the tamest of her worshippers rather than hold anyintercourse with the fabulous monster of the money-markets. 

Certainly there was a surprise in store for the world in which shemoved. It was also certain that she meant to carry it through with rigidself-control. 

Meeting her two brothers at lunch, she received the half-shamedcongratulations of one and the sarcastic comments of the other withoutthe smallest hint of discomfiture. She had come straight from aninterview with her father whom she idolized, and his gruff: "Well, mydear, well; delighted that you have fallen in love with the right man, "and the unmistakable air of relief that had accompanied the words, hadwarmed her heart. 

She had been very anxious about her father of late. The occasional heartattacks to which he was subject had become much more frequent, and sheknew that his many embarrassments and perplexities were weighing downhis health. Well, that anxiety was at least lightened. She would be ableto help in smoothing away his difficulties. Surely the man of millionswould place her in a position to do so! He had almost undertaken to doso. 

The glad thought nerved her to face the future she had chosen. She waseven very faintly conscious of a mitigation of her antipathy for the manwho had made himself her master. Besides, even though married to him, she surely need not see much of him. She knew that he spent the whole ofhis day in the City. She would still be free to spend hers as shelisted. 

And so, when she saw him that evening, when his momentous interview withher father was over, she was moved to graciousness for the first time. Apassing glimpse of her father's face assured her that all had gone well, aye, more than well. 

As for Wingarde, he waived the money question altogether when he foundhimself alone with his _fiancée_. 

"Your father will tell you what provision I am prepared to make foryou, " he coldly said. "He is fully satisfied--on your behalf. "

She felt the sting of the last words, and flushed furiously. But shefound no word of indignation to utter, though in a moment hergraciousness was a thing of the past. 

"I have not deceived you, " she said, speaking with an effort. 

He gave her a keen look. 

"I don't think you could, " he rejoined quietly. "And I certainlyshouldn't advise you to try. "

And then to her utter surprise and consternation he took her shouldersbetween his hands. 

"May I kiss you?" he asked. 

There was not a shade of emotion to be detected in either face or voiceas he made the request. Yet Nina drew back from him with a shudder thatshe scarcely attempted to disguise. 

"No!" she said vehemently. 

He set her free instantly, and she thought he smiled. But the look inhis eyes frightened her. She felt the mastery that would not compel. 

"One more thing, " he said, calmly passing on. "It is usual for a girl inyour position to wear an engagement ring. I should like you to wear thisin my honour. "

He held out to her on the palm of his hand a little, old-fashioned ringset with rubies and pearls. Nina glanced at him in momentary surprise. It was not in the least what she would have expected as the rich man'sfirst gift. Involuntarily she hesitated. She felt that he had offeredher something more than mere precious stones set in gold. 

He waited for her to take the ring in absolute silence. 

"Mr. Wingarde, " she said nervously, "I--I am afraid it is something youvalue. "

"It is, " he said. "It belonged to my mother. In fact, it was herengagement ring. But why should you be afraid?"

For the first time there was a note of softness in his voice. 

Nina's face was burning. 

"I would rather have something you do not care about, " she said in a lowtone. 

Instantly his face grew hard. 

"Give me your hand!" he said shortly. "The left, please!"

She gave it, the flush dying swiftly from her cheeks. She could notcontrol its trembling as he deliberately fitted the ring on to the thirdfinger. 

"Understand, " he said, "that I wish this ring and no other to be thetoken of your engagement to me. If you object to it, I am sorry. But, after all, it will only be in keeping with the rest. I must go now as Ihave an appointment to keep. Your father has asked me to lunch on Sundayand I have accepted. I hope you will pay me the compliment of being athome. "

III

THE HONEYMOON

The first of June fell on a Saturday that year, and a good many peopleremained in town for it in order to be present at the wedding of LordMarchmont's only daughter to Hereford Wingarde, the millionaire. 

Comments upon Nina's choice had even yet scarcely died out, and ArchieNeville, her faithful friend and admirer, was still wondering why he andhis very comfortable income had been passed over for this infernalbounder whom no one knew. He had proposed to Nina twice, and on eachoccasion her refusal had seemed to him to be tinged with regret. To usehis own expression, he was "awfully cut up" by the direction affairs hadtaken. But, philosophically determined to make the best of it, heattended the wedding with a smiling face, and even had the audacity tokiss the bride--a privilege that had not been his since childhood. 

Hereford Wingarde, standing by his wife's side, the recipient ofcongratulations from crowds of people who seemed to be her intimatefriends, but whom he had never seen before, noted that salute of ArchieNeville's with a very slight lift of his black brows. He noted also thatNina returned it, and that her hand lingered in that of the young manlonger than in those of any of her other friends. It was a smallcircumstance, but it stuck in his memory. 

A house had been lent them for the honeymoon by one of Nina's wealthyfriends in the Lake District. They arrived there hard upon midnight, having dined on board the train. 

A light meal awaited them, to which they immediately sat down. 

"You are tired, " Wingarde said, as the lamplight fell upon his bride'sflushed face and bright eyes. 

His own eyes were critical. She laughed and turned aside from them. 

"I am not at all tired, " she said. "I am only sorry the journey is over. I miss the noise. "

He made no further comment. He had a disconcerting habit of droppinginto sudden silences. It took possession of him now, and they finishedtheir refreshment with scarcely a word. 

Then Nina rose, holding her head very high. He embarrassed her, and shestrongly resented being embarrassed. 

Wingarde at once rose also. He looked more massive than usual, almost asif braced for a particular effort. 

"Going already?" he said. "Good-night!"

"Good-night!" said Nina. 

She glanced at him with momentary indecision. Then she held out herhand. 

He took it and kept it. 

"I think you will have to kiss me on our wedding night, " he said. 

She turned very white. The hunted look had returned to her eyes. Sheanswered him with the rapidity of desperation. 

"You can do as you like with me now, " she said. "I am not able toprevent you. "

"You mean you would rather not?" he said, without the smallest hint ofanger or disappointment in his tone. 

She started a little at the question. There was no escaping thesearching of his eyes. 

"Of course I would rather not, " she said. 

He released her quivering hand and walked quietly to the door. 

"Good-night, Nina!" he said, as he opened it. 

She stood for a moment before she realized that he had yielded to herwish. Then, as he waited, she made a sudden impulsive movement towardshim. 

Her fingers rested for an instant on his arm. 

"Good-night--Hereford!" she said. 

He looked down at her hand, not offering to touch it. His lips relaxedcynically. 

"Don't overwhelm me!" he said. 

And in a flash she had passed him with blazing eyes and a heart that wasfull of fierce anger. So this was his reception of her first overture!Her cheeks burnt as she vowed to herself that she would attempt no more. 

She did not see her husband again that night. 

When they met in the morning, he seemed to have forgotten that they hadparted in a somewhat strained atmosphere. The only peculiarity abouthis greeting was that it did not seem to occur to him to shake hands. 

"There is plenty to do if you're feeling energetic, " he said. 'Driving, riding, mountaineering, boating; which shall it be?"

"Have you no preference?" she asked, as she faced him over thecoffee-urn. 

He smiled slightly. 

"Yes, I have, " he said. "But let me hear yours first!"

"Driving, " she said at once. "And now yours?"

"Mine was none of these things, " he answered. "I wonder what sort ofconveyance they can provide us with? Also what manner of horse? Are yougoing to drive or am I? Mind, you are to state your preference. "

"Very well, " she answered. "Then I'll drive, please, I know this countrya little. I stayed near here three years ago with the Nevilles. Archieand I used to fish. "

"Did you ever catch anything?" Wingarde asked, with his quiet eyes onher face. 

"Of course we did, " she answered. "Salmon trout--beauties. Oh, and otherthings. I forget what they were called. We had great fun, I remember. "

Her face flushed at the remembrance. Archie had been very romantic inthose days, quite foolishly so. But somehow she had enjoyed it. 

Wingarde said no more. He rose directly the meal was over. It was aperfect summer morning. The view from the windows was exquisite. Beyondthe green stretches of the park rose peak after peak of sunlitmountains. There were a few cloud-shadows floating here and there. Inone place, gleaming like a thread of silver, he could see a waterfalltumbling down a barren hillside. 

Suddenly, through the summer silence, an octave of bells pealedjoyously. 

Nina started

"Why, it's Sunday!" she exclaimed. "I had quite forgotten. We ought togo to church. "

Wingarde turned round. 

"What an inspiration!" he said dryly. 

His tone offended her. She drew herself up. 

"Are you coming?" she asked coldly. 

He looked at her with the same cynical smile with which he had receivedher overture the night before. 

"No, " he said. "I won't bore you with my company this morning. "

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"As you please, " she said, turning to the door. 

He made no rejoinder. And as she passed out, she realized that hebelieved she had suggested going to church in order to escape an hour ofhis hated society. It was but a slight injustice and certainly notwholly unprovoked by her. But, curiously, she resented it very strongly. She almost felt as if he had insulted her. 

She found him smoking in the garden when she returned from her solitaryexpedition, and she hoped savagely that he had found his own society asdistasteful as she did; though on second thoughts this seemed scarcelypossible. 

She decided regretfully, yet with an inner sense of expediency, that shewould spend the afternoon in his company. But her husband had otherplans. 

"You have had a hot walk, " he said. "You had better rest this afternoon. I am going to do a little mountaineering; but I mean to be back bytea-time. Perhaps when it is cool you will come for a stroll, unless youhave arranged to attend the evening service also. "

He glanced at her and saw the indignant colour rise in her face. But shewas too proud to protest. 

"As you wish, " she said coldly. 

Conversation during lunch was distinctly laboured. Wingarde's silenceswere many and oppressive. It was an unspeakable relief to the girl whenat length he took himself off. She told herself with a wry smile that hewas getting on her nerves. She did not yet own that he frightened her. 

The afternoon's rest did her good; and when he returned she was readyfor him. 

He looked at her, as she sat in the garden before the tea-table in hermuslin dress and big straw hat, with a shade of approval in his eyes. 

He threw himself down into a chair beside her without speaking. 

"Have you been far?" she asked. 

"To the top of the hill, " he answered. "I had a splendid view of thesea. "

"It must have been perfect, " she said. 

"You have been there?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes, " she answered, "long ago; with Archie. "

Wingarde turned his head and looked at her attentively. She tried toappear unconscious of his scrutiny, and failed signally. Before shecould control it, the blood had rushed to her face. 

"And you found it worth doing?" he asked. 

The question seemed to call for no reply, and she made none. 

But yet again she felt as if he had insulted her. 

She was still burning with silent resentment when they started on theirwalk. He strolled beside her, cool and unperturbed. If he guessed hermood, he made no sign. 

"Where are you taking me?" he asked presently. 

"It is the road to the wishing-gate, " she replied icily. "There is agood view of the lake farther on. "

He made no further enquiry, and they walked on in dead silence throughexquisite scenery. 

They reached the wishing-gate, and the girl stopped almostinvoluntarily. 

"Is this the fateful spot?" said Wingarde, coming suddenly out of hisreverie. "What is the usual thing to do? Cut our names on the gate-post?Rather a low-down game, I always think. "

She uttered a sudden, breathless laugh. "My name is here already, " shesaid, pointing with a finger that shook slightly at some minutecharacters cut into the second bar of the gate. 

He bent and looked at the inscription--two names cut with infinite care, two minute hearts intertwined beneath. 

Nina watched him with a scornful little smile on her lips. 

"Artistic, isn't it?" she said. 

He straightened himself abruptly, and their eyes met. There was acurious glint in his that she had never seen before. She put her handsharply to her throat. Quite suddenly she knew that she was afraid ofthis monster to whom she had given herself--horribly, unreasonablyafraid. 

But he did not speak, and her scare began to subside. 

"Now I'm going to wish, " she said mounting the lowest bar of the gate. 

He spoke then, abruptly, cynically. 

"Really, " he said, "what can you have to wish for now?"

She looked back at him defiantly. Her eyes were on a level with his. Because he had frightened her, she went the more recklessly. It wouldnever answer to let him suspect this power of his. 

"Something that I'm afraid you will never give me, " she said, a bitterring in her voice. 

"What?" he asked sharply. 

"Among other things, happiness, " she said. "You can never give methat. "

She saw him bite his lip, but he controlled himself to speak quietly. 

"Surely you make a mistake, " he said, "to wish for something which, since you are my wife, can never be yours!"

She laughed, still standing on the gate, and telling herself that shefelt no fear. 

"Very well, " she said, "I will wish for a Deliverer first. "

"For what?"

His naked fist banged down upon the gate-post, and she saw the bloodstart instantly and begin to flow. She knew in that moment that she hadgone too far. 

Her fear returned in an overwhelming flood. She stumbled off the gateand faced him, white to the lips. 

A terrible pause followed, in which she knew herself to be fighting himwith every inch of her strength. Then suddenly, without apparent reason, she gave in. 

"I was joking, " she said, in a low voice. "I spoke in jest. "

He made her a curt bow, his face inflexibly stern. 

"It is good of you to explain, " he said. "With my limited knowledge ofyour character and motives, I am apt to make mistakes. "

He turned from her abruptly with the words, and, shaking the blood fromhis hand, bound the wound with his handkerchief. 

"Shall we go on?" he said then. 

And Nina accompanied him, ashamed and afraid. She felt as if at the lastmoment she had asked for quarter; and, contemptuously, because she was awoman, he had given it. 

IV

A GREVIOUS WOUND

After that moment of madness by the wishing-gate Nina's wanton desire toprovoke to wrath the monster to whom she was chained died a sudden andunnatural death. She was scrupulously careful of his feelings from thatday forward, and he treated her with a freezing courtesy, a cynicalconsideration, that seemed to form a barrier behind which the actual manconcealed himself and watched. 

That he did watch her was a fact of which she was miserably conscious. She knew with the certain knowledge of intuition that he studied hercontinually. She was perpetually under the microscope of his criticism, and there were times when she told herself she could not bear it. He wastoo much for her; too pitiless a tyrant, too stern a master. Her lifewas becoming insupportable. 

A fortnight of their honeymoon had passed away, when one morningWingarde looked up with a frown from a letter. 

"I have had a summons to town, " he said abruptly. 

Nina's heart leapt at the words, and her relief showed itself for oneunmanageable second in her face. 

He saw it, and she knew he saw it. 

"I shall be sorry, " he said, with cutting sarcasm, "to curtail yourenjoyment here, but the necessity for my presence is imperative. Ishould like to catch the two-thirty this afternoon if you can be readyby then. "

Nina's face was burning. She held herself very erect. 

"I can be ready before then if you wish, " she said stiffly. 

He rose from the breakfast-table with a curt laugh. As he passed her heflicked her cheek with the envelope he held in his hand. 

"You are a dutiful wife, my dear, " he said. 

She winced sharply, and bent her head over her own letters. 

"I do my best, " she said, after a moment. 

"I am sure of it, " he responded dryly. 

He paused at the door as if he expected her to say more. More came, somewhat breathlessly, and not upon the same subject. 

Nina glanced up with sudden resolution. 

"Hereford, " she said, "can you let me have some money?"

She spoke with the rapidity of nervousness. She saw his hand leave thedoor. His face remained quite unmoved. 

"For yourself?" he asked. 

Considering the amount of the settlement he had made upon her, thequestion was absurd. Nina smiled faintly. 

"No, " she said, "not for myself. "

He took a cheque-book from his pocket and walked to a writing-table. 

"How much do you want?" he asked. 

She hesitated, and he looked round at her. 

"I--I only want to borrow it, " she said haltingly. "It is rather a bigsum. "

"How much?" he repeated. 

"Five thousand pounds, " she answered, in a low voice. 

He continued to look at her for several seconds. Finally he turned andshut up his cheque-book with a snap. 

"The money will be placed to your credit to-morrow, " he said. "Butthough a financier, I am not a money-lender. Please understand that! Andlet your family understand it, too. "

And, rising, he walked straight from the room. 

No further reference was made to the matter on either side. Nina's prideor her courage shrank from any expression of gratitude. 

In the afternoon with intense thankfulness she travelled southward. Never were London smoke and dust more welcome. 

They went straight to Wingarde's great house in Crofton Square. Dinnerwas served immediately upon their arrival. 

"I must ask you to excuse me, " Wingarde said, directly dessert wasplaced upon the table. "I have to go out--on business. In case I don'tsee you again, good-night!"

He was on his feet as he spoke. In her surprise Nina started up also. 

"At this hour!" she exclaimed. "Why, it is nearly eleven!"

"At this hour, " he grimly responded, "you will be able to dispense withmy society no doubt. "

His tone silenced her. Yet, as he turned to go, she looked after himwith mute questioning in her eyes. She had a feeling that he was keepingsomething from her, and--perhaps it was merely the natural result ofwomanly curiosity baffled--she was vaguely hurt that he did not see fitto tell her whither his business was taking him. 

A few words would have sufficed; but he had not chosen to utter them, and her pride was sufficient to suppress any display of interest in hisaffairs. She would not court the snub that she felt convinced he wouldnot hesitate to administer. 

So he left her without explanation, and Nina went drearily to bed. Onthe following morning, however, the sun shone upon her, and she wentdownstairs in better spirits. 

The first person she encountered was her husband. He was saunteringabout the morning-room in his overcoat, a cup of strong tea in his hand. 

He greeted her perfunctorily, as his fashion was. 

"Oh, good-morning!" he said. "I have only just got back. I was detainedunavoidably. I am going upstairs for an hour's rest, and then I shallbe off to the City. I don't know if you would care to drive in with me. I shall use the car, but it will then be at your service for the rest ofthe day. "

"Have you been working all night?" Nina asked incredulously. 

He nodded. 

"It was unavoidable, " he said again, with a touch of impatience. "Youhad better have a second brew of tea, this is too strong for you. "

He set down his cup and rang the bell. 

Nina stood and looked at him. He certainly did not look like a man whohad been up all night. Alert, active, tough as wire, he walked back tothe table and gathered together his letters. A faint feeling ofadmiration stirred in her heart. His, strength appealed to her for thefirst time. 

"I should like to drive into the City with you, " she said, after apause. 

He gave her a sharp glance. 

"I thought you would be wanting to go to the bank, " he remarked coolly. 

She flushed and turned her back upon him. It was an unprovoked assault, and she resented it fiercely. 

When they met again an hour later she was on the defensive, ready toresist his keenest thrust, and, seeing it, he laughed cynically. 

"Armed to the teeth?" he asked, with a careless glance at her slimfigure and delicate face. 

She did not answer him by so much as a look. He handed her into the carand took his seat beside her. 

"Can you manage to dine out with some of your people to-night?" heasked. "I am afraid I shall not be home till late. "

"You seem to have a great deal on your hands, " she remarked coldly. 

"Yes, " said Wingarde. 

It was quite obvious that he had no intention of taking her into hisconfidence, and Nina was stubbornly determined to betray no interest. Then and there she resolved that since he chose to give himself upentirely to the amassing of wealth, not hesitating to slight his wife inthe process, she also would live her separate life wholly independent ofhis movements. 

She pretended to herself that she would make the most of it. But deep inher heart she hated him for thus setting her aside. His action piercedstraight through her pride to something that sheltered behind it, andinflicted a grevious wound. 

V

A STRUGGLE FOR MASTERY

"Jove! Here's a crush!" laughed Archie Neville. "Delighted to meet youagain, Mrs. Wingarde! How did you find the Lakes?"

His good-looking, boyish face was full of pleasure. He had not expectedto meet her. Nina's welcoming smile was radiant. 

"Oh, here you are, Archie!" she exclaimed, as they shook hands. "Someonesaid you were out of town, but I couldn't believe anything so tragic. "

"Quite right, " said Archie. "Never believe the worst till there ispositively no alternative. I'm not out of town, and I'm not going to be. It's awfully nice to see you again, you know! I thought the sun had setfor the rest of the season. "

Nina uttered a gay little laugh. 

"Oh, dear, no! We certainly intended to stay longer, but Hereford wassummoned back on business, and I really wasn't sorry on the whole. I didrather regret missing all the fun. "

Archie laughed. 

"Hereford must be doing dark deeds then, " he said, "of which he keepsthe rest of the world in complete ignorance. The markets are dead flatjust now--nothing doing whatever. It's enough to make you tear yourhair. "

"Really!" said Nina. "He gave me to understant that it was somethingurgent. "

And then she became suddenly silent, meeting Archie's eyes, and aware ofthe surprise he was too much of a gentleman to express. With a coldfeeling of dissatisfaction she turned from the subject. 

"It's very nice to be back again among my friends, " she said. "Can't youcome and dine to-morrow and go to the theatre afterwards?"

Archie considered a moment, and she knew that when he answered he wascancelling other engagements. 

"Thanks, I shall be delighted!" he said, "if I shan't be _de trop_. "

There was a touch of mockery in Nina's smile. 

"We shall probably be alone, " she said. "My husband's business keeps himlate in the City. We have been home a week, and he has only managed todine with me once. "

"Isn't he here to-night?" asked Archie. 

She shook her head. 

"What an infernal shame!" he exclaimed impulsively. "Oh, I beg yourpardon! That was a slip. "

But Nina laid her hand on his sleeve. 

"You needn't apologize, " she said, in a low voice. "One can't haveeverything. If you marry--an outsider--for his money, you have to paythe penalty. "

Archie looked at her with further indiscretion upon the tip of histongue. But he thought twice and kept it back. 

"I say, you know, " he said awkwardly, "I--I'm sorry. "

"Thank you, " she said gently. "Well, you will come to-morrow?"

"Of course, " he said. "What theatre shall we go to? I'll bring thetickets with me. "

The conversation drifted away into indifferent topics and presently theyparted. Nina was almost gay of heart as she drove homeward that night. She had begun to feel her loneliness very keenly, and Archie's societypromised to be of value. 

Her husband was waiting for her when she returned. As she entered herown sitting-room, he started up abruptly from an arm-chair as if herentrance had suddenly roused him from sleep. She was considerablysurprised to see him there, for he had never before intruded without herpermission. 

He glanced at the clock, but made no comment upon the lateness of thehour. 

"I hope you have enjoyed yourself, " he said somewhat formally. 

The words were as unexpected as was his presence there. Nina stood for amoment, waiting for something further. 

Then, as he did not speak, she shrugged her shoulders and threw back hercloak. 

"It was a tremendous crush, " she said indifferently. "No, I didn't enjoyit particularly. But it was something to do. "

"I am sorry you are feeling bored, " he said gravely. 

Nina sat down in silence. She did not in the least understand what hadbrought him there. 

"It is getting rather late, " she remarked, after a pause. "I am justgoing to have a cup of tea and then go to bed. "

A little tea-tray stood on the table at her elbow. A brass kettle wasfizzing cheerily above a spirit stove. 

"Do you want a cup?" she asked, with a careless glance upwards. 

He had remained standing, looking down at her with an expression thatpuzzled her slightly. His eyes were heavy, as if they wanted sleep. 

"Thank you, " he said. 

Nina threw off her wraps and sat up to brew the tea. The light from arose-shaded lamp poured full upon her. She looked superb and she knewit. The knowledge deprived her for once of that secret sense of fearthat so brooded at the back of her intercourse with this man. He stoodin total silence behind her. She began to wonder what was coming. 

Having made tea, she leant back again with her hands behind her head. 

"I suppose we must give it two minutes to draw, " she remarked, with asmothered yawn. "Isn't it frightfully hot to-night? I believe there isthunder about. "

He made no response, and she turned her eyes slowly upon him. She knewhe was watching her, but a curious sense of independence possessed herthat night. He did not disconcert her. 

Their eyes met. Hers were faintly insolent. His were inscrutable. 

At last he spoke. 

"I am sorry you have not enjoyed yourself, " he said, speaking ratherstiffly. "Will you--by way of a change--come out with me to-morrownight? I think I may anyhow promise you"--he paused slightly--"that youshall not be bored. "

There was a short silence. Nina turned and moved the cups on the littletray. She did not, however, seem embarrassed. 

"I happen to be engaged to-morrow evening, " she said coldly at length. 

"Is it important?" he asked. "Can't you cancel the engagement?"

She uttered a little, flippant laugh. She had not hoped for such anopportunity as this. 

"I'm afraid I really can't, " she said. "You should have asked meearlier. "

"What are you going to do?"

There was a new note in his voice--a hint of mastery. She resented itinstantly. 

"That is my affair, " she said calmly, beginning to pour out the tea. 

He looked at her as if he scarcely believed his ears. He was silent forsome seconds, and very quietly she turned to him and handed him a cup. 

He took it from her and instantly set it aside. 

"Be good enough to answer my question!" he said. 

She heard the gathering sternness in his tone, and, tea-cup in hand, shelaughed. A curious recklessness possessed her that night. She felt as ifshe had the strength to fling off the bands of tyranny. But her hearthad begun to beat very fast. She realized that this was no mereskirmish. 

"Why should I answer you?" she asked, helping herself to some more creamwith a hand that was slightly unsteady in spite of her effort tocontrol it. "I do not see the necessity. "

"I think you do, " he rejoined. 

Nina said no more. She swallowed her tea, nibbled at a wafer with aspecies of deliberate trifling calculated to proclaim aloud her utterfearlessness, and at length rose to go. 

In that moment her husband stepped forward and took her by theshoulders. 

"Before you leave this room, please, " he said quietly. 

She drew back from him in a blaze of indignant rebellion. 

"I will not!" she said. "Let me go instantly!"

His hold tightened. His face was more grim than she had ever seen it. His eyes seemed to beat hers down. Yet when he spoke he did not raisehis voice. 

"I have borne a good deal from you, Nina, " he said. "But there is alimit to every man's endurance. "

"You married me against my will, " she panted. "Do you think I have nothad anything to endure, too?"

"That accusation is false, " he said. "You married me of your own accord. Without my money, you would have passed me by with scorn. You know it. "

She began to tremble violently. 

"Do you deny that?" he insisted pitilessly. 

"At least you pressed me hard, " she said. 

"I did, " he replied. "I saw you meant to sell yourself. And I did notmean you to go to any scoundrel. "

"So you bought me for yourself?" she said, with a wild laugh. 

"I did. " Wingarde's voice trembled a little. "I paid your price, " hesaid, "and I have taken very little for it. You have offered me stillless. Now, Nina, understand! This is not going on for ever. I simplywill not bear it. You are my wife, sworn to obey me--and obey me youshall. "

He held her fast in front of him. She could feel the nervous strength ofhis hands. It thrilled her through and through. She felt like a trappedanimal in his grasp. Her resistance began to waver. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked. 

"I am going to conquer you, " he said grimly. 

"You won't do it by violence, " she returned quickly. 

Her words seemed to pierce through a weak place in the iron armour inwhich he had clad himself. Abruptly he set her free. 

The suddenness of his action so surprised her that she tottered alittle. He made a swift move towards her; but in a second she hadrecovered herself, and he drew back. She saw that his face was verypale. 

"Are you quite sure of that?" he asked. 

She did not answer him. Shaking from head to foot, she stood facing him. But words would not come. 

After a desperate moment the tension was relaxed. He turned on his heel. 

"Well, I have warned you, " he said, and strode heavily away. 

The moment she ceased to hear his footsteps, Nina sank down into a chairand burst into tears. 

VI

AN OFFER OF HELP

On the following morning Nina did not descend the stairs till she hadheard the car leave the house. The strain of the previous night'sinterview had told upon her. She felt that she had not the resolution toface such another. 

The heat was intense. She remembered with regret that she had promisedto attend a charitable bazaar in the City that afternoon. Somehow shecould summon no relish either for that or the prospect of the theatrewith Archie at night. She wondered whither her husband had proposed totake her, half wishing she had yielded a point to go. 

She went to the bazaar, fully prepared to be bored. The first person shesaw, however, was Archie, and at once the atmosphere seemed to lighten. 

He attached himself to her without a moment's delay. 

"I say, " he said, "send your car back! I'll take you home. I've got myhansom here. It's much more exciting than a motor. We'll go and havetea somewhere presently. "

Nina hesitated for barely a second, then did as he required. 

Archie's eyes were frankly tender. But, after all, why not? They hadknown each other all their lives. She laughed at the momentary scrupleas they strolled through the bazaar together. 

Archie bought her an immense fan--"to keep off the flies, " as heelegantly expressed it; and she made a few purchases herself as in dutybound, and conversed with several acquaintances. 

Then, her companion becoming importunate for departure, she declined teain the hall and went away with him. 

Archie was enjoying himself hugely. 

"Now, where would you like to go for tea?" he asked as they drove away. 

"I don't care in the least, " she said, "only I'm nearly dead. Let it besomewhere close at hand. "

Archie promptly decided in favour of a tea-shop in St. Paul'sChurchyard. 

"I suppose you have read the morning papers?" he said, as they sat down. "I thought your husband had something up his sleeve. "

"What do you mean?" queried Nina quickly. "No, I know nothing. "

Archie laughed. 

"Don't you really? Well, he has made a few thousands sit up, I can tellyou. You've heard of the Crawley gold fields? Heaven knows where theyare, but that doesn't matter--somewhere in Australia of course. No oneknew anything about them till recently. Well, they were boomedtremendously a little while ago. Your husband was the prime mover. Hewent in for them largely. Everyone went for them. They held for a bit, then your husband began to sell as fast as he could. And then, ofcourse, the shares went down to zero. People waited a bit, thensold--for what they could get. No one knew who did the buying tillyesterday. My dear Nina, your husband has bought the lot. He has got thewhole concern into his hands for next to nothing. The gold fields haveturned up trumps. They stand three times as high as they ever didbefore. He was behind the scenes. He merely sold to create a slump. Ifhe chose to sell again he could command almost any price he cared toask. Well, one man's loss is another man's gain. But he's as rich asCroesus. They say there are a good many who would like to be at histhroat. "

Nina listened with disgust undisguised on her face. 

"How I loathe money!" she said abruptly. 

"Oh, I say!" protested Archie. "You're not such an extremist as that. Think of the host of good things that can't be done without it. "

"What good things does he do?" she demanded contemptuously. "He simplylives to heap up wealth. "

"You can't say for certain that he doesn't do a few decent things whenno one's looking, " suggested Archie, who liked to be fair, even to thosefor whom he felt no liking. "People--rich men like that--do, you know. Why, only last night I heard of a man--he's a West End physician--whoruns a sort of private hospital somewhere in the back slums, andactually goes and practises there when his consulting hours are over. Pure philanthropy that, you know. And no one but the slummers any thewiser. They say he's simply adored among them. They go to him in alltheir troubles, physical or otherwise. That's only an instance. I don'tsay your husband does that sort of thing. But he may. "

Nina uttered her bitter little laugh. 

"You always were romantic, Archie, " she said. "But I'm afraid I'm pastthe romantic age. Anyhow I'm an unbeliever. "

Archie gave her a keen look. 

"I say--" he said, and stopped. 

"Well?" Nina looked back at him questioningly. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said, colouring boyishly. "You won't like what Iwas going to say. I think I won't say it. "

"You needn't consider my feelings, " she returned, "I assure you I am notused to it. "

"Oh, well, " he said. "I was going to say that you talk as if he were abeast to you. Is he?"

Nina raised her dark eyebrows and did not instantly reply. Archielooked away from her. He felt uncomfortably that he had gone too far. 

Then slowly she made answer:

"No, he is not. I think he has begun to realize that the battle is notalways to the strong. "

Struck by something in her tone, Archie glanced at her again. 

"Jove!" he suddenly said. "How you hate him!"

The words were out almost before he knew it. Nina's face changedinstantly. But Archie's contrition was as swift. 

"Oh, I say, forgive me!" he broke in, with a persuasive hand on her arm. "Do, if you can! I know it was unpardonable of me. I'm so awfully sorry. You see, I--"

She interrupted hastily. 

"It doesn't matter--it doesn't matter. I understand. It was quite anexcusable mistake. Please don't look so distressed! It hasn't hurt memuch. I think it would have hurt me more if it had been literally true. "

The sentences ran out rapidly. She was as agitated as he. They had thelittle recess to themselves, and their voices scarcely rose above awhisper. 

"Then it wasn't true?" Archie said, with a look of relief. 

Nina drew back. She was not prepared to go as far as that. All her lifeshe had sought to be honest in her dealings. 

"It hasn't come actually to that yet, " she said under her breath. "Butit may--it may. "

Somehow it relieved the burden that pressed upon her to be able to speakthus openly to her life-long comrade. But Archie looked grieved, almostshocked. 

"What will you do if it does?" he asked. 

"I shall leave him, " she said, her face growing hard. "I think heunderstands that. "

There was a heavy silence between them. Then impulsively, with puregenerosity, Archie spoke. 

"Nina, " he said, "if you should need--help--of any sort, you know--willyou count on me?"

Nina hesitated for a moment. 

"Please!" said Archie gently. 

She bent her head. 

"Thank you, " she said. "I will. "

VII

THE DELIVERER

Half-an-hour later they went out again into the blazing sunshine. 

"What do you think of my hack?" Archie asked, as they drove awaywestwards. "I got him at Tattersall's the other day. I haven't drivenhim before to-day. He's a bit jumpy. But I like an animal that can jump, don't you know. "

"I know you do, " laughed Nina. "I believe that is purely why you haven'tstarted a motor yet. They can do everything that is vicious andextraordinary except jump. But do you really like a horse to shy ateverything he passes? Look at him now! He doesn't like that hand-cartwith red paint. "

"He's an artist, " grinned Archie. "It offends his eye; and no wonder. Don't be alarmed, though! He won't do anything outrageous. My man knowshow to manage him. "

Nina leant back. She was not, as a rule, nervous, but, as Archie's newpurchase was forced protesting past the object of his fright, she wasconscious of a very decided feeling of uneasiness. The animal looked toher vicious as well as alarmed. 

They got safely past the hand-cart, and a brief interval of tranquillityfollowed as they trotted briskly down Ludgate Hill. 

"He won't have time to look at anything now, " said Archie cheerfully. 

The words had scarcely left his lips when the tire of a stationary carthey were passing exploded with a report like a rifle shot. In a secondArchie's animal leapt into the air, struck the ground with all fourhoofs together--and bolted. 

"My man's got him, " said Archie. "Sit still! Nothing's going to happen. "

He put his arm in front of Nina and gripped the farther side of thehansom. 

But Nina had not the smallest intention of losing her head. During thefirst few moments her sensations were more of breathless interest thanfear. Certainly she was very far from panic. 

She saw the roadway before them clear as if by magic before theirgalloping advance. She heard shouts, warning cries, yells of excitement. She also heard, very close to her, Archie's voice, swearing so evenlyand deliberately that she was possessed by an insane desire to laugh athim. Above everything else, she heard the furious, frantic rhythm of theflying hoofs before them. And yet somehow inexplicably she did not atfirst feel afraid. 

They tore with a speed that seemed to increase momentarily straight downthe thoroughfare that a few seconds before had seemed choked withtraffic. They shaved by vans, omnibuses, hand-barrows. Houses and shopsseemed to whirl past them, like a revolving nightmare--ever the same, yet somehow ever different. A train was thundering over the bridge asthey galloped beneath it. The maddened horse heard and stretched himselfto his utmost speed. 

And then came tragedy--- the tragedy that Nina always felt that she hadknown from the beginning of that wild gallop must come. 

As they raced on to Ludgate Circus she had a momentary glimpse of a boyon a bicycle traversing the street before them at right angles. Archieceased suddenly to swear. The reins that till then had been taut saggeddown abruptly. He made a clutch at them and failed to catch them. Theyslipped away sideways and dragged on the ground. 

There came a shock, a piercing cry. Nina started forward for the firsttime, but Archie flung his arms round her, holding her fast. Then theywere free of the obstacle and dashing on again. 

"Let me see!" she gasped. "Let me see!"

They bumped against a curb and nearly overturned. Then one of theirwheels caught another vehicle. The hansom was whizzed half round, butthe pitiless hoofs still tore on and almost miraculously the worst wasstill averted. 

Archie's hold was close and nearly suffocated her; but over his shoulderNina still managed to look ahead. 

And thus looking she saw the most wonderful, and the most terrifying, episode of the whole adventure. 

She saw a man in faultless City attire leap suddenly from the footway tothe road in front of them. For a breathless instant she saw him poisedto spring, and in her heart there ran a sudden, choking sense ofanguished recognition. She shut her eyes and cowered in Archie's arms. Deliverance was coming. She felt it in every nerve. But how? And bywhom?

There came a jerk and a plunge, a furious, straining effort. The fiercegalloping ceased, yet they made still for a few yards a halting, difficult progress. 

Then they stopped altogether, and she felt the shock of hoofs upon thesplashboard. 

Another moment and that, too, ceased. They stood still, and Archie'sarms relaxed. 

Nina lifted her head and saw her husband hatless in the road, his faceset and grim, his hands gripping the reins with a strength thatevidently impressed upon the runaway the futility of opposition. In hiseyes was a look that made her tremble. 

VIII

AFTER THE ACCIDENT

"You had better go home in the car, " Wingarde said. "It is waiting forme in Fenwick Street. Mr. Neville, perhaps you will be good enough toaccompany my wife. Your animal is tame enough now. Your man will have nodifficulty with it, if he is to be found. "

"Ah! Exactly!" Archie said. 

He looked round vaguely. Nina was leaning on his arm. His man wasnowhere to be seen, having some minutes since abandoned a situationwhich he had discovered to be beyond his powers to deal with. 

A crowd surrounded them, and a man at his elbow informed him that hisdriver had thrown down the reins and jumped off before they were clearof the railway bridge. Archie swallowed the comment upon this discreetbehaviour, that rose to his lips. 

A moment later Wingarde, who had seemed on the point of departure, pushed his way hastily-back to him. 

"Never mind the hansom!" he said. "I believe your man has been hurt. Iwill see to it. Just take my wife out of this, will you? I want to seeif that boy is alive or dead. "

He had turned again with the words, forcing his way through the crowd. Nina pressed after him. She was as white as the dress she wore. Therewas no holding her back. Archie could only accompany her. 

It was difficult to get through the gathering throng. When finally theysucceeded in doing so, they found Wingarde stooping over the unconsciousvictim of the accident. He had satisfied himself that the boy lived, andwas feeling rapidly for broken bones. 

Becoming aware of Nina's presence, he looked up with a frown. Then, seeing her piteous face, he refrained from uttering the curt rebuke thathad risen to his lips. 

"I want you to go home, " he said. "I will do all that is necessary here. Neville, take my wife home! The car is close at hand in Fenwick Street. "

"He isn't dead?" faltered Nina shakily. 

"No--certainly not. " Wingarde's voice was confident. 

He turned from her to speak to a policeman; and Nina yielded to Archie'shand on her arm. She was more upset than she had realized. 

Neither of them spoke during the drive westwards. Archie scowled a gooddeal, but he gave no vent to his feelings. 

Arrived in Crofton Square, he would have taken his leave of her. ButNina would not hear of this. 

"Please stay till Hereford comes!" she entreated. "You will want to knowwhat he has done. Besides, I want you. "

Archie yielded to pressure. No word was spoken by either in praise oradmiration of the man who had risked his life to save theirs. Somehow itwas a difficult subject between them. 

Nearly two hours later Wingarde arrived on foot. He reported Archie'sman only slightly the worse for his adventure. 

"It ought to have killed him, " he said briefly. "But men of that sortnever are killed. I told him to drive back to stables. The horse was asquiet as a lamb. "

"And the boy?" Nina asked eagerly. 

"Oh, the boy!" Wingarde said. "His case is more serious. He was taken tothe Wade Home. I went with him. I happen to know Wade. "

"That's the West End physician, " said Archie. "He calls himself Wade, Iknow, when he wants to be _incog_. "

"That's the man, " said Wingarde. "But I am not acquainted with him asthe West End physician. He is purely a City acquaintance. Oh, are yougoing, Neville? We shall see you again, I suppose?"

It was not cordially spoken. Archie coloured and glanced at Nina. 

"You are coming to dinner, aren't you?" she said at once. "Please do! Weshall be alone. And you promised, didn't you?"

Archie hesitated for a moment. Wingarde was looking at him piercingly. 

"I hope you won't allow my presence to interfere with any plans you mayhave made for to-night's amusement, " he remarked. "I shall be obliged togo out myself after dinner. "

Archie drew himself up. Wingarde's tone stung. 

"You are very good, " he said stiffly. "What do you say, Nina? Do youfeel up to the theatre?"

Nina's colour also was very high. But her eyes looked softer than usual. She turned to her husband. 

"Couldn't you come, too, for once, Hereford?" she asked. "We werethinking of the theatre. It--it would be nice if you came too. "

The falter in the last sentence betrayed the fact that she was nervous. 

Wingarde smiled faintly, contemptuously, as he made reply. 

"Really, that's very kind of you, " he said. "But I am compelled to pleada prior engagement. You will be home by midnight, I suppose?"

Archie made an abrupt movement. For a second he hovered on the verge ofan indignant outburst. The man's manner, rather than his words, wasinsufferable. But in that second he met Wingarde's eyes, and somethinghe saw there checked him. He pulled himself together and somewhatawkwardly took his leave. 

Wingarde saw him off, with the scoffing smile upon his lips. When hereturned to the drawing-room Nina was on her feet, waiting for him. Shewas still unusually pale, and her eyes were very bright. She wore arestless, startled look, as though her nerves were on the stretch. 

Wingarde glanced at her. 

"You had better go and lie down till dinner, " he said. 

Nina looked back at him. Her lips quivered a little, but when she spokeher voice was absolutely steady. She held her head resolutely high. 

"I think Archie must have forgotten to thank you, " she said, "for whatyou did. But I have not. Will you accept my gratitude?"

There was proud humility in her voice. But Wingarde only shrugged hisshoulders with a sneer. 

"Your gratitude would have been more genuine if you had been saved awidow instead of a wife, " he said brutally. 

She recoiled from him. Her eyes flashed furious indignation. She felt asif he had struck her in the face. She spoke instantly and vehemently. Her voice shook. 

"That is a poison of your own mixing, " she said. "You know it!"

"What! It isn't true?" he asked. 

He drew suddenly close to her. His eyes gleamed also with the gleam ofa smouldering fire. She saw that he was moved. She believed him to beangry. Trembling, yet scornful, she held her peace. 

He gripped her wrists suddenly, bending his dark face close to hers. 

"If it isn't true--" he said, and stopped. 

She drew back from him with a startled movement. For an instant her eyeschallenged his. Then abruptly their fierce resistance failed. She turnedher face aside and burst into tears. 

In a moment she was free. Her husband stood regarding her with a verycurious look in his eyes. He watched her as she moved slowly away fromhim, fighting fiercely, desperately, to regain her self-control. He sawher sit down, leaving almost the length of the room between them, andlean her head upon her hand. 

Then the man's arrested brutality suddenly reasserted itself, and hestrode to the door. 

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed as he went. "Don't I know that you pray for adeliverer every night of your life? And what deliverer would you have ifnot death--the surest of all--in your case positively the only onewithin the bounds of possibility?"

He was gone with the words, but she would not have attempted to answerthem had he stayed. Her head was bowed almost to her knees, and she satquite motionless, as if he had stabbed her to the heart. 

Later she dined alone with Archie in her husband's unexplained absence, and later still, at the theatre, her face was as gay, her laugh asfrequent, as any there. 

IX

THE END OF A MYSTERY

On the following afternoon Nina went to the Wade Home to see the victimof the accident. She was received by the matron, a middle-aged, kindlywoman, who was openly pleased with the concern her visitor exhibited. 

"Oh, he's better, " she said, "much better. But I'm afraid I can't letyou see him now, as he is asleep. Dr. Wade examined him himselfyesterday. And he was here again this morning. His opinion is that thespine has been only bruised. While unconsciousness lasted, it was, ofcourse, difficult to tell. But the patient became conscious thismorning, and Dr. Wade said he was very well pleased with him on thewhole. He thinks we shall not have him very long. He's a bright littlechap and thoroughly likes his quarters. His father is a dock labourer. Everyone knows the Wade Home, and all the patients consider themselvesvery lucky to be here. You see, the doctor is such a favourite whereverhe goes. "

"I have never met Dr. Wade, " Nina said. "I suppose he is a great man?"

The matron's jolly face glowed with enthusiasm. 

"He is indeed, " she said--"a splendid man. You probably know him byanother name. They say he is a leading physician in the West End. But weCity people know him and love him by his assumed name only. Why, onlylately he cut short his holiday on purpose to be near one of hispatients who was dying. If you could manage to come to-morrow afternoonafter four o'clock, no doubt you would see him. It is visiting-day, andhe is always here on Sunday afternoons between three and six in case thevisitors like to see him. I should be delighted to give you some tea. And you could then see the little boy. "

"Thank you, " Nina said. "I will. "

That evening she chanced to meet Archie Neville at a friend'sdinner-table and imparted to him her purpose. 

"Jove!" he said. "Good idea! I'll come with you, shall I?"

"Please not in the hansom!" she said. 

"Not a bit of it, " returned Archie. "But you needn't be nervous. I'vesacked that man. No matter! We'll go in a wheelbarrow if you thinkthat'll be safer. "

Nina laughed and agreed to accept his escort. Archie's society was avery welcome distraction just then. 

To her husband she made no mention of her intention. She had establishedthe custom of going her own way at all times. It did not even cross hermind to introduce the subject. He was treating her with that sarcasticcourtesy of his which was so infinitely hard to bear. It hurt herhorribly, and because of the pain she avoided him as much as she dared. 

She did not know how he spent his time on Sundays. Except for hispresence at luncheon she found she was left as completely to her owndevices as on other days. 

She had agreed to drive Archie to the Wade Home in her husband'slandaulette. 

Wingarde left the house before three and she was alone when Archiearrived. 

The latter looked at her critically. 

"What's the matter?" he asked. 

"Nothing, " she returned instantly. "Why?"

"You're looking off colour, " he said. 

Nina turned from him impatiently. 

"There is nothing the matter with me, " she said. "Shall we start?"

Archie said no more. But he glanced at her curiously from time to time. He wondered privately if her husband's society were driving her to thatextreme which she had told him she might reach eventually. 

Visitors were being admitted to the Wade Home when they arrived. Theywere directed to the ward where lay the boy in whom they wereinterested. Nina presented him with flowers and a book, and sat for sometime talking with him. The little fellow was hugely flattered by herattentions, though too embarrassed to express his pleasure in words. Archie amused himself by making pennies appear and disappear in thepalms of his hands for the benefit of a sad-faced urchin in the next bedwho had no visitors. 

In the midst of this the matron bustled in to beg Nina and her companionto take a cup of tea in her room. 

"Dr. Wade is here and sure to come in, " she said. "I should like you tomeet him. "

Nina accordingly took leave of her _protégé_, and, followed by Archie, repaired to the matron's room. 

The windows were thrown wide open, for the afternoon was hot. They satdown, feeling that tea was a welcome sight. 

"I have a separate brew for Dr. Wade, " said the matron cheerily. "Helikes it so very strong. He almost always takes a cup. There! I hear himcoming now. "

There sounded a step in the passage and a man's quiet laugh. Ninastarted slightly. 

A moment later a voice in the doorway said:

"Ah! Here you are, Mrs. Ritchie! I have just been prescribing a piece ofsugar for this patient of ours. Her mother is waiting to take her away. "

Nina was on her feet in an instant. All the blood seemed to rush to herheart. Its throbs felt thick and heavy. On the threshold her husbandstood, looking full at her. In his arms was a little child. 

"Dr. Wade!" smiled the matron. "You do spoil your patients, sir. There!Let me take her! Please come in! Your tea is just ready. I was justtalking about you to Mrs. Wingarde, who came to see the boy who wasknocked down by a hansom last week. Madam, this is Dr. Wade. "

She went forward to lift the child out of Wingarde's arms. Therefollowed a silence, a brief, hard-strung silence. Nina stood quitestill. Her hands were unconsciously clasped together. She was white tothe lips. But she kept her eyes raised to Wingarde's face. He seemed tobe looking through her, and in his eyes was that look with which he hadregarded her when he had saved her life and Archie's two days before. 

He spoke almost before the matron had begun to notice anything unusualin the atmosphere. 

"Ah!" he said, with a slight bow. "You know me under differentcircumstances--you and Mr. Neville. You did not expect to meet me here?"

Archie glanced at Nina and saw her agitation. He came coolly forward andplaced himself in the breach. 

"We certainly didn't, " he said. "It's good sometimes to know that peopleare not all they seem. I congratulate you, er--Dr. Wade. "

Wingarde turned his attention to his wife's companion. His face was verydark. 

"Take the child to her mother, please, Mrs. Ritchie!" he said curtly, over his shoulder. 

The matron departed discreetly, but at the door the child in her armsbegan to cry. 

Wingarde turned swiftly, took the little one's face between his hands, spoke a soft word, and kissed it. 

Then, as the matron moved away, he walked back into the room, closingthe door behind him. All the tenderness with which he had comforted thewailing baby had vanished from his face. 

"Mr. Neville, " he said shortly, "my wife will return in the car with me. I will relieve you of your attendance upon her. "

Archie turned crimson, but he managed to control himself--more for thesake of the girl who stood in total silence by his side than from anyidea of expediency. 

"Certainly, " he said, "if Mrs. Wingarde also prefers that arrangement. "

Nina glanced at him. He saw that her lip was quivering painfully. Shedid not attempt to speak. 

Archie turned to go. But almost instantly Wingarde's voice arrested him. 

"I can give you a seat in the car if you wish, " he said. He spoke withless sternness, but his face had not altered. 

Archie stopped. Again for Nina's sake he choked back his wrath andaccepted the churlishly proffered amendment. 

Wingarde drank his tea, strolling about the room. He did not againaddress his wife directly. 

As for Nina, though she answered Archie when he spoke to her, it waswith very obvious effort. She glanced from time to time at her husbandas if in some uncertainty. Finally, when they took leave of the matronand went down to the car she seemed to hail the move with relief. 

Throughout the drive westwards scarcely a word was spoken. At the end ofthe journey Archie turned deliberately and addressed Wingarde. His facewas white and dogged. 

"I should like a word with you in private, " he said. 

Wingarde looked at him for a moment as if he meant to refuse. Thenabruptly he gave way. 

"I am at your service, " he said formally. 

And Archie marched into the house in Nina's wake. 

In the hall Wingarde touched his shoulder. 

"Come into the smoking-room!" he said quietly. 

X

TAKEN TO TASK

"I want to know what you mean, " said Archie. 

He stood up very straight, with the summer sunlight full in his face, and confronted Nina's husband without a hint of dismay in his bearing. 

Wingarde looked at him with a very faint smile on his grim lips. 

"You wish to take me to task?" he asked. 

"I do, " said Archie decidedly. 

"For what in particular? The innocent deception practised upon anequally innocent public? Or for something more serious than that?"

There was an unmistakable ring of sternness behind Wingarde'sdeliberately scoffing tone. 

Archie answered him instantly, with the quickness of a man who fightsfor his honour. 

"For something more serious, " he said. "It's nothing to me what fooltrick you may choose to play for your own amusement. But I am not goingto swallow an insult from you or any man. I want an explanation forthat. "

Wingarde stood with his back to the light and looked at him. 

"In what way have I insulted you?" he said. 

"You implied that I was not a suitable escort for your wife, " Archiesaid, forcing himself to speak without vehemence. 

Wingarde raised his eyebrows. 

"I apologize if I was too emphatic, " he said, after a moment. "But, considering the circumstances, I am forced to tell you that I do notconsider you a suitable escort for my wife. "

"What circumstances?" said Archie. He clenched his hands abruptly, andWingarde saw it. 

"Please understand, " he said curtly, "that I will listen to you only solong as you keep your temper! I believe that you know what I mean--whatcircumstances I refer to. If you wish me to put them into plain languageI will do so. But I don't think you will like it. "

Archie pounced upon the words. 

"You would probably put me to the trouble of calling you a liar if youdid, " he said, in a shaking voice. "I have no more intention than youhave of mincing matters. As to listening to me, you shall do that in anycase. I am going to tell you the truth, and I mean that you shall hearit. "

He strode to the door as he spoke, and locked it, pocketing the key. 

Wingarde did not stir to prevent him. He waited with a sneer on his lipswhile Archie returned and took up his stand facing him. 

"You seem very sure of yourself, " he said in a quiet tone. 

"I am, " Archie said doggedly. "Absolutely sure. You think I am in lovewith your wife, don't you?"

Wingarde frowned heavily. 

"Are you going to throw dust in my eyes?" he asked contemptuously. 

Archie locked his hands behind him. 

"I am going to tell you the truth, " he said again, and, though his voicestill shook perceptibly there was dignity in his bearing. "Three yearsago I was in love with her. "

"Calf love?" suggested Wingarde carelessly. 

"You may call it what you like, " Archie rejoined. "That is to say, anything honourable. I was hard hit three years ago, and it lasted offand on till her marriage to you. But she never cared for me in the sameway. That I know now. I proposed to her twice, and she refused me. "

"You weren't made of money, you see, " sneered Wingarde. 

Archie's fingers gripped each other. He had never before longed sofiercely to hurl a blow in a man's face. 

"If I had been, " he said, "I am not sure that I should have made therunning with you in the field. That brings me to what I have to say toyou. I wondered for a long time how she brought herself to marry you. When you came back from your honeymoon I began to understand. Shemarried you for your money; but if you had chosen, she would havemarried you for love. "

He blurted out the words hastily, as though he could not trust himselfto pause lest he should not say them. 

Wingarde stood up suddenly to his full height. For once he was takentotally by surprise and showed it. He did not speak, however, and Archieblundered on:

"I am not your friend. I don't say this in any way for your sake. But--Iam her's--- her friend, mind you. I don't say I haven't ever flirtedwith her. I have. But I have never said to her a single word that Ishould be ashamed to repeat to you--not one word. You've got to believethat whether you want to or not. "

He paused momentarily. The frown had died away from Wingarde's face, buthis eyes were stern. He waited silently for more. Archie proceeded withmore steadiness, more self-assurance, less self-restraint. 

"You've treated her abominably, " he said, going straight to the point. "I don't care what you think of me for saying so. It's the truth. You'vedeceived her, neglected her, bullied her. Deny it if you can! Oh, no, this isn't what she has told me. It has been as plain as daylight. Icouldn't have avoided knowing it. You made her your wife, Heaven knowswhy. You probably cared for her in your own brutal fashion. But you havenever taken the trouble to make her care for you. You never go out withher. You never consider her in any way. You see her wretched, illalmost, under your eyes; and instead of putting it down to your ownconfounded churlishness, you turn round and insult me for behavingdecently to her. There! I have done. You can kick me out of the house assoon as you like. But you won't find it so easy to forget what I'vesaid. You know in your heart that it's the truth. "

Archie ended his vigorous speech with the full expectation of being madeto pay the penalty by means of a damaged skin. 

Wingarde's face was uncompromising. It told nothing of his mood duringthe heavy silence that followed. It was, therefore, a considerableshock when he abruptly surrendered the citadel without striking a singleblow. 

"I am much obliged to you, Neville, " he said very quietly. "And I beg toapologize for a most unworthy suspicion. Will you shake hands?"

Archie tumbled off his high horse with more speed than elegance. Hethrust out his hand with an inarticulate murmur of assent. Perhaps afterall the fellow had been no worse than an unmannerly bear. The nextminute he was discussing politics with the monster he had dared to beardin his own den. 

When Nina saw her husband again he treated her with a courtesy soscrupulous that she felt the miserable scourge of her uncertainty atwork again. She would have given much to have possessed the key to hisreal feelings. With regard to his establishment of the Wade Home, hegave her the briefest explanation. He had been originally intended for adoctor, he said, had passed his medical examinations, and been qualifiedto practise. Then, at the last minute, a chance opening had presenteditself, and he had gone into finance instead. 

"After that, " he somewhat sarcastically said, "I gave myself up to theall absorbing business of money-making. And doctoring became merely myfad, my amusement, my recreation--whatever you please to call it. "

"I wish you had told me, " Nina said, in a low voice. 

At which remark he merely shrugged his shoulders, making no rejoinder. 

She felt hurt by his manner and said no more. Only later there came toher the memory of the man she feared, standing in the doorway of thematron's room with a little child in his arms. Somehow that picture wasvery vividly impressed upon her mind. 

XI

MONEY'S NOT EVERYTHING

"What! You are coming too?"

Nina stopped short on her way to the car and gazed at her husband inamazement. 

He had returned early from the City, and she now met him dressed toattend a garden-party whither she herself was going. 

He bent his head in answer to her surprised question. 

"I shall give myself the pleasure of accompanying you, " he said, withmuch formality. 

She coloured and bit her lip. Swift as evil came the thought that heresented her intimacy with Archie and was determined to frustrate anyattempt on their part to secure a _tête-à-tête_. 

"You take great care of me, " she said, with a bitter little smile. 

Wingarde made no response; his face was quite inscrutable. 

They scarcely spoke during the drive, and she kept her face averted. Only when he held out his hand to assist her to alight she met his eyefor an instant and wondered vaguely at the look he gave her. 

The party was a large one; the lawns were crowded. Nina took the firstopportunity that offered to slip away from him, for she felt hopelesslyill at ease in his company. The sensation of being watched that hadoppressed her during her brief honeymoon had reawakened. 

Archie presently joined her. 

"Did I see the hero of the Crawley gold field just now?" he asked. "Orwas it hallucination?"

Nina looked at him with a very bored expression. 

"Oh, yes, my husband is here, " she said. "I suppose you had better notstay with me or he will come up and be rude to you. "

Archie chuckled. 

"Not he! We understand one another, " he said lightly. "But, I say, whatan impostor the fellow is! Everyone knows about Dr. Wade, but no oneconnects him in the smallest degree with Hereford Wingarde. It shouldn'tbe allowed to go on. You ought to tell the town-crier. "

Nina tried to laugh, but it was a somewhat dismal effort. 

"Come along!" said Archie cheerily. "There's my mother over there; shehas been wondering where you were. "

Nina went with him with a nervous wonder if Hereford were still watchingher, but she saw nothing of him. 

The afternoon wore away in music and gaiety. A great many of heracquaintances were present, and to Nina the time passed quickly. 

She was sitting in a big marquee drinking the tea that Archie hadbrought her when she next saw her husband. By chance she discovered himtalking with a man she did not know, not ten yards from her. The tentwas fairly full, and the buzz of conversation was continuous. 

Nina glanced at him from time to time with a curious sense ofuneasiness, and an unaccountable desire to detach him from hisacquaintance grew gradually upon her. 

The latter was a heavy-browed man with queer, furtive eyes. As Ninastealthily watched them she saw that this man was restless and agitated. Her husband's face was turned from her, but his attitude was one ofcareless ease, into which his big limbs dropped when he was at leisure. 

Later she never knew by what impulse she acted. It was as if a voicesuddenly cried aloud in her heart that Wingarde was in deadly danger. She gave Archie her cup and rose. 

"Just a moment!" she said hurriedly. "I see Hereford over there. "

She moved swiftly in the direction of the two men. There was disasterin the air. She seemed to breathe it as she drew near. Her husbandstraightened himself before she reached him, and half turned with hiscontemptuous laugh. The next instant Nina saw his companion's hand whipsomething from behind him. She shrieked aloud and sprang forward like aterrified animal. The man's eyes maddened her more than the deadlylittle weapon that flashed into view in his right hand. 

There followed prompt upon her cry the sharp explosion of arevolver-shot, and then the din of a panic-stricken crowd. 

But Nina did not share the panic. She had flung herself in front of herhusband, had flung her whole weight upon the upraised arm that hadpointed the revolver and borne it downwards with all her strength. Thosewho saw her action compared it later with the furious attack of atigress defending her young. 

It was all over in a few brief seconds. Men crowded round andoverpowered her adversary. Someone took the frenzied girl by theshoulders and forced her to relinquish her clutch. 

She turned and looked straight into Wingarde's face, and at the sighther nerves gave way and she broke into hysterical sobbing, though sheknew that he was safe. 

He put his arm around her and led her from the stifling tent. Peoplemade way for them. Only their hostess and Archie Neville followed. 

Outside on the lawn, away from the buzzing multitude, Nina began torecover herself. Archie brought a chair, and she dropped into it, butshe held fast to Wingarde's arm, beseeching him over and over again notto leave her. 

Wingarde stooped over her, supporting her; but he found nothing to sayto her. He briefly ordered Archie to fetch some water, and made requestto his hostess, almost equally brief, that their car might be called inreadiness for departure. But his manner was wholly free from agitation. 

"My wife will recover better at home, " he said, and the lady of thehouse went away with a good deal of tact to give the order herself. 

Left alone with him, Nina still clung to her husband; but she grewrapidly calmer in his quiet hold. After a moment he spoke to her. 

"I wonder how you knew, " he said. 

Nina leant her head against him like an exhausted child. 

"I saw it coming, " she said. "It was in his eyes--mad hatred. I knew hewas going to--to kill you if he could. "

She did not want to meet his eyes, but he gently compelled her. 

"And so you saved my life, " he said in a quiet tone. 

"I had to, " she said faintly. 

Archie here reappeared with a glass of water. 

"The fellow is in a fit, " he reported. "They are taking him away. Jove, Wingarde! You ought to be a dead man. If Nina hadn't spoilt that shot--"

Nina was shuddering, and he broke off. 

"You'd better give up cornering gold fields, " he said lightly. "It seemshe was nearly ruined over your last _coup_. You may do that sort ofthing once too often, don't you know. I shouldn't chance another throw. "

Nina stood up shakily and looked at her husband. 

"If you only would give it up!" she said, with trembling vehemence. "I--I hate money!"

Wingarde made no response; but Archie instantly took her up. 

"You only hate money for what it can't buy, " he said. "You probablyexpect too much from it. Don't blame money for that. "

Nina uttered a tremulous laugh that sounded strangely passionate. 

"You're quite right, " she said. "Money's not everything. I have weighedit in the balance and found it wanting. "

"Yes, " Wingarde said in a peculiar tone. "And so have I. "

XII

AFTERWARDS--LOVE

An overwhelming shyness possessed Nina that night. She dined alone withher husband, and found his silences even more oppressive than usual. Yet, when she rose from the table, an urgent desire to keep him withincall impelled her to pause. 

"Shall you be late to-night?" she asked him, stopping nervously beforehim, as he stood by the open door. 

"I am not going out to-night, " he responded gravely. "

"Oh!" Nina hesitated still. She was trembling slightly. "Then--I shallsee you again?" she said. 

He bent his head. 

"I shall be with you in ten minutes, " he replied. 

And she passed out quickly. 

The night was still and hot. She went into her own little sitting-roomand straight to the open window. Her heart was beating very fast as shestood and looked across the quiet square. The roar of London hummedbusily from afar. She heard it as one hears the rushing of unseen wateramong the hills. 

There was no one moving in the square. The trees in the garden lookeddim and dreamlike against a red-gold sky. 

Suddenly in the next house, from a room with an open window, there rosethe sound of a woman's voice, tender as the night. It reached the girlwho stood waiting in the silence. The melody was familiar to her, andshe leant forward breathlessly to catch the words:

 Shadows and mist and night, Darkness around the way; Here a cloud and there a star; Afterwards, Day!

There came a pause and the soft notes of a piano. Nina stood withclasped hands, waiting for the second verse. Her cheeks were wet. 

It came, slow and exquisitely pure, as if an angel had drawn near to theturbulent earth with a message of healing:

 Sorrow and grief and tears, Eyes vainly raised above; Here a thorn and there a rose; Afterwards, Love!

Nina turned from the open window. She was groping, for her eyes werefull of tears. From the doorway a man moved quietly to meet her. 

"Hereford!" she said in a broken whisper, and went straight into hisarms. 

He held her fast, so fast that she felt his heart beating against herbowed head. But it was many seconds before he spoke. 

"Do you remember the wishing-gate, Nina?" he said, speaking softly. "Andhow you asked for a Deliverer?"

She stretched up her arms to clasp his neck without lifting her head. She was crying and could not answer him. 

He put his hand upon her hair and she felt it tremble. 

"Has the Deliverer come to you, dear?" he asked her very tenderly. 

He felt for her face in the darkness, and turned it slowly upwards. Shedid not resist him though she knew well what was coming. Rather sheyielded to his touch with a sudden, passionate willingness. And so theirlips met in the first kiss that had ever passed between them. 

Thus there came a Deliverer more potent than death into the heart of thegirl who had married for money, and made its surrender sweet. 

The Prey of the Dragon

I

"Ah! She's off!"

A deafening blast came from the great steamship's siren, and a long sighwent up from the crowd upon the quay. Someone raised a cheer that wasquickly drowned in the noise of escaping steam. Very slowly, almostimperceptibly, the vessel began to move. 

A black gap appeared, and widened between her and the wharf till itbecame a stretch of grey water veiled in the dank fog of a murky sea. The fog was everywhere, floating in wreaths upon the oily swell, blotting out all distant objects, making vague those that were near. Very soon the crowd on the shore was swallowed up and the great vesselwas heading for the mouth, of the harbour and the wide lonelinessbeyond. 

Sybil Denham hid her face in her hands for a moment and shivered. Therewas something terrible to her in the thought of those thousands of milesto be traversed alone. It cowed her. It appalled her. 

Yet when she looked up again her eyes were brave. She stood committednow to this great step, and she was resolved to take it with a highcourage. Whatever lay before her, she must face it now withoutshrinking. Yet it was horribly lonely. She turned from the deck-railwith nervous haste. 

The next instant she caught her foot against a coil of rope and fellheadlong, with a violence that almost stunned her. A moment she lay, then, gasping, began to raise herself. 

But as she struggled to her knees strong hands lifted her, and a man'svoice said gruffly:

"Are you hurt?"

She found herself in the grasp of a powerful giant with the physique ofa prize-fighter and a dark face with lowering brows that seemed to wearan habitual scowl. 

She was too staggered to speak; the fall had unnerved her. She put herhand vaguely behind her, feeling for the rail, looking up at him withpiteous, quivering lips. 

"You should look where you are going, " he said, with scant sympathy. "Perhaps you will another time. "

She found the rail, leaned upon it, then turned her back upon himsuddenly and burst into tears which she was too shaken to restrain. Shethought he would go away, hoped that he would; but he remained, standingin stolid silence till she managed in a measure to regain herself-control. 

"Where did you hurt yourself?" he asked then. 

She struggled with herself, and answered him. "I--I am not hurt. "

"Then what are you crying for?"

The words sounded more like a rude retort than a question. 

She found them unanswerable, and suddenly, while she still stoodbattling with her tears, something in the utterance touched her sense ofhumour. She gulped down a sob, and gave a little strangled laugh. 

"I don't quite know, " she said, drying her eyes. "Thank you for pickingme up. "

"I should have tumbled over you if I hadn't, " he responded. 

Again her sense of humour quivered, finally dispelling all desire tocry. She turned a little. 

"I'm glad you didn't!" she said with fervour. 

"So am I. "

The curt rejoinder cut clean through her depression. She broke into agay, spontaneous laugh. 

But the next instant she checked herself and apologized. 

"Forgive me! I'm very rude. "

"What's the joke?" he asked. 

She answered him in a voice that still quivered a little with suppressedmerriment. 

"There isn't a joke. I--I often laugh at nothing. It's a silly habit ofmine. "

His moody silence seemed to endorse this remark. She became silent also, and after a moment made a shy movement to depart. 

He turned then and looked at her, looked full and straight into hersmall, sallow face, with its shadowy eyes and pointed features, as if hewould register her likeness upon his memory. 

She gave him a faint, friendly smile. 

"I'm going below now, " she said. "Good-bye!"

He raised his hat abruptly. His head was massive as a bull's. 

"Mind how you go!" he said briefly. 

And Sybil went, feeling like a child that has been rebuked. 

II

"Do you always walk along with your eyes shut?" asked Brett Mercer. 

Sybil gave a great start, and saw him lounging immediately in her path. The days that had elapsed since their first meeting had placed them upona more or less intimate footing. He had assumed the right to speak toher from the outset--this giant who had picked her up like an infant andscolded her for crying. 

It was a hot morning in the Indian Ocean. She had not slept during thenight, and she was feeling weary and oppressed. But, with a woman'sinstinctive reserve, she forced a hasty smile. She would not havestopped to speak had he not risen and barred her progress. 

"Sit here!" he said. 

She looked up at him with refusal on her lips; but he forestalled herby laying an immense hand on her shoulder and pressing her down into thechair he had just vacated. This accomplished, he turned and hung overthe rail in silence. It seemed to be the man's habit at all times to dorather than to speak. 

Sybil sat passive, feeling rather helpless, dumbly watching the greatlounging figure, and wondered how she should escape without hurting hisfeelings. 

Suddenly, without turning his head, he spoke to her. 

"I suppose if I ask what's the matter you'll tell me to go to thedevil. "

The remark, though characteristic, was totally unexpected. Sybil staredat him for a moment. Then, as once before, his rude address set hersense of humour a-quivering. Depressed, miserable though she was, shebegan to laugh. 

He turned, and looked at her sideways. 

"No doubt I am very funny, " he observed dryly. 

She checked herself with an effort. 

"Oh, I know I'm horrid to laugh. But it's not that I am ungrateful. There is nothing really the matter. I--I'm feeling rather like a straycat this morning, that's all. "

The smile still lingered about her lips as she said it. Somehow, tellingthis taciturn individual of her trouble deprived it of much of itsbitterness. 

Mercer displayed no sympathy. He did not even continue to look at her. But she did not feel that his impassivity arose from lack of interest. 

Suddenly:

"Is it true that you are going to be married as soon as you land?" heasked. 

Sybil was sitting forward with her chin in her hands. 

"Quite true, " she said; adding, half to herself, "so far as I know. "

"What do you mean by that?" He turned squarely and looked down at her. 

She hesitated a little, but eventually she told him. 

"I thought there would have been a letter for me from Robin at Aden, butthere wasn't. It has worried me rather. "

"Robin?" he said interrogatively. 

"Robin Wentworth, the man I am going to marry, " she explained. "He has afarm at Bowker Creek, near Rollandstown. But he will meet me at thedocks. He has promised to do that. Still, I thought I should have heardfrom him again. "

"But you will hear at Colombo, " said Mercer. 

She raised her eyes--- those soft, dark eyes that were her only beauty. 

"I may, " she said. 

"And if you don't?"

She smiled faintly. 

"I suppose I shall worry some more. "

"Are you sure the fellow is worth it?" asked Mercer unexpectedly. 

"We have been engaged for three years, " she said, "though we have beenseparated. "

He frowned. 

"A man can alter a good deal in three years. "

She did not attempt to dispute the point. It was one of the many doubtsthat tormented her in moments of depression. 

"And what will you do if he doesn't turn up?" proceeded Mercer. 

She gave a sharp shiver. 

"Don't--don't frighten me!" she said. 

Mercer was silent. He thrust one hand into his pocket, and absentlyjingled some coins. He began to whistle under his breath, and then, awaking to the fact, abruptly stopped himself. 

"If I were in your place, " he said at length, "I should get off atColombo and sail home again on the next boat. "

Sybil shook her head slowly but emphatically. 

"I am quite sure you wouldn't. For one thing you would be too poor, andfor another you would be too proud. "

"Are you very poor?" he asked her point blank. 

She nodded. 

"And very proud. "

"And your people?"

"Only my father is living, and I have quarrelled with him. "

"Can't you make it up?"

"No, " she said sharply and emphatically. "I could never return to myfather. There is no room for me now that he has married again. I wouldsooner sell matches at a street corner than go back to what I haveleft. "

"So that's it, is it?" said Mercer. He was looking at her veryattentively with his brows drawn down. "You are not happy at home, soyou are plunging into matrimony to get away from it all. "

"We have been engaged for three years, " she protested, flushing. 

"You said that before, " he remarked. "It seems to be your only argument, and a confoundedly shaky one at that. "

She laughed rather unsteadily. 

"You are not very encouraging. "

"No, " said Mercer. 

He was still looking at her somewhat sternly. Involuntarily almost sheavoided his eyes. 

"Perhaps, " she said, with a touch of wistfulness, "when you see my_fiancé_ you will change your mind. "

He turned from her with obvious impatience. 

"Perhaps you will change yours, " he said. 

And with that surly rejoinder of his the conversation ended. The nextmoment he moved abruptly away, leaving her in possession. 

III

It was early morning when they came at last into port. When Sybilappeared on deck she found it crowded with excited men, and the hubbubwas deafening. A multitude of small boats buzzed to and fro on thetumbling waters below them, and she expected every instant to see oneswamped as the great ship floated majestically through the throng. 

She had anticipated a crowd of people on the wharf to witness theirarrival, but the knot of men gathered there scarcely numbered a score. She scanned them eagerly, but it took only a very few seconds toconvince her that Robin Wentworth was not among them. And there had beenno letter from him at Colombo. 

"They don't allow many people on the wharf, " said Mercer's voice behindher. "There will be more on the other side of the Customs house. "

She looked up at him, bravely smiling, though her heart was throbbingalmost to suffocation and she could not speak a word. 

He passed on into the crowd and she lost sight of him. 

There followed a delay of nearly half-an-hour, during which she stoodwhere she was in the glaring sunshine, dumbly watching. The town, withits many buildings, its roar of traffic; the harbour, with its ships andits hooting sirens; the hot sky, the water that shone like molten brass;all were stamped upon her aching brain with nightmare distinctness. Shefelt as one caught in some pitiless machine that would crush her toatoms before she could escape. 

The gangways were fixed at last, and there was a general movement. Shewent with the crowd, Mercer's last words still running through her brainwith a reiteration that made them almost meaningless. On the other sideof the Customs house! Of course, of course she would find Robin there, waiting for her!

She said it to herself over and over as she stepped ashore, and shebegan to picture their meeting. And then, suddenly, an awful doubtassailed her. She could not recall his features. His image would notrise before her. The memory of his face had passed completely from hermind. It had never done so before, and she was scared. But she strove toreassure herself with the thought that she must surely recognize him themoment her eyes beheld him. It was but a passing weakness this, born ofher agitation. Of course, she would know him, and he would know her, too, mightily though she felt she had changed during those three yearsthat they had not met. 

She moved on as one in a dream, still with that nightmare of oppressionat her heart. The crowd of hurrying strangers bewildered her. Herloneliness appalled her. She had an insane longing to rush back to hercabin and hide herself. But she pressed on, on into the Customs house, following her little pile of luggage that looked so ludicrouslyinsignificant among all the rest. 

The babel here was incessant. She felt as if her senses would leave her. Piteously, like a lost child, she searched every face within her scopeof vision; but she searched in vain for the face of a friend. 

Later, she found herself following an official out into an open spacelike a great courtyard, that was crammed with vehicles. He was wheelingher luggage on a trolley. Suddenly he faced round and asked her whithershe wanted to go. 

She looked at him helplessly. "I am expecting someone to meet me, " shesaid. 

He stared at her in some perplexity, and finally suggested that heshould set down her luggage and leave her to wait where she was. 

To this she agreed, and when he had gone she seated herself on her cabintrunk and faced the situation. She was utterly alone, with scarcely anymoney in her possession, and no knowledge whatever of the place in whichshe found herself. Robin would, of course, come sooner or later, buttill he came she was helpless. 

What should she do, she wondered desperately? What could she do? Allabout her, people were coming and going. She watched them dizzily. Therewas not one of them who seemed to be alone. The heat and glare wasintense. The clatter of wheels sounded in her ears like the roar ofgreat waters. She felt as if she were sinking down, down through endlessturmoil into a void unspeakable. 

How long she had sat there she could not have said. It seemed to herhours when someone came up to her with a firm and purposeful stride, and stooping, touched her shoulder. She looked up dazedly, and sawBrett Mercer. 

He said something to her, but it was as if he spoke in an unknownlanguage. She had not the faintest idea what he meant. His face swambefore her eyes. She shook her head at him vaguely, with quivering lips. 

He stooped lower. She felt his arm encircle her, felt him draw her toher feet. Again he seemed to be speaking, but his words eluded her. Theroar of the great waters filled her brain. Like a lost child she turnedand clung to the supporting arm. 

IV

Later, it seemed to her that her senses must have deserted her for atime, for she never remembered what happened to her next. A multitude ofimpressions crowded upon her, but she knew nothing with distinctnesstill she woke to find herself lying in a room with green blindshalf-drawn, with Mercer stooping over her, compelling her to drink anauseating mixture in a wine-glass. 

As soon as full consciousness returned to her she refused to takeanother drop. 

"What is it? It--it's horrible. "

"It's the best stuff you ever tasted, " he told her bluntly. "You needn'tget up. You are all right as you are. "

But she sat up, nevertheless, and looked at him confusedly. "Where amI?" she said. 

He seated himself on the corner of a table that creaked loudly beneathhis weight. It seemed to her that he looked even more massive thanusual--a bed-rock of strength. His eyes met hers with a certain mastery. 

"You are in a private room in a private hotel, " he said. "I brought youhere. "

"In a hotel!" She stared at him for a moment, stricken silent by theinformation; then quickly she rose to her feet. "Oh, but I--I can'tstay!" she said. "I have no money. "

"I know, " said Mercer. He remained seated on the table edge, his handsin his pockets, his eyes unwaveringly upon her. "That's where I comein, " he told her, with a touch of aggressiveness, as though he sighteddifficulties ahead. "I have money--plenty of it. And you are to make useof it. "

She stood motionless, gazing at him. His eyes never left her. She couldnot quite fathom his look, but it was undoubtedly stern. 

"Mr. Mercer, " she said at last, rather piteously, "I--indeed I amgrateful to you, much more than grateful. But--I can't!"

"Rubbish!" said Mercer curtly. "If you weren't a girl, I should tell younot to be a fool!"

She was clasping and unclasping her hands. It was to be a battle ofwills. His rough speech revealed this to her. And she was ill-equippedfor the conflict. His dominant personality seemed to deprive her of eventhe desire to fight. She remembered, with a sudden, burning flush, thatshe had clung to him only a little while before in her extremity ofloneliness. Doubtless he remembered it too. 

Yet she braced herself for the struggle. He could not, after all, compelher to accept his generosity. 

"I am sorry, " she said; "I am very sorry. But, you know, there isanother way in which you can help me. "

"What is that?" said Mercer. 

"If you could tell me of some respectable lodging, " she said. "I haveenough for one night if the charges are moderate. And even afterthat--if Robin doesn't come--I have one or two little things I mightsell. He is sure to come soon. "

"And if he doesn't?" said Mercer. 

Her fingers gripped each other. 

"I am sure he will, " she said. 

"And if he doesn't?" said Mercer again. 

His persistence became suddenly intolerable. She turned on him withsomething like anger--the anger of desperation. 

"Why will you persist in trying to frighten me? I know he will come. Iknow he will!"

"You don't know, " said Mercer. "I am not frightening you. You wereafraid before you ever spoke to me. "

He spoke harshly, without pity, and still his eyes dwelt resolutely uponher. He seemed to be watching her narrowly. 

She did not attempt to deny his last words. She passed them by. 

"I shall write to Bowker Creek. He may have mistaken the date. "

"He may, " said Mercer, in a tone she did not understand. "But, in themeantime, why should you turn your back upon the only friend you have athand? It seems to me that you are making a fuss over nothing. You havebeen brought up to it, I daresay; but it isn't the fashion here. We aretaught to take things as they come, and make the best of 'em. That'swhat you have got to do. It'll come easier after a bit. "

"It will never come easily to me to--to live on charity, " she protested, rather incoherently. 

"But you can pay me back, " said Brett Mercer. 

She shook her head. 

"Not if--if Robin----"

"I tell you, you can!" he insisted stubbornly. 

"How?" She turned suddenly and faced him. There was a hint of defiance, or, rather, daring, in her manner. She met his look with unswervingresolution. "If there is a good chance of my being able to do that, " shesaid, "even if--even if Robin fails me, I will accept your help. "

"You will be able to do it, " said Mercer. 

"How?" she asked again. 

"I will tell you, " he said, "when you are quite sure that Robin hasfailed you. "

"Tell me now!" she pleaded. "If it is some work that you can find for meto do--and I will do anything in the world that I can--it would be sucha help to me to know of it. Won't you tell me what you mean? Please do!"

"No, " said Mercer. "It is only a chance, and you may refuse it. I can'tsay. You may feel it too much for you to attempt. If you do, you willhave to endure the obligation. But you shall have the chance of payingme back if you really want it. "

"And you won't tell me what it is?" she said. 

"No. " He got to his feet, and stood looking down at her. "I can't tellyou now. I am not in a position to do so. I am going away for a fewdays. You will wait here till I come back?"

"Unless Robin comes, " she said. "And then, of course, I would leave youa message. "

He nodded. 

"Otherwise you will stay here?"

"If you are sure you wish it, " she said. 

"I do. And I am going to leave you this. " He laid a packet upon thetable. "It is better for you to be independent, for the sake ofappearances. " His iron mouth twitched a little. "Now, good-bye! Youwon't be more miserable than you can help?"

She smiled up at him bravely. 

"No; I won't be miserable. How long shall you be gone?"

"Possibly a week, possibly a little more. "

"But you will come back?" she said quickly, almost beseechingly. 

"I shall certainly come back, " he said. 

With the words his great hand closed firmly upon hers, and she had acurious, vagrant feeling of insecurity that she could not attempt toanalyse. Then abruptly he let her go. An instant his eyes still heldher, and then, before she could begin to thank him, he turned to thedoor and was gone. 

V

For ten days, that seemed to her like as many years, Sybil Denham waitedin the shelter into which she had been so relentlessly thrust for ananswer to her letter to Bowker Creek, and during the whole of that timeshe lived apart, exchanging scarcely a word with any one. Every day, generally twice a day, she went down to the wharf; but, she could notbring herself to linger. The loneliness that perpetually dogged herfootsteps was almost poignant there, and sometimes she came away withpanic at her heart. Suppose Mercer also should forsake her! She had notthe faintest idea what she would do if he did. And yet, whenever shecontemplated his return, she was afraid. There was something about theman that she had never fathomed--something ungovernable, somethingbrutal--from which instinctively she shrank. 

On the evening of the tenth day she received her answer--a letter fromRollandstown by post. The handwriting she knew so well sprawled over theenvelope which her trembling fingers could scarcely open. Relief washer first sensation, and after it came a nameless anxiety. Why had hewritten? How was it--how was it that he had not come to her?

Trembling all over, she unfolded the letter, and read:

"Dear Sybil, --I am infernally sorry to have brought you out for nothing, for I find that I cannot marry you after all. Things have gone wrongwith me of late, and it would be downright folly for me to think ofmatrimony under existing circumstances. I am leaving this place almostat once, so there is no chance of hearing from you again. I hope youwill get on all right. Anyhow, you are well rid of me. --Yours, "ROBIN. "

Beneath the signature, scribbled very faintly, were the words, "I'msorry, old girl; I'm sorry. "

She read the letter once, and once only; but every word stamped itselfindelibly upon her memory, every word bit its way into her consciousnessas though it had been scored upon her quivering flesh. Robin had failedher. That ghastly presentiment of hers had come true. She wasalone--alone, and sinking in that awful whirlpool of desolation intowhich for so long she had felt herself being drawn. The great watersswirled around her, rising higher, ever higher. And she was alone. 

Hours passed. She sat in a sort of trance of horror, Robin's letterspread out beneath her nerveless fingers. She did not ask herself whatshe should do. The blow had stunned all her faculties. She could onlysit there face to face with despair, staring blind-eyed before her, motionless, cold as marble to the very heart of her. She fancied--sheeven numbly hoped--that she was going to die. 

She never heard repeated knocking at her door, or remembered that it waslocked, till a man's shoulder burst it open. Then, indeed, she turnedstiffly and looked at the intruder. 

"You!" she said. 

She had forgotten Brett Mercer. 

He came forward quickly, stooped and looked at her; then went down onhis knee and thrust his arm about her. 

She sat upright in his hold, not yielding an inch, not looking at him. Her eyes were glassy. 

For a little he held her; then gently but insistently he drew her tohim, pillowed her head against him, and began to rub her icy cheek. 

"I've left you alone too long, " he said. 

She suffered him dumbly, scarcely knowing what she did. But presentlythe blood that seemed to have frozen in her veins began to circulateagain, and the stiffness passed from her limbs. She stirred in his holdlike a frightened bird. 

"I'm sorry!" she faltered. 

He let her draw away from him, but he kept his arm about her. She lookedat him, and found him intently watching her. Her eyes fell, and restedupon the letter which lay crumpled under her hands. 

"A dreadful thing has happened to me, " she said. "Robin has written tosay--to say--that he cannot marry me!"

"What is there dreadful in that?" said Mercer. 

She did not look up, though his words startled her a little. 

"It--has made me feel like--like a stray cat again, " she said, with theghost of a smile about her lips. "Of course, I know I'm foolish. Theremust be plenty of ways in which a woman can earn her living here. Youyourself were thinking of something that I might do, weren't you?"

"I was, " said Mercer. He laid his great hand upon hers, paused a moment, then deliberately drew her letter from beneath them and crushed it intoa ball. "But I want you to tell me something before we go into that. Thetruth, mind! It must be the truth!"

"Yes?" she questioned, with her head bent. 

"You must look at me, " he said, "or I shan't believe you. "

There was something Napoleonic about his words which placed them whollybeyond the sphere of offensiveness. Slowly she turned her head andlooked him in the eyes. 

He took his arm abruptly away from her. 

"Heavens!" he said. "How miserable you look! Are you very miserable?"

"I'm not very happy, " she said. 

"But you always smile, " he said, "even when you're crying. Ah, that'sbetter! I scarcely knew you before. Now, tell me! Were you in love withthe fellow?"

She shrank a little at the direct question. He put his hand on hershoulder. His touch was imperious. 

"Just a straight answer!" he said. "Were you?"

She hesitated, longing yet fearing to lower her eyes. 

"I--I don't quite know, " she said at length. "I used to think so. "

"You haven't thought so of late?" His eyes searched hers unsparingly, with stern insistence. 

"I haven't been sure, " she admitted. 

He released her and rose. 

"You won't regret him for long, " he said. "In fact, you'll live to beglad that you didn't have him!"

She did not contradict him. He was too positive for that. She watchedhim cross the room with a certain arrogance, and close the half-opendoor. As he returned she stood up. 

"Can we get to business now?" she said. 

"Business?" said Mercer. 

With a steadiness that she found somewhat difficult of accomplishmentshe made reply:

"You thought you could find me employment--some means by which I couldpay you back. "

"You still want to pay me back?" he said. 

She glanced up half nervously. 

"I know that I can never repay your kindness to me, " she said. "So faras that goes, I am in your debt for always. But--the money part I mustand will, somehow, return. "

"Being the most important part?" he suggested, halting in front of her. 

"I didn't mean to imply that, " she answered. "I think you know which Iput first. But I can only do what I can, and money is repayable. "

"So is kindness, " said Mercer. 

Again shyly she glanced at him. 

"I am afraid I don't quite understand. "

He sat down once more upon the table edge to bring his eyes on a levelwith hers. 

"There's nothing to be scared about, " he said. 

She smiled a little. 

"Oh, no; I am not scared. I believe you think me even more foolish thanI actually am. "

"No, I don't, " said Mercer. "If I did, I shouldn't say what I am goingto say. As it is, you are not to answer till you have counted up tofifty. Is that a bargain?"

"Yes, " she said, beginning to feel more curious than afraid. 

"Here goes then, " said Brett Mercer. "I want a wife, and I want you. Will you marry me? Now, shut your eyes and count!"

But Sybil disobeyed him. She opened her eyes wide, and stared at him inbreathless amazement. 

Mercer stared back with absolute composure. 

"I'm in dead earnest, " he told her. "Never made a joke in my life. Ofcourse, you'll refuse me. I know that. But I shan't give you up if youdo. If you don't marry me, you won't marry any one else, for I'll lickany other man off the ground. I come first with you now, and I mean tostay first. "

He stopped, for amazement had given place to something else on her face. She looked at him queerly, as if irresolute for a few seconds; but sheno longer shrank from meeting his eyes. And then quite suddenly shebroke into her funny little laugh. 

"Amusing, is it?" he said. 

She turned sharply away, with one hand pressed to her mouth, obviouslystruggling with herself. 

At last:

"Oh, I'm sorry, " she said. "I didn't mean to laugh really--really. Onlyyou--you're such a monster, and I'm such a shrimp! Please don't be vexedwith me!"

She put out her hand to him, without turning. 

He did not take it at once. When he did, he drew her round to face him. There was an odd restraint about the action, determined though it was. 

"Well?" he said gruffly. "Which is it to be? Am I to go to the devil, orstay with you?"

She looked down at the great hand that held her. She was still halflaughing, though her lips quivered. 

"I couldn't possibly marry you yet, " she said. 

"No. To-morrow!" said Mercer. 

She shook her head. 

"Not even then. "

"Listen!" he said. "If you won't marry me at once you will have to comewith me without. For I am going up-country to see my farms, and I don'tmean to leave you here. "

"Can't I wait till you come back?" she said. 

"What for?"

He leaned forward a little, trying to peer under her drooping lids. Shewas trembling slightly. 

"I think you forget, " she said, "that--that we hardly know each other. "

"How are we to get any nearer if I'm up-country and you're here?" hesaid. 

She looked at him unwillingly. 

"You may change your mind when you have had time to think it over, " shesaid, colouring deeply. 

"I'll take the risk, " said Mercer. "Besides"--she saw his grim smile foran instant--"I've been thinking of nothing else since I met you. "

She started a little. 

"I--I had no idea. "

"No, " he said; "I saw that. You needn't be afraid of me on that account. It ought to have the opposite effect. "

"I am not afraid of you, " she said, with a certain dignity. "But I, too, should have time for consideration. "

"A woman doesn't need it, " he asserted. "She can make up her mind at amoment's notice. "

"And is often sorry for ever afterwards, " she said smiling faintly. 

He thrust out his jaw, as if challenging her. 

"You think I shall make you sorry?"

"No, " she answered. "But I want to be quite sure. "

"Which is another reason for marrying me to-morrow, " he said. "I'm notgoing to let you wait. It's only a whim. You weren't created to livealone, and there is no reason why you should. I am here, and you willhave to take me. "

"Whether I want to or not?" she said. 

"Don't you want to?" he questioned. 

She was silent. 

He lifted the hand he held and looked at it. He spanned her wrist withhis finger and thumb. 

"That's reason enough for me, " he abruptly said. "You are nothing butskin and bone. You've been starving yourself. "

"I haven't, " she protested. "I haven't, indeed. "

"I don't believe you, " he retorted rudely. "You weren't such a skeletonas this when I saw you last. Come, what's the good of fighting? You'llhave to give in. "

She smiled again faintly at the rough persuasion in his voice, but stillshe hesitated. 

"I shan't eat you, you know, " he proceeded, pressing his advantage. "Ishan't do anything you won't like. "

She glanced at him quickly. 

"You mean that?"

His eyes looked straight back at her. 

"Yes, I mean it. "

"Can I trust you?" she said, almost in a whisper. 

He rose to his full height, and stood before her. And in that moment anodd little thrill went through her. He was magnificent--the finest manshe had ever seen. She caught her breath a little, feeling awed beforethe immensity of his strength. But, very curiously, she no longer feltafraid. 

"You must ask yourself that question, " he said bluntly. "You have myword. "

And with a gasp she let herself go at last. 

"I will take you on trust, " she said. 

VI

When Sybil at length travelled up-country with her husband the shearingseason had already commenced. They went by easy stages, for the heat wasgreat, and she was far from strong. She knew that Mercer was anxious toreach his property, and she would have journeyed more rapidly if hewould have permitted it, but upon this point he was firm. At every turnhe considered her, and she marvelled at the intuition with which hedivined her unspoken wishes. Curt and rough though he was, his caresurrounded her in a magic circle within which she dwelt at ease. Withall his imperiousness she did not find him domineering, and this factwas a constant marvel to her, for she knew the mastery of his will. Bysome mysterious power he curbed himself, and day by day her confidencein him grew. 

They accomplished the greater part of the journey by rail, and then whenthe railway ended came the long, long ride. They travelled for fivedays, spending each night at an inn at some township upon the road. Through dense stretches of forest, through great tracts of wastecountry, and again through miles of parched pasture-land they rode, andduring the whole of that journey Mercer's care never relaxed. She neverfound him communicative. He would ride for hours without uttering aword, but yet she was subtly conscious of his close attention. She knewthat she was never out of his thoughts. 

At the inns at which they rested he always saw himself to her comfort, and the best room was always placed at her disposal. One thing impressedher at every halt. The innkeepers one and all stood in awe of him. Notone of them welcomed him, but not one of them failed to attend withalacrity to his wants. It puzzled her, for she herself had never foundhim really formidable. 

On the last morning of their ride, when they set forth, she surprised alook of deep compassion in the eyes of the innkeeper's wife as she saidgood-bye, and it gave her something of a shock. Why was the woman sorryfor her? Had she heard her story by any strange chance? Or was it forsome other reason? It left an unpleasant impression upon her. She wishedshe had not seen it. 

They rode that day almost exclusively through Mercer's property, whichextended for many miles. He was the owner of several farms, two of whichthey passed without drawing rein. He was taking her to what he calledthe Home Farm, his native place, which he still made his headquarters, and from which he overlooked the whole of his great property. 

The brief twilight had turned to darkness before they reached it. Duringthe last half hour Mercer rode with his hand upon Sybil's bridle, andshe was glad to have it there. She was not accustomed to riding in thedark. Moreover, she was very tired, and when at last they turned inthrough an open gateway to one side of which a solitary lantern had beenfixed, she breathed a deep sigh of thankfulness. 

She saw the outline of the house but vaguely, but in two windows lightswere burning, and as they clattered up a door was thrown open, and a manstood silhouetted for a moment on the threshold. 

"Hullo, Curtis! Here we are!" was Mercer's greeting. "Later than Iintended, but it's a far cry from Wallarroo, and we had to take iteasy. "

"The best way, " the other said. 

He went forward and quietly helped Sybil to dismount. He did not speakto her as he did so, and she wondered a little at the reserve of hismanner. But the next moment she forgot him at the sight of a hideousyoung negro who had suddenly appeared at the horses' heads. 

"It's only Beelzebub, " said the man at her side, in a tired voice, as ifit were an effort to speak at all. 

She realized that the explanation was intended to be reassuring, andlaughed rather tremulously. Finding Mercer at her side she slipped herhand into his. 

He gave it a terrific squeeze. "Come inside!" he said. "You are tired. "

They went in, Curtis following. 

In a room with a sanded floor that looked pleasantly homely to herEnglish eyes a meal was spread. The place and everything it containedshone in the lamplight. She looked around her with a smile of pleasure, notwithstanding her weariness. And then her eyes fell upon Curtis, andfound his fixed upon her. 

He averted them instantly, but she had read their expression at aglance--surprise and compassion--and her heart gave a curious littlethrob of dismay. 

She turned nevertheless without a pause to Mercer. 

"Won't you introduce me to your friend?" she said. 

"What?" said Mercer. "Oh, that's Curtis, my foreman. Curtis, this is mywife. "

Curtis bowed stiffly, but Sybil held out her hand. 

"How nice everything looks!" she said. "I am sure we have you to thankfor it. "

"Beelzebub and me, " he said; and again she was struck by the utter lackof animation in his voice. 

He was a man of about forty, lean and brown, with an unmistakable air ofbreeding about him that put her at her ease at once. His quiet mannerwas a supreme contrast to Mercer's roughness. She was quite sure that hewas not colonial born. 

He sat at table with them, and waited also, but he did not utter a wordexcept now and again in answer to some brief query from Mercer. When themeal was over he cleared the table and disappeared. 

She looked at Mercer in some surprise as the door closed upon him. 

"He's a useful chap, " Mercer said. "I'm sorry there isn't a woman in thehouse, but you'll find Beelzebub better than a dozen. And this fellow isalways at hand for anything you may want in the evening. "

"He is a gentleman, " she said almost involuntarily. 

Mercer looked at her. 

"Do you object to having a gentleman to wait on you?" he asked curtly. 

She did not quite understand his tone, but she was very far just thenfrom understanding the man himself. His question demanded no answer, andshe gave none. 

After a moment she got up, and, conscious of an oppression in theatmosphere, took off her hat and pushed back the hair from her face. She knew that Mercer was watching her, felt his eyes upon her, andwished intensely that he would speak, but he did not utter a word. Thereseemed to her to be something stubborn in his silence, and it affectedher strangely. 

For a while she stood also silent, then suddenly with a little smile shelooked across at him. 

"Aren't you going to show me everything?" she said. 

"Not to-night, " he said. "I will show you your bedroom if you are tootired to stay up any longer. "

She considered the matter for a few seconds, then quietly crossed theroom to his side. She laid a hand that trembled slightly on hisshoulder. 

"You have been very good to me, " she said. 

He stiffened at her touch. 

"You had better go to bed, " he said gruffly, and made as if he wouldrise. 

But she checked him with a dignity all her own. 

"Wait, please; I want to speak to you. "

"Not to thank me, I hope, " he said. 

"No, not to thank you. " She paused an instant, and seemed to hesitate. "I--I really want to ask you something, " she said at length. 

He reached up and removed her hand from his shoulder. 

"Well?" he questioned. 

"Don't hold me at arms' length!" she pleaded gently. "It makes things sodifficult. "

"What is it you want to know?" he asked without relaxing. 

She stood silent for a few seconds as if summoning all her courage. Thenat length, her voice very low, she spoke. 

"When you said that you wanted me for your wife, did you mean thatyou--loved me?"

He made an abrupt movement, and his fingers closed tightly upon herwrist. For a moment or more he sat in tense silence, then he got to hisfeet. 

"Why do you want to know?" he demanded harshly. 

She stood before him with bent head. 

"Because, " she said, and there was a piteous quiver in her voice, "I amlonely, and I have a very empty heart. And--and--if you love me it willnot frighten me to know it. It will only--make me--glad. "

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Do you know what you are saying?" hequestioned. 

"Yes, " she said under her breath. 

"Are you sure?" he persisted. 

She raised her head impulsively, and, with a gesture most winning, mostconfident, she stretched up her arms to him. 

"Yes, " she said. "I mean it! I mean it! I want--to be loved!"

His arms were close about her as she ended, and she uttered the lastwords chokingly with her face against his breast. The effort had costher all her strength, and she clung to him panting, almost fainting, while panic--wild, unreasoning panic--swept over her. What was this manto whom she had thus impulsively given herself--this man whom all menfeared?

Nevertheless, she grew calmer at last, awaking to the fact that thoughhis hold was tense and passionate, he still retained his self-control. She commanded herself, and turned her face upwards. 

"Then you do love me?" she said tremulously. 

His eyes shone into hers, red as the inner, intolerable glow of afurnace. He did not attempt to make reply in words. He seemed at thatmoment incapable of speech. He only bent and kissed her fiercely, burningly, even brutally, upon the lips. And so she had her answer. 

VII

It was a curious establishment over which Sybil found herself calledupon to preside. The native, Beelzebub, was her only domestic, and, asMercer had predicted, she found him very willing if not alwaysefficient. One thing she speedily discovered regarding him. He went indeadly fear of his master, and invariably crept about like a whippedcur in his presence. 

"Why is it?" she said to Curtis once. 

But Curtis only shrugged his shoulders in reply. 

He was a continual puzzle to her, this man. There was no servility abouthim, but she had a feeling that he, too, was in some fashion underMercer's heel. He made himself exceedingly useful to her in his silent, unobtrusive way; but he seldom spoke on his own initiative, and it wassome time before she felt herself to be on terms of intimacy with him. He was an excellent cook; and he and Beelzebub between them made herduties remarkably light. In fact, she spent most of her time riding withher husband, who was fully occupied just then in overlooking theshearers' work. She also was keenly interested, but he never sufferedher to go among the men. Once, when she had grown tired of waiting forhim, and followed him into one of the sheds, he was actually angry withher--a new experience, which, if it did not seriously scare her, madeher nervous in his presence for some time afterwards. 

She had come to regard him as a man whose will was bound to berespected, a man who possessed the power of impressing his personalityindelibly upon all with whom he came in contact. There were times whenhe touched and set vibrating the very pulse of her being, times when herheart quivered and expanded in the heat of his passion as a flower thatopens to the sun. But there were also times when he filled her with anameless dread, when the very foundations of her confidence were shaken, and she felt as a prisoner behind iron bars. She did not know him, thatwas her trouble. There were in him depths that she could not reach, could scarcely even realize. He was slow to reveal himself to her, andshe had but the vaguest indications to guide her. She even feltsometimes that he deliberately kept back from her that which she felt tobe almost the essential part of him. This she knew that time mustremedy. Living his life, she was bound ultimately to know whereof he wasmade, and she tried to assure herself that when that knowledge came toher she would not be dismayed. And yet she had occasional glimpses ofhim that made her tremble. 

One evening, after they had spent the entire day in the saddle, he wentafter supper to look at one of the horses that was suffering from acracked hock. Curtis was busy in the kitchen, and Sybil betook herselfto the step to wait for her husband. She often sat in the starlightwhile he smoked his pipe. She knew that he liked to have her there. 

She was drowsy after her long exercise, and must have dozed with herhead against the door-post, when suddenly she became conscious of acurious sound. It came from the direction of the stable which was on theother side of the house. But for the absolute stillness of the night shewould not have heard it. She started upright in alarm, and listenedintently. 

It came again--a terrible wailing, unlike anything she had ever heard, ending in a staccato shriek that made her blood run cold. 

She sprang up and turned into the house, almost running into Curtis, whohad just appeared in the passage behind her. 

"Oh, what is it?" she cried. "What is it? Something terrible ishappening! Did you hear?"

She would have turned into the kitchen, that being the shortest route tothe stable, but he stretched an arm in front of her. 

"I shouldn't go if I were you, " he said. "You can't do any good. "

She stood and stared at him, a ghastly fear clutching her heart. "What--what do you mean?" she gasped. 

"It's only Beelzebub, " he said, "getting hammered for his sins. "

She gripped her hands tightly over her breast. "You mean that--that myhusband--?"

He nodded. "It won't go on much longer. I should go to bed if I wereyou. "

He meant it kindly, but the words sounded to her most hideously callous. She turned from him, sobbing hysterically, and sprang for the open door. 

The next moment she was running swiftly round the house to the stable. Turning the corner, she heard a sound like a pistol-shot. It wasfollowed instantly by a scream so utterly inhuman that even then shealmost wheeled and fled. But she mastered the impulse. She reached thestable-door, fumbled at the latch, finally burst inwards as it swungopen. 

A lantern hung on a nail immediately within. By its light she discoveredher husband--a gigantic figure--towering over something she could notsee, something that crouched, writhing and moaning, in a corner. He wasarmed with a horsewhip, and even as she entered she saw him raise it andbring it downwards with a horrible precision upon the thing at his feet. She heard again that awful shriek of anguish, and a sick shudder wentthrough her. Unconsciously, a cry broke from her own lips, and, asMercer's arm went up again, she flung herself forward and tried to catchit. 

In her agitation she failed. The heavy end of the whip fell upon heroutstretched arm, numbing; it to the shoulder. She heard Mercer utter afrightful oath, and with a gasp she fell. 

VIII

When she came to herself she was lying on her bed. Someone--Curtis--wasbathing her arm in warm water. He did not speak to her or raise his:eyes from his occupation. She thought he looked very grim. 

"Where is--Brett?" she whispered. 

Curtis did not answer her, but a moment later she looked beyond him andsaw Mercer leaning upon the bed-rail. His eyes were fixed upon her andheld her own. She sought to avoid them, but could not. And suddenly sheknew that he was angry with her, not merely displeased, but furiouslyangry. 

She made an effort to rise, but at that Curtis laid a restraining handupon her, and spoke. 

"Go away, Mercer!" he said. "Haven't you done harm enough for onenight?"

The words amazed her. She had never thought that he would dare to usesuch a tone to her husband. She trembled for the result, for Mercer'sface just then was terrible, but Curtis did not so much as glance in hisdirection. 

Mercer's eyes remained mercilessly fixed upon her. 

"Do you wish me to go?" he said. 

"No, " she murmured faintly. 

Her arm was beginning to hurt her horribly, and she shuddereduncontrollably once or twice. But that unvarying scrutiny was harder tobear, and at last, in desperation, she made a quivering appeal. 

"Come and help me!" she begged. "Come and lift me up!"

For an instant he did not stir, and she even thought he would refuse. Then, stiffly, he straightened himself and moved round to her side. 

Stooping, he raised and supported her. But his expression did not alter;the murderous glare was still in his eyes. She turned her face into hisbreast and lay still. 

After what seemed a very long interval Curtis spoke. 

"That's all I can do for the present. I will dress it again in themorning, and it had better be in a sling. Mercer, I should like a wordwith you outside. "

Sybil stirred sharply at the brief demand. Her nerves were on edge, anda quaking doubt shot through her as to what Mercer might do if Curtispresumed too far. 

She laid an imploring hand on her husband's arm. 

"Stay with me!" she begged him faintly. 

He did not move or speak. 

Curtis stood up. 

"Presently, then!" he said, and she heard him move away. 

At the door he paused, and she thought he made some rapid sign toMercer. But the next moment she heard the door close softly, and knewthat he had gone. 

She lay quite still thereafter, her heart fluttering too much forspeech. What would he say to her, she wondered; how would he break hissilence? She had no weapon to oppose against his anger. She was aspowerless before it as Beelzebub had been. 

Suddenly he moved. He turned her head back upon his arm and lookedstraight down into her eyes. She did not shrink. She would not. But herheart died within her. She felt as if she were gazing into hell, watching a soul in torment. 

"Well?" he said at last. "Are you satisfied?"

"Satisfied?" she faltered. 

"As to the sort of monster you have married, " he explained, with savagebitterness. "You've been putting out feelers ever since you came here. Did you think I didn't know? Well, you've found out a little more thanyou wanted, this time. Perhaps it will be a lesson to you. Perhaps"--sheer cruelty shone red in his eyes--"when you see what I'vedone to you, you will remember that I am not a man to play with, andthat any one, man or woman, who interferes with me, must pay the price. "

"I don't know what you mean, " she answered with an effort. "Whathappened was an accident. "

"Was it?" he said brutally. "Was it?"

Still she did not shrink from him. 

"Yes, " she said. "It was an accident. "

"How do you know?" he asked. 

She answered him instantly. She had not realized till then that she wasfighting the flames for his soul. The knowledge came upon her suddenly, and it gave her strength. 

"Because I know that you love me, " she said. "Because--because--thoughyou are cruel, and though you may be wicked--I love you, too. "

She said it with absolute sincerity, but it was the hardest thing shehad ever done in her life. To tell this man who was half animal and halffiend that he had not somehow touched the woman's heart in her seemedalmost a desecration. She saw the flare of passion leap up in his eyes, and she was conscious for one sick moment of a feeling of downrightrepulsion. If she had only succeeded in turning his savagery intoanother channel she had spoken in vain; or, worse, she had made amistake that could never be remedied. 

Abruptly she felt her courage waver. She shrank at last. 

"I want you to understand, " she faltered; and again, "I want you tounderstand. "

But she could get no further. She hid her face against him and began tosob. 

There followed a silence, tense and terrible, which she dared not break. 

Then she felt him bend lower, and suddenly his arms were under her. Helifted her like a little child and sat down, holding her. His handpressed her head against his neck, fondling, soothing, consoling. Andshe knew, with an overwhelming thankfulness, that she had not offeredherself in vain. She had drawn him out of his hell by the magic of herlove. 

IX

When morning came Mercer departed alone, and Curtis was left in charge. Sybil lay in her room half dressed, while the latter treated her injuredarm. 

"You ought not to be up at all, " he remarked, as he uncovered it. "Haveyou had any sleep?"

"Not much, " she was obliged to confess. 

"Why didn't you stay in bed?"

"I don't want--my husband--to think me very bad, " she said, flushing alittle. 

"Why not?" said Curtis. And then he glanced at her, saw the flush, andsaid no more. 

She watched his bandaging with interest. 

"You look so professional, " she said. 

He uttered a short laugh. 

"Do I?"

"I mean, " she said, unaccountably embarrassed, "that you do it sonicely. "

"I have done a good deal of veterinary work, " he said rather coldly. Andthen suddenly he seemed to change his mind. "I was a professional once, "he said, without looking at her. "I made a mistake--a bad one--and itbroke me. That's all. "

"Oh, " she said impulsively, "I am so sorry. "

"Thank you, " he said quietly. 

Not till he was about to leave her did she manage to ask the questionthat had been uppermost in her mind since his entrance. 

"Have you seen Beelzebub yet?"

He paused--somewhat unwillingly, she thought. 

"Yes, " he answered. 

"Is he"--she hesitated--"is he very bad?"

"He isn't going to die, if that is what you mean, " said Curtis. 

She felt her heart contract. 

"Please tell me!" she urged rather faintly. "I want to know. "

With the air of a man submitting to the inevitable Curtis proceeded toinform her. 

"He is lying in the loft over the stable, like a sick dog. He is ratherbadly mauled, and whimpers a good deal. I shall take him some soupacross presently, but I don't suppose he'll touch it. "

"Ok, dear!" she said. "What shall you do then?"

"Mercer will have to lend a hand if I can't manage him, " Curtisanswered. "But I shall do my best. "

She suppressed a shudder. 

"I hope you will be successful. "

"So do I, " said Curtis, departing. 

When she saw him again she asked anxiously for news; but he had none ofa cheering nature to give her. Beelzebub would not look at food. 

"I knew he wouldn't, " he said. "He has been like this before. "

"Mr. Curtis!" she exclaimed. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"It's Mercer's way. He regards the boy as his own personal property, andso he is, more or less. He picked him up in the bush when he wasn't morethan a few days old. The mother was dead. Mercer took him, and he wasbrought up among the farm men. He's a queer young animal, more like adog than a human being. He needs hammering now and then. I kick himoccasionally myself. But Mercer goes too far. "

"What had he done?" questioned Sybil. 

"Oh, it was some neglect of the horses. I don't know exactly what. Mercer isn't precisely patient, you know. And when the fellow getsthoroughly scared he's like a rabbit; he can't move. Mercer thinks himobstinate, and the rest follows as a natural consequence. I must ask youto excuse me. I have work to do. "

"One moment!" Sybil laid a nervous hand on his arm. "Mr. Curtis, if--ifyou can't persuade the poor boy to take any food, how will my husband doso?"

"He won't, " said Curtis. "He'll hold him down while I drench him, that'sall. "

"That must be very bad for him, " she said. 

"Of course it is. But we can't let him die, you know. " He looked at hersuddenly. "Don't you worry yourself, Mrs. Mercer, " he said kindly. "Heisn't quite the same as a white man, though it may offend your Westernprejudices to hear me say so. Beelzebub will pull through all right. They are wonderfully tough, these chaps. "

"I wonder if I could persuade him to take something, " she said. 

He shook his head. 

"I don't suppose you could. In any case, you mustn't try. It is againstorders. "

"Whose orders?" she asked quickly. 

"Your husband's, " he answered. "His last words to me were that I was onno account to let you go near him. "

"Oh, why?" she protested. "And I might be able to help. "

"It isn't at all likely, " he said. "And he's not a very pretty thing tolook at. "

"As if that matters!" she exclaimed. 

"Well, it does matter, because I don't want to have you in hysterics, asmuch for my own sake as for yours. " He smiled a little. "Also, if Mercerfinds he has been disobeyed it will make him savage again, and perhaps Ishall be the next victim. "

"He would never touch you!" she exclaimed. 

"He might. Why shouldn't he?"

"He never would!" she reiterated. "You are not afraid of him. "

He looked contemptuous for a second; and then his expression changed. 

"You are right, " he said. "That is my chief safeguard; and, permit me tosay, yours also. It may be worth remembering. "

"You think him a coward!" she said. 

He considered a little. 

"No, not a coward, " he said then. "There is nothing mean about him, sofar as I can see. He suffers from too much raw material, that's all. They call him Brute Mercer in these parts. But perhaps you will be ableto tame him some day. "

"I!" she said, and turned away with a mournful little smile. 

She might charm him once or even twice out of a savage mood, but theconviction was strong upon her that he would overwhelm her in the end. 

X

For nearly an hour after Curtis had left her she sat still, thinking ofBeelzebub. The afternoon sunlight lay blindingly upon all things. Theheat of it hung laden in the air. But she could not sleep or even try torest. Her arm throbbed and burned with a ceaseless pain, and ever thethought of Beelzebub, lying in the loft "like a sick dog, " oppressed herlike an evil dream. 

The shadows had begun to lengthen a little when at last she rose. Shecould bear it no longer. Whatever the consequences, she could endurethem more easily than this torture of inactivity. As for Curtis shebelieved him fully capable of taking care of himself. 

She went to the kitchen and was relieved to find him absent. Searching, she presently found the bowl of soup Beelzebub had refused. She turnedit into a saucepan and hung over the fire, scarcely conscious of theheat in her pressing desire to be of use. 

Finally, armed with the hot liquor, she stole across the yard to thestable. The place was deserted, save for the horse she usually rode, whowhinnied softly to her as she passed. At the foot of the loft laddershe stood awhile, listening, and presently heard a heavy groan. 

She had to make the ascent very slowly, using her injured arm to supportherself. When she emerged at last she found herself in a twilight whichfor a time her dazzled eyes could not pierce. The heat was intolerable, and the place hummed with flies. 

"Beelzebub!" she said softly at length. "Beelzebub, where are you?"

There was a movement in what she dimly discerned to be a heap of straw, and she heard a feeble whimpering as of an animal in pain. 

Her heart throbbed with pity as she crept across the littered floor. Shewas beginning to see more distinctly, and by sundry chinks shediscovered the loft door. She went to it, fumbled for the latch, andopened it. Instantly the place was flooded with light, and turninground, she beheld Beelzebub. 

He was lying in a twisted heap in the straw, half naked, looking likesome monstrous reptile. In all her life she had never beheld anything sohorrible. His black flesh was scored over and over with long purplestripes; even his face was swollen almost beyond recognition, and out ofit the whites of his eyes gleamed, bloodshot and terrible. 

For a few moments she was possessed by an almost overpowering desire toflee from the awful sight; and then again he stirred and whimpered, andpity--element most divine--came to her aid. 

She went to the poor, whining creature, and knelt beside him. 

"See!" she said. "I have brought you some soup. Do try and take alittle! It will do you good. "

There was a note of entreaty in her voice, but Beelzebub's eyes staredas though they would leap out of his head. 

He writhed away from her into the straw. "Go 'way, missis!" he hissed ather, with lips drawn back in terror. "Go 'way, or Boss'll come and beatBeelzebub!"

He spoke the white man's language; it was the only one he knew, butthere was something curiously unfamiliar, something almost bestial inthe way he spat his words. 

Again Sybil was conscious of a wild desire to escape before sheer horrorparalysed her limbs, but she fought and conquered the impulse. 

"Boss won't beat you any more, " she said. "And I want you to be a goodboy and drink this before I go. I brought it myself, because I knew youwould take it to please me. You will, won't you, Beelzebub?"

But Beelzebub was not to be easily persuaded. He cried and moaned andwrithed at every word she spoke. But Sybil had mastered herself, and shewas very patient. She coaxed him as though he had been in truth the sickdog to which Curtis had likened him. And at last, by sheer persistence, she managed to insert the spoon between his chattering teeth. 

He let her feed him then, lying passive, still whimpering between everygulp, while she talked soothingly, scarcely knowing what she said in theresolute effort to keep her ever-recurring horror at bay. When the bowlwas empty she rose. 

"Perhaps you will go to sleep now, " she said kindly. "Suppose you try!"

He stared up at her from his lair with rolling, uneasy eyes. Suddenly hepointed to her bandaged arm. 

"Boss did that!" he croaked. 

She turned to close the door again, feeling the blood rise in her face. 

"Boss didn't mean to, " she answered with as much steadiness as she couldmuster. "And he didn't mean to hurt you so badly, either, Beelzebub. Hewas sorry afterwards. "

She saw his teeth gleam in the twilight like the bared fangs of a wolf, and knew that he grinned in derision of this statement. She picked upher bowl and turned to go. At the same instant he spoke in a piercingwhisper out of the darkness. 

"Boss kill a white man once, missis!"

She stood still, rooted to the spot. "Beelzebub!"

He shrank away, whimpering. 

"No, no! Boss'll kill poor Beelzebub! Missis won't tell Boss?"

To her horror his hand shot out and fastened upon her skirt. But shecould not have moved in any case. She stood staring down at him, cold--cold to the very heart with foreboding. 

"No, " she said at last, and it was as if she stood apart and listened toanother woman, very calm and collected, speaking on her behalf. "I willnever tell him, Beelzebub. You will be quite safe with me. So tell mewhat you mean! Don't be afraid! Speak plainly! When did Boss kill awhite man?"

There must have been something of compulsion in her manner, for, albeitquaveringly and with obvious terror, the negro answered her. 

"Down by Bowker Creek, missis, 'fore you come. Boss and the white manfight--a dam' big fight. Beelzebub run away. Afterwards, Boss, come onalone. So Beelzebub know that Boss kill' the white man. "

"Oh, then you didn't see him killed! You don't know?"

Was it her own lips uttering the words? They felt quite stiff andpowerless. 

"Beelzebub run away, " she heard him repeating rather vacantly. 

"What did they fight with?" she said. 

"They fight with their hands, " he told her. "White man from Bowker Creektry to shoot Boss, and make Boss very angry. "

"But perhaps he wasn't killed, " she insisted to herself. "Of course--ofcourse, he wasn't. You shouldn't say such things, Beelzebub. Youweren't there to see. "

Beelzebub shuffled in the straw and whined depreciatingly. 

"Tell me, " she heard the other woman say peremptorily, "what was thewhite man's name?"

But Beelzebub only moaned, and she was forced to conclude that he didnot know. 

"Where is Bowker Creek?" she asked next. 

He could not tell her. His intelligence seemed to have utterly desertedhim. 

She stood silent, considering, while he coiled about revoltingly in thestraw at her feet. 

Suddenly through the afternoon silence there came the sound of a horse'shoofs. She started, and listened. 

Beelzebub frantically clutched at her shoes. 

"Missis won't tell Boss!" he implored again. "Missis won't----"

She stepped desperately out of his reach. 

"Hush!" she said. "Hush! He will hear you. I must go. I must go atonce. "

Emergency gave her strength. She moved to the trap-door, and, she knewnot how, found the ladder with her feet. 

Grey-faced, dazed, and cold as marble, she descended. Yet she did notstumble. Her limbs moved mechanically, unfalteringly. 

When she reached the bottom she turned with absolute steadiness andfound Brett Mercer standing in the doorway watching her. 

XI

He stood looking at her in silence as she came forward. She did not stopto ascertain if he were angry or not. Somehow it did not seem to matter. She only dealt with the urgent necessity for averting his suspicion. 

"I just ran across with some soup for Beelzebub, " she said, her paleface raised unflinchingly. "I am glad to say he has taken it. Pleasedon't go up! I want him to get to sleep. "

She spoke, with a wholly unconscious authority. The supreme effort shewas making seemed to place her upon a different footing. She laid aquiet hand upon his arm and drew him out of the stable. 

He went with her as one surprised into submission. One of the farm menwho had taken his horse stared after them in amazement. 

As they crossed the yard together Mercer found his voice. 

"I told Curtis you weren't to go near Beelzebub. "

"I know, " she answered. "Mr. Curtis told me. "

He cracked his whip savagely. 

"Where is Curtis?"

"I don't know, " she answered. "But, Brett, if you are angry because Iwent you must deal with me, not with Mr. Curtis. He had nothing whateverto do with it. "

Mercer was silent, and she divined with no sense of elation that hewould not turn his anger against her. 

They entered the house together, and he strode through the passage, calling for Curtis. But when the latter appeared in answer to thesummons, to her surprise Mercer began to speak upon a totally differentsubject. 

"I have just seen Stevens from Wallarroo. They are all in a mortal funkthere. He was on his way over here to ask you to go and look at a manwho is very bad with something that looks like smallpox. You can pleaseyourself about going; though, if you take my advice, you'll stay away. "

Curtis did not at once reply. He gravely took the empty bowl fromSybil's hand, and it was upon her that his eyes rested as he finallysaid, "Do you think you could manage without me?"

She looked up with perfect steadiness. 

"Certainly I could. Please do as you think right!"

"What about Beelzebub?" he said. 

Mercer made a restless movement. 

"He will be on his legs again in a day or two. One of the men must lookafter him. "

"I shall look after him, " Sybil said, with a calmness of resolution thatastounded both her hearers. 

Mercer put his hand on her shoulder, but said nothing. It was Curtis whospoke with the voice of authority. 

"You will have to take care of her, " he said bluntly. "Bear in mind whatI said to you last night! I will show you how to treat the arm. And thenI think I had better go. It may prevent an epidemic. "

Thereafter he assumed so businesslike an air that he seemed to Sybil tobe completely transformed. There never had been much deference in hisattitude towards Mercer, but he treated him now without the smallestceremony. He was as a man suddenly awakened from a long lethargy. Fromthat moment to the moment of his departure his activity was unceasing. 

Sybil and Mercer watched him finally ride away, and it was not till hewas actually gone that the fact that she was left absolutely alone withher husband came home to her. 

With a sense of shock she realized it, and those words ofBeelzebub's--the words that she had been so resolutely forcing into theback of her mind--came crowding back upon her with a vividness andpersistence that were wholly beyond her control. 

What was she going to do, she wondered? What could she do with thisawful, this unspeakable doubt pressing ever upon her? It might all be amistake, a hideous mistake on Beelzebub's part. She had no great faithin his intelligence. It might be that by some evil chance his muddledbrain had registered the name of Bowker Creek in connection with thefight which she did not for a moment doubt had at some time takenplace. Beelzebub was never reliable in the matter of details, and hehad not been able to answer her question regarding the place. 

Over and over again she tried to convince herself that her fear wasgroundless, and over and over again the words came back to her, refusingto be forgotten or ignored--"the white man from Bowker Creek. " Who wasthis white man whom Mercer had fought, this man who had tried to shoothim? She shuddered whenever she pictured the conflict. She was horriblyafraid. 

Yet she played her part unfalteringly, and Mercer never suspected theseething anguish of suspense and uncertainty that underlay her steadfastcomposure. He thought her quieter than usual, deemed her shy; and hetreated her in consequence with a tenderness of which she had notbelieved him capable--a tenderness that wrung her heart. 

She was thankful when the morning came, and he left her, for the strainwas almost more than she could endure. 

But in the interval of solitude that ensued she began to build up herstrength anew. Alone with her doubts, she faced the fact that she wouldprobably never know the truth. She could not rely upon Beelzebub foraccuracy, and she could not refer to her husband. The only course opento her was to bury the evil thing as deeply as might be, to turn herface resolutely away from it, to forget--oh, Heaven, if she could butforget!

All through that day Beelzebub slept, curled up in the straw. Shevisited him several times, but he needed nothing. Nature had providedher own medicine for his tortured body. In the evening a man came with anote from Curtis. The case was undoubtedly one of smallpox, he wrote, and he did not think his patient would recover. There was a good deal ofpanic at Wallarroo, and he had removed the man to a cattle-shed at somedistance from the township where they were isolated. There were one ortwo things he needed which he desired Mercer to send on the followingday to a place he described, whence he himself would fetch them. 

"Beelzebub can go, " said Mercer. 

"If he is well enough!" said Sybil. 

He frowned. 

"You don't seem to realize what these niggers are made of. Of course, hewill be well enough. "

She said no more, for she saw that the topic was unwelcome; but shedetermined to make a stand on Beelzebub's behalf the next day, unlesshis condition were very materially improved. 

XII

It was with surprise and relief that upon entering the kitchen on thefollowing morning Sybil found Beelzebub back in his accustomed place. Hegreeted her with a wider grin than usual, which she took for anexpression of gratitude. He seemed to have made a complete recovery, forwhich she was profoundly thankful. 

She herself was feeling better that day. Her arm pained her less, andshe no longer carried it in a sling. She had breakfasted in bed, Mercerhimself waiting upon her. 

She was amazed to hear him speak with kindness to Beelzebub, and evenask the boy if he thought he could manage the ride to Wallarroo. Beelzebub, abjectly eager to return to favour, professed himself readyto start at once. And so presently Sybil found herself alone. 

The long day passed without event. The loneliness did not oppress her. She busied herself with preparing delicacies for the sick man, whichBeelzebub could take on the following day. Beelzebub had had smallpox, and knew no fear. 

He did not return from his errand till the afternoon was well advanced. She went to the door to hear his news, but he was in his leastintelligent mood, and seemed able to tell her very little. By dint ofclose questioning she elicited that he had seen Curtis, who had told himthat the man was worse. Beyond this, Beelzebub appeared to know nothing;and yet there was something about him that excited her attention. Heseemed more than once to be upon the point of saying something, and tofail at the last moment, as though either his wits or his courage wereunequal to the effort. She could not have said what conveyed thisimpression, but it was curiously strong. She tried hard to elicitfurther information, but Beelzebub only became more idiotic in response, and she was obliged to relinquish the attempt. 

Mercer came in soon after, and she dismissed the matter from her mind. But a vivid dream recalled it. She started up in the night, agitated, incoherent, crying that someone wanted her, someone who could not wait, and she must go. She could not tell her husband what the dream had beenand in the morning all memory of it had vanished. But it left a vaguedisquietude behind, a haunting anxiety that hung heavily upon her. Shecould not feel at peace. 

Mercer left that morning. He had to go a considerable distance to anoutlying farm. She saw him off from the gate, and then went back intothe house, still with that inexplicable sense of oppression weighing herdown. 

She prepared the parcel that she purposed to send to Curtis, and went insearch of Beelzebub. He was sweeping the kitchen. 

"I shall want you to go to Wallarroo again to-day, " she said. "You hadbetter start soon, as I should like Mr. Curtis to get this in goodtime. "

Beelzebub stopped sweeping, and cringed before her. 

"Boss gone?" he questioned cautiously. 

"Yes, " she answered, wondering what was coming. 

He drew a little nearer to her, still cringing. 

"Missis, " he whispered piercingly, "Beelzebub see the white manyesterday. "

She stared at him. 

"What white man, Beelzebub? What do you mean?"

"White man from Bowker Creek, " said Beelzebub. 

Her breathing stopped suddenly. She felt as if she had been stabbed. "Where!" she managed to gasp. 

Beelzebub looked vacant. There was evidently something that she wasexpected to understand. She forced her startled brain into activity. 

"Is he the man who is ill--the man Mr. Curtis is taking care of?"

Beelzebub looked intelligent again. 

"White man very bad, " he said. 

"But--but--how was it you saw him? You were told to leave the parcel bythe fence for Mr. Curtis to fetch. "

Beelzebub exerted himself to explain. 

"Mr. Curtis away, so Beelzebub creep up close and look in. But the whiteman see Beelzebub and curse; so Beelzebub go away again. "

"And that is the man you thought Boss killed?" Sybil questioned, reliefand fear strangely mingled within her. 

Her brain was beginning to whirl, but with all her strength shecontrolled it. Now or never would she know the truth. 

Beelzebub was scared by the question. 

"Missis won't tell Boss?" he begged. 

"No, no, " she said impatiently. "When will you learn that I never repeatthings? Now, Beelzebub, I want you to do something for me. Can youremember? You are to ask Mr. Curtis to tell you the white man's name. Say that Boss--do you understand?--say that Boss wants to know! And thencome back as fast as you possibly can, before Boss gets home to-night, and tell me!"

She repeated these instructions many times over till it seemedimpossible that he could make any mistake. And then she watched him go, and set herself with a heart like lead to face the interminable day. 

She thought the hours would never pass, so restless was she, socontinuous the torment of doubt that vexed her soul. There were timeswhen she felt that if the thing she feared were true, it would kill her. If her husband--the man whom, in spite of almost every instinct, she hadlearnt to love--had deceived her, if he had played a double game to winher, if, in short, the man he had fought at Bowker Creek were RobinWentworth, then she felt as if life for her were over. She mightcontinue to exist, indeed, but the heart within her would be dead. Therewould be nothing left her but the grey ruins of that which had scarcelybegun to be happiness. 

She tried hard to compose herself, but all her strength could not stillthe wild fluttering of her nerves through the long-drawn-out suspenseof that dreadful day. At every sound she hastened to the door to lookfor Beelzebub, long before he could possibly return. At the striking ofevery hour she strained her ears to listen. 

But when at last she heard the hoof-beats that told of the negro'sapproach she felt that she could not go again; she lacked the physicalstrength to seek him and hear the truth. 

For a time she sat quite still, gathering all her forces for the ordeal. Then at length she compelled herself, and rose. 

Beelzebub was grooming his horse. He looked up at her approach andgrinned. 

"Well, Beelzebub, " she said through her white lips, "have you seen Mr. Curtis?"

"Yes, missis. " Beelzebub rolled his eyes intelligently. He seemedunaware of the tragedy in the English girl's drawn face. 

"And the white man?" she said. 

"Mr. Curtis think the white man die soon, " said Beelzebub. 

"Ah!" She pressed her hand tightly against her heart. She felt as if itsthrobbing would choke her. "And--his name?" she said. 

Beelzebub paused and opened his eyes to their widest extent. He wasmaking a supreme effort, and the result was monstrous. But Sybil did notquail; she scarcely saw him. 

"His name?" she said; and again, raising her voice, "His name?"

The whole world seemed to rock while she waited, but she stood firm inthe midst of chaos. Her whole soul was concentrated upon Beelzebub'sreply. 

It came at last with the effect of something uttered from an immensedistance that was yet piercingly distinct. 

"Went--" said Beelzebub, and paused; then, with renewed effort, "Wentworth. "

And Sybil turned from him, shrinking as though something evil hadtouched her, and walked stiffly back into the house. She had known itall day long!

XIII

She never knew afterwards how long a time elapsed between theconfirmation of her doubts and the sudden starting to life of a newresolution within her. It came upon her unexpectedly, striking throughthe numbness of her despair, nerving her to action--the memory of herdream and whence that dream had sprung. Robin Wentworth still lived. Itmight be he would know her. It might even be that he was wanting her. She would go to him. 

It was the only thing left for her to do. Of the risk to herself she didnot think, nor would it have deterred her had it presented itself to hermind. She felt as though he had called to her, and she had notanswered. 

To Beelzebub's abject entreaties she paid no heed. There were two freshhorses in the stable, and she ordered him to saddle them both. He didnot dare to disobey her in the matter, but she knew that no power onearth would have induced him to remain alone at the farm till Mercer'scoming. 

She left no word to explain her absence. There seemed no time for anywritten message, nor was she in a state of mind to frame one. She wasdriven by a consuming fever that urged her to perpetual movement. It didnot seem to matter how the tidings of her going came to Mercer. 

Not till she was in the saddle and riding, riding hard, did she know amoment's relief. The physical exertion eased the inward tumult, but shewould not slacken for an instant. She felt that to do so would be tolose her reason. Beelzebub, galloping after her, thought her dementedalready. 

Through the long, long pastures she travelled, never drawing rein, looking neither to right nor left. The animal she rode knew the way toWallarroo, and followed it undeviatingly. The sun was beginning toslant, and the shadows to lengthen. 

Mile after mile of rolling grassland they left behind them, and stillthey pressed forward. At last came the twilight, brief as the softsinking of a curtain, and then the dark. But the night was ablaze withstars, and the road was clear. 

Sybil rode as one in a nightmare, straining forward eternally. She didnot urge her horse, but he bore her so gallantly that she did not needto do so. Beelzebub had increasing difficulty in keeping up with her. 

At last, after what seemed like the passage of many hours, they sightedfrom afar the lights of Wallarroo. Sybil drew rein, and waited forBeelzebub. 

"Which way?" she said. 

He pointed to a group of trees upon a knoll some distance from the road, and thither she turned her horse's head. Beelzebub rode up beside her. 

They left the knoll on one side, and, skirting it, came to a dip in thehill-side. And here they came at length to the end of their journey--ajourney that to Sybil had seemed endless--and halted before a woodenshed that had been built for cattle. A flap of canvas had been nailedabove the entrance, behind which a dim light burned. Sybil dismountedand drew near. 

At first she heard no sound; then, as she stood hesitating anduncertain, there came a man's voice that uttered low, disjointed words. She thought for a second that someone was praying, and then, with athrill of horror, she knew otherwise. The voice was uttering the mostfearful curses she had ever heard. 

Scarcely knowing what she did, but unable to stand there passivelylistening, she drew aside the canvas flap and looked in. 

In an instant the voice ceased. There fell a silence, followed by awild, half-strangled cry. She had a glimpse of a prone figure in acorner struggling upwards, and then Curtis was before her--Curtishaggard and agitated as she had never seen him--pushing her back out ofthe dim place into the clean starlight without. 

"Mrs. Mercer! Are you mad?" she heard him say. 

She resisted his compelling hands; she was strangely composed andundismayed. 

"I am coming in, " she said. "Nothing on earth will keep me back. Thatman--Robin Wentworth--is a friend of mine. I am going to see him andspeak to him. "

"Impossible!" Curtis said. 

But she withstood him unfalteringly. 

"It is not impossible. You must let me pass. I mean to go to him, andyou cannot prevent it. "

He saw the hopelessness of opposing her. Her eyes told him that it wasno whim but steadfast purpose that had brought her there. He lookedbeyond her to Beelzebub, but gathered no inspiration in that quarter. 

"Let me pass, Mr. Curtis!" said Sybil gently. "I shall take no harm. Imust see him before he dies. "

And Curtis yielded. He was worn out by long and fruitless watching, andhe could not cope with this fresh emergency. He yielded to herinsistence, and suffered her to pass him. 

"He is very far gone, " he said. 

XIV

As Sybil entered she heard again that strange, choked cry. The sick manwas struggling to rise, but could not. 

She went straight to the narrow pallet on which he lay and bent overhim. 

"Robin!" she said. 

He gave a great start, and became intensely still, lying face downwards, his body twisted, his head on his arm. 

She stooped lower. She touched him. A superhuman strength was hers. 

"Robin, " she said, "do you know me?"

He turned his face a little, and she saw the malignant horror of thedisease that gripped him. It was a sight that would have turned her sickat any other time. But to-night she knew no weakness. 

"Who are you?" he said, in a gasping whisper. 

"I am Sybil, " she answered steadfastly. "Don't you remember me?"

He lay motionless for a little, his breathing sharp and short. Atlength:

"You had better get away from this pestilent hole, " he panted out. "It'sno place for a woman. "

"I have come to nurse you, " she said. 

"You!" He seemed to collect himself with an effort. He turned his facefully towards her. "Didn't you marry that devil Mercer, after all?" hegasped, gazing up at her with glassy eyes. 

Only by his eyes would she have known him--this man whom once long agoshe had fancied that she loved--and even they were strained andunfamiliar. She bent her head in answer. "Yes, Robin, I married him. "

He began to curse inarticulately, spasmodically; but that she would nothave. She knelt down suddenly by his side, and took his hand in hers. The terrible, disfigured countenance did not appal her, though thememory of it would haunt her all her life. 

"Robin, listen!" she said earnestly. "We may not have very longtogether. Let us make the most of what time we have! Don't waste yourstrength! Try to tell me quietly what happened, how it was you gave meup! I want to understand it all. I have never yet heard the truth. "

Her quiet words, the steady pressure of her hand, calmed him. He laystill for a space, gazing at her. 

"You're not afraid?" he muttered at last. 

"No, " she said. 

He continued to stare at her. 

"Is he--good to you?" he said. 

The words came with difficulty. She saw his throat working with theconvulsive effort to produce sound. 

Curtis touched her arm. "Give him this!"

She took a cup from his hand, and held it to the swollen lips. But hecould not swallow. The liquid trickled down into his beard. 

"He's past it, " murmured Curtis. 

"Sybil!" The words came with a hard, rending sound. "Is he--good toyou?"

She was wiping away the spilt drops with infinite, unfalteringtenderness. 

"Yes, dear, " she answered. "He is very good to me. "

He uttered a great gasping sigh. 

"That's--all--that matters, " he said, and fell silent, still gazing ather with eyes that seemed too fixed to take her in. 

In the long, long silence that followed no one moved. But for those wildeyes Sybil would have thought him sleeping. 

Minutes passed, and at last Curtis spoke under his breath. 

"You had better go. You can't do any more. "

But she would not stir. She had a feeling that Robin still wanted her. 

Suddenly through the night silence there came a sound--the hoof-beats ofa galloping horse. 

She turned her head and listened. "What is that?"

As if in answer, Beelzebub's black face appeared in the entrance. Hiseyes were distended with fright. 

"Missis!" he hissed in a guttural whisper. 

"Here's Boss comin'!" and disappeared again like a monstrous goblin. 

Sybil glanced up at Curtis. "Don't let him come here!" she said. 

But for once he seemed to be at a loss. He made no response to herappeal. While they waited, the hoofs drew steadily nearer, thudding overthe grass. 

"Mr. Curtis!" she said urgently. 

He made a sharp, despairing gesture. "I can't help it, " he said. "Youmust go. For Heaven's sake, don't let him touch you, and burn theclothes you have on as soon as possible! I am going to set fire to thisplace immediately. "

"Going to--set fire to it?" She stared at him in surprise, stillscarcely understanding. 

"The poor chap is dead, " he said. "It's the only thing to do. "

She turned back to the face upon the pillow with its staring, sightlesseyes. She raised a pitying hand to close them, but Curtis intervened. 

He drew her to her feet. "Go!" he said. "Go! Keep Mercer away, that'sall!"

She heard the jingling of a horse's bit and knew that the rider was verynear. Mechanically almost, she turned from the place of death and wentto meet him. 

XV

He was off his horse and striding for the entrance when she encounteredhim. The starlight on his face showed it livid and terrible. At sightof her he stopped short. 

"Are you mad?" he said. 

They were the identical words that Curtis had used; but his voice, hoarse, unnatural, told her that he was in a dangerous mood. 

She backed away from him. "Don't come near me!" she said quickly. "He--he is just dead. And I have been with him. "

"He?" he flung at her furiously, and she knew by his tone that hesuspected the truth. 

She tried to answer him steadily, but her strength was beginning to failher. The long strain was telling upon her at last. She was uncertain ofherself. 

"It--was Robin Wentworth, " she said. 

He took a swift stride towards her. His face was convulsed with passion. "You came here to see that soddened cur?" he said. 

She shrank away from him. The tempest of his anger overwhelmed her. Shecould not stand against it. For the first time she quailed. 

"I have seen him, " she said. "And he is dead. Ah, don't--don't touchme!"

He paid no attention to her cry. He seized her by the shoulders andalmost swung her from his path. 

"It would have been better for you, " he said between his teeth, "if hehad died before you got here. You have begun to repent already, andyou'll go on repenting for the rest of your life. "

"What are you going to do?" she cried, seeing him turn. "Brett, don't goin there! Don't! Don't! You must not! You shall not!"

In a frenzy of fear she threw herself upon him, struggling with all herpuny strength to hold him back. 

"I tell you he is dead!" she gasped. "Why do you want to go in?"

"I am going to see for myself, " he said stubbornly, putting her away. 

"No!" she cried. "No!"

His eyes gleamed red with a savage fury as she clung to him afresh. Hecaught her wrists, forcing her backwards. 

"I don't believe he is dead!" he snarled. 

"He is! He is! Mr. Curtis told me so. "

"If he isn't, I'll murder him!" Brett Mercer vowed, and flung herfiercely from him. 

She fell with violence and lay half-stunned, while he, blinded withrage, possessed by devils, strode forward into that silent place, leaving her prone. 

She thought later that she must have fainted, for the next thing sheknew--and it must have been after the passage of several minutes--wasMercer kneeling beside her and lifting her. His touch was perfectlygentle, but she dared not look into his face. She cowered in his arms inmortal fear. He had crushed her at last. 

"Have I hurt you?" he said. 

She did not answer. Her voice was gone. She was as powerless as aninfant. He raised her and bore her steadily away. 

When he paused finally, it was to speak to Beelzebub, who was holdingthe horses. And then, without a word to her, he lifted her up on to asaddle, and mounted himself behind her. She lay against his breast asone dazed, incapable of speech or action. And so, with his arm abouther, moving slowly through a world of shadows, they began the long, longjourney back. 

They travelled so for the greater part of the night, and during thewhole of that time Mercer never uttered a word. The horse he rode wasjaded, and he did not press it. Beelzebub, with the other two, rode farahead. 

It was still dark when at last they turned in to the Home Farm, and, still in that awful silence, Mercer dismounted and lifted his wife tothe ground. 

He set her on her feet, but her limbs trembled so much that she couldscarcely stand. He kept his arm around her, and led her into the house. 

He took her to her room and left her there; but in a few minutes hereturned with food on a tray which he set before her without raising hiseyes, and again departed. She did not see him again for many hours. 

XVI

From sheer exhaustion she slept at last, but her sleep was broken andunrefreshing. She turned and tossed, dozing and waking in utterweariness of mind and body till the day was far advanced. Finally, toorestless to lie any longer, she arose and dressed. 

The sound of voices took her to her window before she left her room, andshe saw her husband on horseback with Curtis standing by his side. Asense of relief shot through her at sight of the latter. She had come torely upon him more than she knew. While she watched, Mercer raised hisbridle and rode slowly away without a backward glance. And again she wasconscious of relief. 

Curtis stood looking after him for a few seconds, then turned andentered the house. 

She met him in the passage outside her room. He greeted her gravely. 

"I was just coming to see if I could do anything for you, " he said. 

"Thank you, " she answered nervously. "I am better now. Where has myhusband gone?"

He did not answer her immediately. He turned aside to the room in whichshe generally sat, standing back for her to pass him. "I have somethingto say to you, " he said. 

She glanced at him anxiously as she took the chair he offered her. 

"In the first place, " he said, "you will be wise if you keep absolutelyquiet for the next few days. There will be nothing to disturb you. Mercer is not returning at present. He has left you in my charge. "

"Oh, why?" she said. 

Her hands were locked together. She had begun to tremble from head tofoot. 

Curtis was watching her quietly. 

"I think, " he said, "that he is better away from you for a time, and heagrees with me. "

"Why?" she said again, lifting her piteous eyes. "Is he so angry withme?"

"With you? No. He has come to his senses in that respect. But he is notin a particularly safe mood, and he knows it. He has gone to fight itout by himself. "

Curtis paused, but Sybil did not speak. Her attitude had relaxed. Heread unmistakble relief in every line. 

"Well, now, " he said deliberately, "I am going to tell you the exacttruth of this business, as Mercer himself has told it to me. "

"He wishes me to know it?" she asked quickly. 

"He is willing that I should tell you, " Curtis answered. "In fact, untilhe saw me to-day he believed that you knew it already. That was theprimary cause of his savagery last night. You have probably formed avery shrewd suspicion of what happened, but it is better for you to knowthings as they actually stand. If it makes you hate him--well, it's nomore than he deserves. "

"Ah, but I have to live with him, " she broke in, with sudden passion. "It is easy for you to talk of hating him, but I--I am his wife. I mustgo on living by his side, whatever I may feel. "

"Yes, I know, " Curtis said. "But it won't make it any easier for eitherof you to feel that there is this thing between you. Even he sees that. You can't forgive him if you don't know what he has done. "

"Then why doesn't he tell me himself?" she said. 

"Because, " Curtis answered, looking at her steadily, "it will be easierfor you to hear it from me. He saw that, too. "

She could not deny it, but for some reason it hurt her to hear him sayso. She had a feeling that it was to Curtis's insistence, rather than toher husband's consideration, that she owed this present respite. 

"I will listen to you, then, " she said. 

Curtis began to walk up and down the room. 

"First, with regard to Wentworth, " he said. "There was a time once whenhe occupied very much the position that I now hold. He was Mercer'sright-hand man. But he took to drink, and that did for him. I am afraidhe was never very sound. Anyhow, Mercer gave him up, and he disappeared. 

"After he had gone, after I took his place, we found out one or twothings he had done which might have landed him in prison if Mercer hadfollowed them up. However, the man was gone, and it didn't seem worthwhile to track him. It was not till afterwards that we heard he was atBowker Creek, and Mercer was then on the point of starting for England, and decided to leave him alone. 

"It's a poor place--Bowker Creek. He had got a job there as boundaryrider. I suppose he counted on the shearing season to set him up. But hewasn't the sort of chap who ever gets on. And when Mercer met you on hisway out from the old country it was something of a shock to him to hearthat you were on your way to marry Robin Wentworth. 

"Of course, he ought to have told you the truth, but instead of that hemade up his mind to take the business into his own hands and marry youhimself. He cabled from Colombo to Wentworth to wait for him at BowkerCreek, hinted that if he went to the coast he would have him arrested, and said something vague about coming to an understanding which inducedWentworth to obey orders. 

"Then he came straight here and pressed on to Rollandstown, takingBeelzebub with him to show him the short cuts. It's a hard day's ride inany case. He reached Bowker Creek the day after, and had it out withWentworth. The man had been drinking, was unreasonable, furious, finallytried to shoot him. 

"Well, you know Mercer. He won't stand that sort of thing. He thrashedhim within an inch of his life, and then made him write and give you up. It was a despicable affair from start to finish. Mercer's only excusewas that Wentworth was not the sort of man to make any woman happy. Finally, when he had got what he wanted, Mercer left him, after swearingeternal vengeance on him if he ever came within reach of you. The restyou know. "

Yes, Sybil knew the rest. She understood the whole story from beginningto end, realized with what unscrupulous ingenuity she had been trappedand wondered bitterly if she would ever endure her husband's presenceagain without the shuddering sense of nausea which now overcame her atthe bare thought of him. 

She sat in stony silence, till at last Curtis paused beside her. 

"I want you to rest, " he said. "I think, if you don't, the consequencesmay be serious. "

She looked up at him uncomprehendingly. 

"Come, Mrs. Mercer!" he said. 

She shrank at the name. 

"Don't call me that!" she said, and stumbled uncertainly to her feet. "I--I am going away. "

He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. 

"You can't, " he said quietly. "You are not fit for it. Besides, there isnowhere for you to go to. But I will get Mrs. Stevens, the innkeeper'swife at Wallarroo, to come to you for a time. She is a good sort, youcan count on her. As for Mercer, he will not return unless you--orI--send for him. "

She shivered violently, uncontrollably. 

"You will never send for him?"

"Never, " he answered, "unless you need him. "

She glanced around her wildly. Her eyes were hunted. 

"Why do you say that?" she gasped. 

"I think you know why I say it, " said Curtis very steadily. 

Her hands were clenched. 

"No!" she cried back sharply. "No!"

Curtis was silent. There was deep compassion in his eyes. 

She glanced around her wildly. Her eyes were on his eyes. 

She shuddered again, shuddered from head to foot. 

"If I thought that, " she whispered, "if I thought that, I would----"

"Hush!" he interposed gently. "Don't say it! Go and lie down! You willsee things differently by and bye. "

She knew that he was right, and worn out, broken as she was, she movedto obey him. But before she reached the door her little strength wasgone. She felt herself sinking swiftly into a silence that she hoped andeven prayed was death. She did not know when Curtis lifted her. 

XVII

During many days Sybil lay in her darkened room, facing, in weariness ofbody and bitterness of soul, the problem of life. She was not actuallyill, but there were times when she longed intensely, passionately, fordeath. She was weak, physically and mentally, after the long strain. Courage and endurance had alike given way at last. She had no strengthwith which to face what lay before her. 

So far as outward circumstances went, she was in good hands. Curtiswatched over her with a care that never flagged, and the innkeeper'swife from Wallarroo, large and slow and patient, was her constantattendant. But neither of them could touch or in any way soothe theperpetual pain that throbbed night and day in the girl's heart, givingher no rest. 

She left her bed at length after many days, but it was only to wanderaimlessly about the house, lacking the energy to employ herself. Hernerves were quieter, but she still started at any sudden sound, andwould sit as one listening yet dreading to hear. Her husband's namenever passed her lips, and Curtis never made the vaguest reference tohim. He knew that sooner or later a change would come, that the longsuffering that lined her face must draw at last to a climax; but hewould do nothing to hasten it. He believed that Nature would eventuallyfind her own remedy. 

But Nature is ever slow, and sometimes the wheel of life moves tooquickly for her methods to take effect. 

Sybil was sitting one day by an open window when Beelzebub dashedsuddenly into view. He was on horseback, riding barebacked, and wasevidently in a ferment of excitement. He bawled some incoherent words ashe passed the window, words which Sybil could not distinguish, but whichnevertheless sent a sharp sense of foreboding through her heart. Hadhe--or had he not--yelled something to her about "Boss"? She could notpossibly have said, but the suspicion was sufficiently strong to rouseher to lean out of the window and try to catch something of what the boywas saying. 

He had reached the yard, and had flung himself off the sweating animal. As she peered forth she caught sight of Curtis coming out of the stable. Beelzebub saw him too, and broke out afresh with his wild cry. Thistime, straining her ears to listen, she caught the words, all jumbledtogether though they were. 

"Boss got smallpox!"

She saw Curtis stop dead, and she wondered if his heart, like hers, hadceased to beat. The next instant he moved forward, and for the firsttime she saw him deliberately punch the gesticulating negro's woollyhead. Beelzebub cried out like a whipped dog and slunk back. Then, verycalmly, Curtis took him by the scruff of his neck, and began to questionhim. 

Sybil stood, gripping the curtain, and watched it all as one watches ascene on the stage. Somehow, though she knew herself to be vitallyconcerned, she felt no agitation. It was as if the blood had ceased torun in her veins. 

At length she saw Curtis release the palpitating Beelzebub, and turntowards the house. Quite calmly she also turned. 

They met in the passage. 

"You needn't trouble to keep it from me, " she said. "I know. "

He gave her a keen look. 

"I am going to him at once, " was all he said. 

She stood quite still, facing him; and suddenly she was conscious of agreat glow pulsing through her, as though some arrested force had beenset free. She knew that her heart was beating again, strongly, steadily, fearlessly. 

"I shall come with you, " she said. 

She saw his face change. 

"I am sorry, " he said, "but that is out of the question. You must knowit. "

She answered him instantly, unhesitatingly, with some of the old, quickspirit that had won Brett Mercer's heart. 

"There you are wrong. I know it to be the only thing possible for me todo. "

Curtis looked at her for a second as if he scarcely knew her, and thenabruptly abandoned the argument. 

"I will not be responsible, " he said, turning aside. 

And she answered him unfalteringly:

"I will take the responsibility. "

XVIII

Slowly Brett Mercer raised himself and tried to peer through his swolleneyelids at the door. 

"Don't bring any woman here!" he mumbled. 

The effort to see was fruitless. He sank back, blind and tortured, uponthe pillow. He had been taken ill at one of his own outlying farms, andhere he had lain for days--a giant bereft of his strength, waiting fordeath. 

His only attendant was a farm-hand who had had the disease, but knewnothing of its treatment, who was, moreover, afraid to go near him. 

Curtis took in the whole situation at a glance as he bent over him. 

"Why didn't you send for me?" he said. 

"That you?" gasped Mercer. "Man, I'm in hell! Can't you give mesomething to put me out of my misery?"

Curtis was already at work over him. 

"No, " he said briefly. "I'm going to pull you through. You're wanted. "

"You lie!" gasped back Mercer, and said no more. 

Some hours after, starting suddenly from fevered sleep, he asked anabrupt question:

"Does my wife know?"

"Yes, she knows, " Curtis answered. 

He flung his arms wide with a bitter gesture. "She'll soon be free, " hesaid. 

"Not if I know it, " said Curtis, in his quiet, unemotional style. 

"You can't make me live against my will, " muttered Mercer. 

"Don't talk like a fool!" responded Curtis. 

Late that night a hand that was not Curtis's smoothed the sick man'spillow, and presently gave him nourishment. He noticed the differenceinstantly, though he could not open his eyes; but he said nothing at thetime, and she fancied he did not know her. 

But presently, when she thought him sleeping, he spoke. 

"When did you come?"

Even then she was not sure that he was in his right mind. His face wasso swollen and disfigured that it told her nothing. She answered himvery softly:

"I came with Mr. Curtis. "

"Why?" That one word told her that he was in full possession of hissenses. He moved his head to and fro on the pillow as one vainly seekingrest. "Did you want to see me in hell?" he questioned harshly. 

She leaned towards him. She was sitting by his bed. 

"No, " she said, speaking under her breath. "I came because--because itwas the only way out--for us both. "

"What?" he said, and the old impatient frown drew his forehead. "Youcame to see me die, then?"

"I came, " she answered, "to try and make you live. "

He drew a breath that was a groan. 

"You won't succeed, " he said. 

"Why not?" she asked. 

Again feverishly he moved his head, and she smoothed his pillow afreshwith hands that trembled. 

"Don't touch me!" he said sharply. "What was Curtis dreaming of to bringyou here?"

"Mr. Curtis couldn't help it, " she answered, with more assurance. "Icame. " And then after a moment, "Are you--sorry--I came?"

"Yes, " he muttered. 

"Oh, why?" she said. 

"I would sooner die--without you looking on, " he said, forcing out hiswords through set teeth. 

"Oh, why?" she said again. "Don't you believe--can't you believe--that Iwant you to live?"

"No, " he groaned. 

"Not if I swear it?" she asked, her voice sunk very low. 

"No!" He flung the word with something of his ancient ferocity. She wastorturing him past endurance. He even madly hoped that he could scareher away. 

But Sybil made no move to go. She sat quite still for a few seconds. Then slowly she went down upon her knees beside his pillow. 

"Brett, " she said, and he felt her breath quick and tremulous upon hisface as she spoke, "you may refuse to believe what I say. But--I canconvince you without words. "

And before he knew her meaning, she had pressed her quivering lips tohis. 

He recoiled, with an anguished sound that was half of protest and halfof unutterable pain. 

"Do you want to die too?" he said. "Or don't you know the risk?"

"Yes, I know it, " she answered. "I know it, " and in her voice was such athrill of passion as he had never heard or thought to hear from her. "But I know this, too, and I mean that you shall know it. My life isnothing to me--do you understand?--nothing, unless you share it. Now--will you believe me?"

Yes, he believed her then. He had no choice. The knowledge was as asword cutting its way straight to his heart. He tried to answer her, tried desperately hard, because he knew that she was waiting for him tospeak, that his silence would hurt her who from that day forward hewould never hurt again. 

But no words would come. He could not force his utterance. The power ofspeech was gone from him. He turned his face away from her in chokingtears. 

And Sybil knew that the victory was hers. Those tears were more to herthan words. She knew that he would live--if he could--for her sake. 

XIX

It was more than six weeks later that Brett Mercer and his wife turnedin at the Home Farm, as they had turned in on that memorable night thathe had brought his bride from Wallarroo. 

Now, as then, Curtis was ready for them in the open doorway, andBeelzebub advanced grinning to take the horses. But there theresemblance ceased. The woman who entered with her husband leaning onher shoulder was no nervous, shrinking stranger, but a wife entering herhome with gladness, bearing her burden with rejoicing. The woman fromWallarroo looked at her with a doubtful sort of sympathy. She alsolooked at the gaunt, bowed man who accompanied her, and questioned withherself if this were indeed Brett Mercer. 

Brett Mercer it undoubtedly was, nor could she have said, save for hisslow, stooping gait, wherein lay the change that so amazed her. 

Perhaps it was more apparent in Sybil than in the man himself as sheraised her face on entering, and murmured:

"So good to get home again, isn't it, dear?"

He did not speak in answer. He scarcely spoke at all that night. But hissilence satisfied her. 

It was not till the following morning that he stretched out a great, bony hand to her as she waited on him, and drew her down to his side. 

"There has been enough of this, " he said, with a touch of his oldimperiousness. "You have worked too hard already, harder than I evermeant you to work. You are to take a rest, and get strong. "

She uttered her gay little laugh. 

"My dearest Brett, I am strong. "

He lay staring at her in his most direct, disconcerting fashion. Sheendured his look for a moment, and then averted her eyes. She would haverisen, but he prevented her. 

"Sybil!" he said abruptly. 

"Yes?" she answered, with her head bent. 

"Are you afraid of me?" he said. 

She shook her head instantly. 

"Don't be absurd!"

"Then look at me!" he said. 

She raised her eyes slowly, not very willingly. But, having raised them, she kept them so, for there was that in his look which no longer madeher shy. 

He made a slight gesture towards her that was rather of invitation thaninsistence. 

"Don't you think I'm nearly well enough to be let into the secret?" hesaid. 

His action, his tone, above all his look, broke down the last of thebarrier between them. She went into his arms with a shaky little laugh, and hid her face against him. 

"I would have told you long ago, " she whispered, "only somehow--Icouldn't. Besides, I was so sure that you knew. "

"Oh, yes, I knew, " said Mercer. "Curtis saw to that; literally flayed mewith it till I took his advice and cleared out. You know, I've oftenwondered since if it was that that made you want me, after all. "

She shook her head, still with her face against his breast. 

"No, dear, it wasn't. It--it made things worse at first. It was onlywhen I heard you were ill that--that I found--quite suddenly--that Icouldn't possibly go on without you. It was as if--as if something boundround my heart had suddenly given way, and I could breathe again. When Isaw you I knew how terribly I wanted you. "

"And that was how you came to kiss me with that loathsome disease uponme?" he whispered. "That was what made you follow me down to hell tobring me back?"

She turned her face upwards. Her eyes were shining. 

"My dear, " she said, and in her voice was a thrill like the first sweetnotes of a bird in the dawning, "you don't need to ask me why did thesethings. For you know--you know. It was simply and only because I lovedyou. "

"Heaven knows why, " he said, as he bent to kiss her. 

"Heavens knows, " she answered, and softly laughed as she surrendered herlips to his. 

The Secret Service Man

I

A TIGHT PLACE

"Shoulder to shoulder, boys! Give it 'em straight! There's no going backthis journey. " And the speaker slapped his thigh and laughed. 

He was penned in a hot corner with a handful of grinning littleGoorkhas, as ready and exultant as himself. He had no earthly businessin that particular spot. But he had won his way there in a hand-to-handcombat, which had rendered that bit of ground the most desirableabiding-place on the face of the earth. And being there he meant tostay. 

He was established with the inimitable effrontery of British insolence. He had pushed on through the dark, fired by the enthusiasm which is bornof hard resistence. It had been no slight matter, but neither he nor hismen were to be easily dismayed. Moreover, their patience had beenseverely tried for many tedious hours, and the removal of the curb hadgone to their heads like wine. 

Young Derrick Rose, war correspondent, was hot of head and ready ofhand. He had a knack also of getting into tight places and extricatinghimself therefrom with amazing agility; which knack served to procurefor him the admiration of his friends and the respect of his enemies. Itwas his first Frontier campaign, but it was not apparently destined tobe his last, for he bore a charmed life. And he went his way with acheery recklessness that seemed its own security. 

On the present occasion he had planted himself, with a serene assumptionof authority, at the head of a handful of Goorkhas who had been pressedforward too far by an over-zealous officer in the darkness, and had losttheir leader in consequence. 

Derrick had stumbled on the group and had forthwith taken upon himselfto direct them to a position which, with a good deal of astuteness, hehad marked out in his own mind earlier in the day as a desirableacquisition. 

There had been a hand-to-hand scuffle in the darkness, and then thetribesmen had fallen back, believing themselves overwhelmed by superiornumbers. 

Derrick and his Goorkhas had promptly taken possession of the rockyeminence which was the object of their desire, and now prepared, withcommendable determination, to maintain themselves at the post thuscaptured; an impossible feat in consideration of the paucity of theirnumbers, which fact a wily enemy had already begun to suspect. 

That the main force could by any means fail them was a possibility overwhich for long neither Derrick nor his followers wasted a thought. Nevertheless half-an-hour of mad turmoil passed, and no help came. 

Derrick charitably set down its non-appearance to ignorance of his stateand whereabouts, and he began at length to wonder within himself how theplace was to be defended throughout the night. Retreat he would notthink of, for he was game to the finger-tips. But even he could not failto see that, when the moon rose, he and his followers would be in a verytight fix. 

"Confound their caution! What are they thinking of?" he mutteredsavagely. "If they only came straight ahead they would be bound to findus. "

And then a yelling crowd of dim figures breasted the rocks and dashedforward with the force of a hurricane upon the little body of Goorkhas. In a second Derrick was fighting in the dark with mad enthusiasm forbare foothold, and shouting at the top of his voice exhortations to hismen to keep together. 

It was a desperate struggle, but once more the little party of invadersheld their ground. And Derrick, yelling encouragement to his friends anddefiance to his foes, became vaguely conscious of a new element in thestrife. 

Someone, not a Goorkha, was standing beside him, fighting as he fought, but in grim silence. 

Derrick wondered considerably, but was too busy to ask questions. Onlywhen he missed his footing, and a strong hand shot out and dragged himup, his wonder turned to admiration. Here was evidently a mightyfighting-man!

The tribesmen drew off at length baffled, to wait for the moon to rise. They were pretty sure of their prey despite the determined resistancethey had encountered. They did not know of the new force that had cometo strengthen that forsaken little knot of men. Had they known, theirestimate of the task before them would have undergone a very materialamendment. 

"Hullo!" said Derrick, rubbing his sleeve across his forehead. "Where onearth did you spring from?"

A steady voice answered him out of the gloom. "I came up from thevalley. The troops are halted at the entrance of the ravine. There willbe no further advance to-night. "

Derrick swore a sudden, fierce oath. 

"No further advance! Do you mean that? Then Carlyon doesn't know we arehere. "

"Oh, yes, he knows, " answered the man indifferently. "But he says veryreasonably that he didn't order you to come up here, and he can'tsacrifice twice the number of men here to get you down again. Unfortunate for you, of course; but we all have to swallow bad luck atone time or another. Make the best of it!"

Derrick swore again with less violence and greater resolution. 

"And who, in wonder, may you be?" he broke off to enquire. "I'm a warcorrespondent myself. "

There was a vein of humour in the quiet reply. 

"Oh, I'm a non-combatant, too. It's always the non-combatants that dothe work. Have you got a revolver? Good! Any cartridges? That's right. Now, look here, it's out of the question to remain in this place tillmoonrise. "

"I won't go back, " said Derrick doggedly. "I'll see Carlyon hang first. "

"Quite right. I wasn't going to propose that. It's impossible, in thefirst place. Perhaps it is only fair to Colonel Carlyon to mention thathe had no notion that there is anything so important as a newspaper manat the head of this expedition. It's a detail, of course. Still, if youget through, it is just as well that you should know the rights of thecase. "

Derrick broke into an involuntary laugh. 

"Did Carlyon get you to come and tell me so?" He turned and peeredthrough the darkness at the man beside him. "You never got up herealone?" he said incredulously. 

"Oh, yes. It wasn't difficult. I was guided by the noise you made. Howmany men have you?"

"Ten or twelve; not more--all Goorkhas. "

"Good! We must quit this place at once. It will be a death-trap when themoon rises. There are some boulders higher up, away to the right. Wecan occupy them till morning and fight back to back if they try to rushus. There ought to be plenty of shelter among those rocks. "

The man's cool speech caught Derrick's fancy. He spoke as quietly as ifhe were sitting at an English dinner-table. 

"You had better take command, " said Derrick. 

"No, thanks; you are going to pull this through. Are you ready to move?Pass the word to the men! And then all together! It is now or never!"

A few seconds later they were stumbling in an indistinguishable masstowards the haven indicated by the latest comer. It was a difficultscramble, not the least difficult part of it being the task of keepingin touch with each other. But Derrick's spirits returned at a bound withthis further adventure, and he began to rejoice somewhat prematurely inhis triumph over Carlyon's caution. 

The man who had come to his assistance kept at his elbow throughout theclimb. Not a word was spoken. The men moved like cats through thedimness. Below them was a confused din of rifle-firing. Their advancehad evidently not been detected. 

"Silly owls! Wasting their ammunition!" murmured Derrick to the manbeside him. He received no response. A warning hand closed with a gripon his elbow. And Derrick subsided. 

When the moon rose, magnificent and glowing from behind the mountains, Derrick and his men looked down from a high perch on the hillside, andwatched a furious party of tribesmen charge and occupy their abandonedposition. 

"Now, this is good!" said Derrick, and he was in the act of firing hisrevolver into the thick of the crowd below him when again the sinewyhand of his unknown friend checked him. 

"Hold your fire, man!" the man said, in his quiet, unmoved voice. "Youwill want it presently. "

But the stranger's hold tightened. He was standing in the shadowslightly behind Derrick. 

"Wait!" he said. "They will find you soon enough. You are not in aposition to take the offensive. "

Derrick swung round with a restless word. And then he pulled up short. He was facing a tribesman, gaunt and tall, with odd, light eyes thatglittered strangely in the moonlight. Derrick stared at the apparition, dumbfounded. After a pause the man took his hand from thecorrespondent's arm. 

"Don't give the show away for want of a little caution!" he said. "Thereare your men to think of, remember. This is no picnic. "

Derrick was still staring hard at the strange figure before him. 

"I say, " he said at length, "what in the name of wonder are you?"

He heard a faint, contemptuous laugh. The unknown drew the end of his_chuddah_ farther across his face. 

"You are marvellously guileless for a war correspondent, " he said. Andhe turned on his heel and stalked away into the shadows. 

Derrick stood gazing after him in stupefaction. 

"A Secret Service agent, is he?" he murmured at length to himself. "ByJove! What a marvellous fake! On Carlyon's business, I suppose. ConfoundCarlyon! I'll tell him what I think of him if I come through this allright. "

Carlyon, in times of peace, was one of Derrick Rose's most intimatefriends. That Carlyon, upon whom he relied as upon a tower of strengthshould fail him at such a pinch as this, and for motives of cautionalone, was a circumstance so preposterous and unheard-of that Derrick'scredulity was hardly equal to the strain. 

He began to wonder if this stranger who had guided him into safety, fromwhat he now realized to be a positive death-trap, had given him a whollyunexaggerated account of Carlyon's attitude. 

He waited awhile, thinking the matter over with rising indignation; andat length, as the noise below him subsided, he moved from his shelter tofind his informant. It was a rash thing to do, but prudence was not hisstrong point. Moreover, the Secret Service man had aroused hiscuriosity. He wanted to see more of this fellow. So, with anindifference to danger, foolhardy, though too genuine to becontemptible, he strolled across an unprotected space of moonlight tojoin him. 

Two seconds later he was lying on his face, struggling with the futile, convulsive effort of a stricken man to recover his footing. And evenwhile he struggled, he lost consciousness. 

He awoke at length as one awakes from a troublous dream, and lookedabout him with a dazed consciousness of great tumult. 

The space in which he lay was no longer wide and empty. The white worldwas peopled with demons that leapt and surged around his prostrate body. And someone, a man in white, with naked, uplifted arms, stood above himand quelled the tumult. 

Derrick saw it all, heard the mad yells lessen and die down, watchedwith a dumb amazement the melting away of the fierce crowd. 

And then the man who stood over him turned suddenly and, kneeling, lifted him from his prostrate position. It was a man in native dresswhose eyes held for Derrick an odd, half-familiar fascination. 

Where had he met those eyes before? Ah, he remembered. It was the SecretService man. And that was strange, too. For Carlyon always scoffed atSecret Service men. Still, this was a small matter which, no doubt, would right itself. Everything looked a little peculiar and distorted onthis night of wonders. Carlyon himself had sadly degenerated in hisopinion since the morning. Bother Carlyon!

Suddenly a great sigh burst from Derrick, and the moonlight broke upinto tiny, dazzling fragments. The darkness was full of them, alivewith them. 

"Fire-flies!" gasped Derrick, and began to cough, at first slowly, withpauses for breath, then quickly, spasmodically, convulsively. For breathhad finally failed him. 

The arm behind him raised him with the steady strength of iron muscles, and a hand pressed his chest. But the coughing did not cease. It was theanguished strife of wounded Nature to assert her damaged authority; thewild, last effort to clutch and hold fast the elusive torch that, flickering in the midst of darkness, is called life--the one pricelesspossession of our little mortal treasury. 

And while he coughed and fought with the demon of suffocation Derrickwas strongly aware of the eyes that watched him, burning like twobrilliant blue points out of the darkness. Wonderful eyes! Steady, strong, unflinching. The eyes of a friend--a true friend--not such anone as Carlyon--Carlyon who had failed him. 

A thick, unexplored darkness fell upon Derrick as he thought ofCarlyon's desertion; and he forgot at length to wonder at thestrangeness of the night. 

II

A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP

By and bye, when the light dawned in his eyes, Derrick began to dream ofmany strange things. 

But he came back at last out of the shadows, weak and faint and weary. And then he found that he was in hospital and had been there for weeks. 

The discovery was rather staggering. Somehow he had never quite ridhimself of the impression that he was still lying on the great, rockyboulder where the Secret Service man had so magically scattered hisenemies. But as life and full consciousness returned to him he becameaware that this had for weeks been no more than a fevered illusion. 

When he was at length fairly out of danger he was dispatched southwardson the first stage of the homeward journey. 

He sailed for Home with his resentment against Carlyon yet strong uponhim. He had no parents. In his reckless young days, during the lastthree years of his minority, Carlyon had been this boy's guardian. ButDerrick had been his own master for nearly four years, and the consciousjoy of independence was yet dear to his heart. He had no settled home ofhis own, but he had plenty of money. And that, after all, was theessential thing. 

He had been brought up with the daughter of a clergyman in whose home hehad lived all his early life. The two had grown up together in closecompanionship. They had been comrades all their lives. 

Only of recent years, at the end of an uneventful college career, hadDerrick awakened to the astounding fact that Averil Eversley, his littleplaymate, was a maiden sweet and comely whom he wanted badly for hisvery own. She was three years younger than himself, but she had alwaystaken the lead in all their exploits. 

Derrick discovered for the first time that this was not a proper stateof affairs. He had tried, not over tactfully, to show her that man was, after all, the superior animal. Averil had first stared at his efforts, and then laughed with uncontrollable mirth. 

Then Derrick had set to work with splendid energy, and achieved in twoyears a certain amount of literary success. Averil had praised him forthis; which reward of merit had so turned his head that he had at onceclumsily proposed to her. Averil had not laughed at that. She hadrejected him instantly, with so severe a scolding that Derrick had losthis temper, and gone away to sulk. Later, he had turned his attentionagain to journalistic work, hoping thereby to recover favour. 

Then, and this had brought him to the previous winter, he had returnedto find Averil going in for a little innocent hero-worship on her ownaccount. And Carlyon, his own particular friend and adviser, hadhappened to be the hero. 

Whether Carlyon were aware of the state of affairs or not, Derrick inhis wrath had not stopped to enquire. He had simply and blindly gonedirect to the attack, with the result that Averil had been deeply andirreconcilably offended, and Carlyon had so nearly kicked him for makingsuch a fool of himself that Derrick had retired in disgust from thefray, had clamoured for and, with infinite difficulty, obtained a postas war-correspondent in the ensuing Frontier campaign, and had departedon his adventurous way, sulking hard. 

Later, Carlyon had sought him out, had shaken hands with him, called himan impetuous young ass, and had enjoined him to stick to himself duringthe expedition in which Derrick was thus recklessly determined to takepart. They had, in fact, been entirely reconciled, avoiding by mutualconsent the delicate ground of their dispute. Carlyon was a man ofconsiderable reputation on the Frontier, and Derrick Rose was secretlyproud of the friendship that existed between them. 

Now, however, the friendship had split to its very foundation. Carlyonhad failed him when life itself had been in the balance. 

Impetuous as he was, Derrick was not one to forgive quickly so gross aninjury as this. He did not think, moreover, that Averil herself wouldcontinue to offer homage before so obvious a piece of clay as her idolhad proved himself to be. Derrick was beginning to apply to Carlyon themost odious of all epithets--that of coward. 

He had set his heart upon a reconciliation with Averil, and earnestly hehoped she would see the matter with his eyes. 

III

DERRICK'S PARADISE

"So it was the Secret Service man who saved your life, " said Averil, with flushed cheeks. "Really, Dick, how splendid of him!"

"Finest chap I ever saw!" declared Derrick. "He looked about eight feethigh in native dress. I shall have to find that man some day, and tellhim what I think of him. "

"Yes, indeed!" agreed Averil. "I expect, you know, it was really ColonelCarlyon who sent him. "

"Being too great a--strategist to advance himself, " said Derrick. 

"But he didn't know you were at the head of the Goorkhas, " Averilreminded him. 

"Perhaps not, " said Derrick. "But he knew I was there. And, putting meout of the question altogether, what can you think of an officer whowill coolly leave a party of his men to be slaughtered like sheep in abutcher's yard because the poor beggars happen to have got into a tightplace?"

Derrick spoke with strong indignation, and Averil was silent awhile. Presently, however, she spoke again, slowly. 

"I can't help thinking, Dick, " she said, "that there is an explanationsomewhere. We ought not--it would not be fair--to say Colonel Carlyonacted unworthily before he has had a chance of justifying himself. "

There was justice in this remark. Derrick, who was lying at the girl'sfeet on the hearthrug in the Rectory drawing-room, reached up a bonyhand and took possession of one of hers. For Averil had received himwith a warmer welcome than he had deemed possible in his most sanguinemoments, and he was very happy in consequence. 

"All right, " he said equably. "We'll shunt Carlyon for a bit, and talkabout ourselves. Shall we?"

Averil drew the bony hand on to her lap and looked at it critically. 

"Poor old boy!" she said. "It is thin. "

Derrick drew himself up to a sitting position. There was an air ofmastery about him as he raised a determined face to hers. 

"Averil, " he said suddenly, "you aren't going to send me to theright-about again, are you?"

"Oh, don't let us squabble on your first night!'" said Averil hastily. 

"Squabble!" the boy exclaimed, springing to his feet vigorously. "Do youcall--that--squabbling?"

Averil stood up, too, tall and straight, and slightly defiant. 

"I don't want you to go away, Dick, " she said, "if you can stay andbehave nicely. I thought it was horribly selfish of you to go off as youdid last winter. I think so still. If you had got killed, I should havebeen very--very--"

"What?" demanded Derrick impatiently. "Sorry? Angry--what?"

"Angry, " said Averil, with great decision. "I should never have forgivenyou. I am not sure that I shall, as it is. "

Derrick uttered a sudden passionate laugh. Then abruptly his moodchanged. He held out his hands to her. 

"Averil!" he said. "Averil! Can't you see how I want you--how I loveyou? Why do you treat me like this? I've thought about you, dreamt aboutyou, day after day, night after night, ever since I went away. Youthought it beastly selfish of me to go. But it hasn't been such fun, after all. All the weeks I was in hospital I felt sick for the sight ofyou. It was worse than starvation. Can't you see what it is to me? Can'tyou see that I--I worship you?"

"My dear Dick!" Averil put her hands into his, but her gesture was oneof restraint. "You mustn't talk so wildly, " she said. "And, dear boy, dotry not to be quite so impulsive--so headstrong. You know, you--you--"

She broke off. Derrick, with a set jaw and burning eyes, was drawing herto him, strongly, irresistibly. 

"Derrick!" she said, with a flash of anger. 

"I can't help it!" Derrick said passionately. "I've been counting onthis, living for this. Averil I--I--you can call me mad if you like, but if you send me away again--I believe I shall shoot myself. "

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Averil, half-angry, half-scornful. 

He dropped her hands and stood quite still for the space of a fewseconds, his face white and twitching. And then, to her utter amazement, he sank heavily into a chair and covered his face with his hands. 

"Dick!" she ejaculated. 

Silence followed the word, a breathless silence. Derrick sat perfectlymotionless, his fingers gripping his hair. At last Averil moved up tohim, a little frightened by his stillness, and very intenselycompassionate. She bent and touched his shoulder. 

"Dick!" she said. "Dick! Don't!"

He stirred under her hand, but did not raise his head. "Get away, Averil!" he muttered. "You don't understand. "

And quite suddenly Averil was transported back to the far, recedingschooldays, when Derrick had got into trouble for smoking his firstcigar. The memory unconsciously influenced her speech. 

"But, Dick, " she said persuasively, "don't you think you are the leastbit in the world unreasonable? It's true I don't quite understand. We'vebeen such splendid chums all our lives, I really don't see why we shouldbegin to be anything different now. Besides, Dick"--there was appeal inher voice--"I don't truly want to get married. It seems such a sillything to go and do when one had such really jolly times without. It doesspoil things so. "

Derrick sat up. He was still absurdly boyish, despite hisfour-and-twenty years. 

"Look here, Averil!" he said doggedly. "If you won't have me, I'm notgoing to hang about after you like a tame monkey. It's going to be onething or the other. I've made a big enough fool of myself over you. Wecan't be chums, as you call it"--a passionate ring crept into hisvoice--"when all the while you're holding me off at arm's length as ifI'd got the plague. So"--rising abruptly and facing her--"which is it tobe?"

Averil looked at him. His face was still white, but his lips weresternly compressed. He was weak no longer. She was conscious of a suddenthrill of admiration banishing her pity. After all, was he indeed only aboy? He scarcely seemed so at that moment. He was, moreover, straightand handsome despite his gaunt appearance. 

"Answer me, Averil!" he said with determination. 

But Averil had no answer ready. She stood silent. 

Derrick laid his hand on her arm. It was a light touch, but somehow itconveyed to her the fact that he was holding himself in with a tighterrein than ever before. 

"Don't torture me!" he said, speaking quickly, nervously. "Tell meeither to stay or--go!" His voice dropped on the last word, and for asecond Averil saw the torture on his face. 

It was too much for her resolution. All her life she had been this boy'schosen companion and confidante. She felt she could not turn from himnow in his distress, and deliberately break his heart. Yet for onetumultuous second she battled with her impulse. Then--she yielded. Somehow that look in Derrick's eyes compelled her. 

She put her hands on his shoulders. 

"Dick--stay!" she said. 

His arms closed round her in a second. "You mean--" he said, under hisbreath. 

"Yes, Dick, " she answered bravely, "I do mean. Dear boy, don't ever looklike that again! You have hurt me horribly. "

Derrick turned her face up to his own and kissed her repeatedly andpassionately. 

"You shall never regret it, my darling, " he said. "You have turned myworld into a paradise. I will do the same for yours. "

"It doesn't take much to make me happy, " Averil said, leaning herforehead against his shoulder. "I hope you will be a kind master, Dick, and let me have my own way sometimes. "

"Master?" scoffed Derrick, kissing her hair. "You know you can lead meby the nose from world's end to world's end. "

"I wonder, " said Averil, with a little sigh. "Do you know, Dick, I'm notquite sure of that. "

"What!" said Derrick softly. "Not--quite--sure!"

"Not when you look as you did thirty seconds ago, " Averil explained. "Never mind, dear old boy! I'm glad you can look like that, though, mind, you must never, never do it again if you live to be a hundred. "

She looked up at him suddenly and clasped her hands behind his neck. "You do love me, don't you, Dick?" she said. 

"My darling, I worship you!" Derrick answered very solemnly. 

And Averil drew his head down with a quivering smile and kissed him onthe lips. 

IV

CARLYON DEFENDS HIMSELF

"Ah, Derrick! I thought I could not be mistaken. "

Derrick turned swiftly at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, andnearly tumbled into the roadway. He had been sauntering somewhataimlessly down the Strand till pulled up in this rather summary fashion. He now found himself staring at a tall man who had come up behind him--aman with a lined face and drooping eyelids, and a settled wearinessabout his whole demeanour which, somehow, conveyed the impression that, in his opinion, at least, there was nothing on earth worth striving for. 

Derrick recovered his balance and stood still before him. Speech, however, quite unexpectedly failed him. The quiet greeting had scatteredhis ideas momentarily. 

The hand that had touched his shoulder was deliberately transferred tohis elbow. 

"Come!" said his acquaintance, smiling a little. "We are blocking thegangway. I am staying at the Grand. If you are at liberty you might dinewith me. By the way, how are you, old fellow?"

He spoke very quietly and wholly without affectation. There was a touchof tenderness in his last sentence that quite restored Derrick'sfaculties. 

He shook his arm free from the other's hand with a vehemence of actionthat was unmistakably hostile. 

"No, thanks, Colonel Carlyon!" he said, speaking fast and feverishly. "If I were starving, I wouldn't accept hospitality from you!"

"Don't be a fool!" said Carlyon. 

His tone was still quiet, but it was also stern. He pushed a determinedhand through Derrick's arm. "If you won't come my way, " he said, "Ishall come yours. "

Derrick swore under his breath. But he yielded. "Very well, " he saidaloud. "I'll come. But I swear I won't touch anything. "

"You needn't swear, " said Carlyon; "it's unnecessary. "

And Derrick bit his lip nearly through, being exasperated. He did not, however, resist the compelling hand a second time, realizing thefutility of such a proceeding. 

So in dead silence they reached the Grand and entered. Then Carlyonspoke again. 

"Come up to my room first!" he said. 

Derrick went with him unprotesting. 

In his own room Carlyon turned round and took him by the shoulders. "Now, " he said, "are you ill or merely sulky? Just tell me which, and Ishall know how to treat you!"

"It's no thanks to you I'm not dead!" exclaimed Derrick stormily. "Ididn't want to meet you, but, by Heaven, since I have, and since youhave forced an interview upon me, I'll go ahead and tell you what Ithink of you. "

Carlyon turned away from him and sat down. "Do, by all means, " he said, "if it will get you into a healthier frame of mind!"

But Derrick's flow of eloquence unexpectedly failed him at thisjuncture, and he stood awkwardly silent. 

Carlyon turned round at last and looked at him. "Sit down, Dick, " hesaid patiently, "and stop being an ass! I'm a difficult man to quarrelwith, as you know. So sit down and state your grievance, and have donewith it!"

"You know very well what's wrong!" Derrick burst out fiercely, beginning to prowl to and fro. 

"Do I?" said Carlyon. He got up deliberately and intercepted Derrick. "Just stop tramping, " he said, with sudden sternness, "and listen to me!You have your wound alone to thank for keeping you out of the worst messyou ever got into. If you hadn't gone back in a hospital truck, youwould have gone back under escort. Do you understand that?"

"Why?" flashed Derrick. 

"Why?" echoed Carlyon, striking him abruptly on the shoulder. "Tell meyour own opinion of a hot-headed, meddling young fool who not only gotinto mischief himself at a most critical moment, but led half-a-score ofvaluable men into what was practically a death-trap, for the sake of, Isuppose he would call it, an hour's sport. On my soul, Derrick, " heended, with a species of quiet vigour that carried considerable weightbehind it, "if you weren't such a skeleton I'd give you a soundthrashing for your sins. As it is, you will be wise to get off that highhorse of yours and take a back seat. I never have put up with this sortof thing from you. And I never mean to. "

Derrick had no answer ready. He stood still, considering these things. 

Colonel Carlyon turned his back on him and cut the end of a cigar. "Doyou grasp my meaning?" he enquired at length, as Derrick remainedsilent. 

Derrick moved to a chair and sat down. Somehow Carlyon had taken thebackbone out of his indignation. He spoke at last, but without anger. "Even if it were as you say, " he said, "I don't consider you treated medecently. "

Carlyon suddenly laughed. "Even if by some odd chance I have actuallyspoken the truth, " he said, "I shall not, and do not, feel called uponto justify my action for your benefit. "

"I think you owe me that, " Derrick said quickly. 

"I disagree with you, " Carlyon rejoined. "I owe you nothing whateverexcept the aforementioned thrashing which must, unfortunately, under thecircumstances, remain a debt for the present. "

Derrick leant forward suddenly

"Stop rotting, Carlyon!" he said, with impulsive earnestness. "I can'thelp talking seriously. You didn't know, surely, what a tight fix wewere in? You couldn't have intended us to--to--die in the dark likethat?"

"Intended!" said Carlyon sharply. "I never intended you to occupy thatposition at all, remember. "

"Yes; but--since we were in that position, since--if you choose to putit so--I exceeded all bounds and intentions and took those splendidlittle Goorkhas into a death-trap; I may have been a headstrong, idioticfool to do it; but, granted all that, you did not deliberately andknowingly leave us to be massacred? You couldn't have done actuallythat. "

Carlyon laid his cigar-case on the table at Derrick's elbow, and lightedhis own cigar with great deliberation. 

"You may remember, Dick, " he said quietly, after a pause, "that onceupon a time you wrote--and published--a book. It had its merits and ithad its faults. But a fool of a critic took it into his head to give youa thorough slating. You were furious, weren't you? I remember giving youa bit of sound advice over that book. Probably you have forgotten it. But it chances to be one of the guiding principles of my life. It isthis: Never answer your critics! Go straight ahead!"

He paused. 

"I remember, " said Derrick. "Well?"

"Well, " said Carlyon gravely, "that is what I have done all my life, what I mean to do now. You are in full possession of the facts of thecase. You have defined my position fairly accurately. I did know youwere in an impossible corner. I did know that you and the men with youwere in all probability doomed. And--I did not think good to send arescue. You do not understand the game of war. You merely went in for itfor the sake of sport, I for the sake of the stakes. There is adifference. More than that I do not mean to say. "

He sat down opposite Derrick as he ended and began to smoke with an airof indifference. But his eyes were on the boy's face. They had beenclose friends for years. 

Derrick still sat forward. He was staring at the ground heavily, silently Carlyon had given him a shock. Somehow he had not expected fromhim this cool acknowledgment of an action from which he himself shrankwith unspeakable abhorrence. 

To leave a friend in the lurch was, in Derrick's eyes, an act soinfamous that he would have cut his own throat sooner than be guilty ofit. It did not occur to him that Carlyon might have urged extenuatingcircumstances, but had rather scornfully abstained from doing so. 

He did not even consider the fact that, as commanding-officer, Carlyon'sresponsibility for the lives in his charge was a burden not to beignored or lightly borne. He did not consider the risk to these samevaluable lives that a rescue in force would have involved. 

He saw only himself fighting for a forlorn hope, his grinning littleGoorkhas gallantly and intrepidly following wherever he would lead, andhe saw the awful darkness down which his feet had stumbled, a terriblechasm that had yawned to engulf them all. 

He sat up at last and looked straight at Carlyon. He spoke slowly, withan effort. 

"If it had been only myself, " he said, "I--perhaps, I might have foundit easier. But there were the men, my men. You could not alter yourplans by one hair's-breadth to save their gallant lives. I can't getover that. I never shall. You left us to die like rats in a hole. Butfor a total stranger--a spy, a Secret Service man--we should have beencut to pieces, every one of us. You did not, I suppose, send that man tohelp us out?"

Carlyon blew a cloud of smoke upwards. He frowned a little, but his lookwas more one of boredom than annoyance. 

"What exactly are you talking about?" he said. "I don't employ spies. Asto Secret Service agents, I think you have heard my opinion of thembefore. "

"Yes, " said Derrick. He rose with an air of finality. His young face wasvery stern. "He was probably attached to General Harford's division. Hefound us in a fix, and he helped us out of it. He knew the land. Wedidn't. He was the most splendid fighting-man I ever saw. He tried tostick up for you, too--said you didn't know. That, of course, was amistake. You did know, and are not ashamed to own it. "

"Not in the least, " said Carlyon. 

"The men couldn't have held out without him, " Derrick continued. "AfterI was hit, he stood by them. He only took himself off just beforemorning came and you ventured to move to our assistance. "

"He had no possible right to do it, " observed Carlyon thoughtfullyignoring the bitter ring of sarcasm in the boy's tone. 

"Oh, none whatever, " said Derrick. He spoke hastily, jerkily, as a mannot sure of himself. "No doubt his life was Government property, and hehad no right to risk it. Still he did it, and I am weak-minded enough tobe grateful. My own life may be worthless; at least, it was then. And Iwould not have survived my Goorkhas. But he saved them, too. That, oddas it may seem to you, made all the difference to me. "

"Is your life more valuable now than it was a few months ago?" enquiredCarlyon, in a casual tone. 

"Yes, " said Derrick shorty. 

"Has Averil accepted you?" Carlyon asked him point-blank. 

"Yes, " said Derrick again. 

There was a momentary pause. Then: "Permit me to offer myfelicitations!" said Carlyon, through a haze of tobacco-smoke. 

Derrick started as if stung. "I beg you won't do anything of the sort!"he said with vehemence. "I don't want your good wishes. I would ratherbe without them. I may be a hare-brained fool. I won't deny it. But asfor you--you are a blackguard--the worst sort of blackguard! I hope Ishall never speak to you again!"

Carlyon, lying back in his chair, neither stirred nor spoke. He lookedup at Derrick from beneath steady eyelids. But he offered him nothing inreturn for his insulting words. 

Derrick waited for seconds. Then patience and resolution alike failedhim. He swung round abruptly on his heel and walked out of the room. 

As for Colonel Carlyon, he did not rise from his chair till he hadconscientiously finished his cigar. He had stuck to his principles. Hehad not answered his critic. Incidentally he had borne more from thatcritic than any man had ever before dared to offer him, more than he hadtold Derrick himself that he would bear. Yet Derrick had gone away fromthe encounter with a whole skin in order that Colonel Carlyon mightstick to his principles. Carlyon's forbearance was a plant of peculiargrowth. 

V

A WOMAN'S FORGIVENESS

"Colonel Carlyon, " said Averil, turning to face him fully, her eyes verybright, "will you take the trouble to make me understand about Derrick?I have been awaiting an opportunity to ask you ever since I heard aboutit. "

Carlyon paused. They chanced to be staying simultaneously in the houseof a mutual friend. He had arrived only the previous evening, and tillthat moment had scarcely spoken to the girl. 

Carlyon smothered an involuntary sigh. He could have wished that thisgirl, with her straight eyes and honest speech, would have spared himthe explanation which she had made such speed to demand of him. 

"Make you understand, Miss Eversley!" he said, halting deliberatelybefore a bookcase. "What exactly is it that you do not understand?"

"Everything, " Averil said, with a comprehensive gesture. "I have alwaysbelieved that you thought more of Derrick than anything else in theworld. "

"Ah!" said Carlyon quietly. "That is probably the root of themisunderstanding. Correct that, and the rest will be comparativelyeasy. "

He took a book from the shelf before him and ran a quick eye through itspages. After a brief pause he put the volume back and joined the girl onthe hearthrug. 

"Is my behaviour still an enigma?" he said, with a slight smile. 

She turned to him impulsively. "Of course, " she said, colouring vividly, "I am aware that to a celebrated man like you the opinion of a nobodylike myself cannot matter one straw. But--"

"Pardon me!" Carlyon gravely. "Even celebrated men are human, you know. They have their feelings like the rest of mankind. I shall be sorry toforfeit your good opinion. But I have no means of retaining it. Derrickcannot see my point of view. You, of course, will share hisdifficulties. "

"That does not follow, does it?" said Averil. 

"I should say so, " said Carlyon. "You see, Miss Eversley, you havealready told me that you do not understand my action. Non-comprehensionin such a matter is synonymous with disapproval. You are, no doubt, infull possession of the facts. More than the bare facts I cannot giveyou. I will not attempt to justify myself where I admit no guilt. "

"No, " Averil said. "Pray don't think I am asking you to do anything ofthe sort! Only, Colonel Carlyon, " she laid a pleading hand on his armand lifted a very anxious face, "you remember we used to be friends, ifyou will allow the presumption of such a term. Won't you even try toshow me your point of view in this matter? I think I could understand. Iwant to understand. "

Carlyon leant his elbow on the mantelpiece and looked very gravely intothe girl's troubled eyes. 

"You are very generous, Averil, " he said. 

"Generous, " she echoed, with a touch of impatience. "No; I only want tobe just--for my own sake. I hate to take a narrow, cramped view ofthings. I hate that Dick should. A few words from you would set us bothright, and we could all be friends again. "

"Ah!" said Carlyon. "But suppose--I have nothing to say?"

"You must have something!" she declared vehemently. "You never doanything without a reason. "

"Generous again!" said Carlyon. 

"Oh, don't laugh at me!" cried Averil, stung by the quiet unconcern ofhis words. 

He straightened himself instantly, his face suddenly stern. "At leastyou wrong me there!" he said, and before the curt reproof of his toneshe felt humbled and ashamed. "Listen to me a moment! You want my pointof view clearly stated. You shall have it. 

"I am employed by a blundering Government to do a certain task whichbigger men shirk. Carlyon of the Frontier, they say, will stick at nodirty job. I undertake the task. I lay my plans--subtle plans which you, with your blind British generosity, would neither understand norapprove. I proceed to carry them out. I am within sight of the end andsuccess, when an idiotic fool of a boy, who is not so much as acombatant himself, blunders into the business and throws the wholescheme out of gear. He assumes the leadership of a dozen strandedGoorkhas, and instead of bringing them back he drags them forward intoan impossible position, and then expects a rescue. 

"I meanwhile have my own work to do. I am responsible to the Governmentfor the lives of my men. I cannot expend them on other than Governmentwork. 

"On one side of the scale is this same Government and the plans made inits interest; on the other the life of a boy, strategically speaking, worth nothing, and the lives of half-a-score of fighting men, alreadyaccounted a loss. It may astonish you to know that the Government turnedthe scale. Those who had incurred the penalty of rashness were left topay it. That, Miss Eversley, is all I have to say. You will be goodenough to remember that I have said it at your request and not in my owndefence. "

He ceased to speak as abruptly as he had begun. He was standing at hisfull height, and, tall though she was, Averil felt unaccountably smalland insignificant before him. Curtly, almost rudely, as he had spoken, she admired him immensely for the stern code of honour he professed. 

She did not utter a word for several seconds. He had impressed her verystrongly. She stayed to weigh his words in the balance of her ownjudgment. 

"It is a man's point of view, " she said slowly at last, "not a woman's. "

"Even so, " said Carlyon, dropping back suddenly to his former attitude. 

She looked at him very earnestly, her brows drawn together. 

"You have not told me about the Secret Service man, " she said at length. "You sent him, did you not, on the forlorn chance of saving Dick?"

Carlyon shook his head in a grim disclaimer. 

"Derrick's information was the first I heard of the individual, " hesaid. "I was unaware of the existence of a Secret Service agent within aradius of fifty miles. I believe General Harford encourages the breed. Ido the precise opposite. I have no faith in professional spies in thatpart of the world. Russian territory is too near, and Russian gold tootempting. "

Averil's face fell. "Colonel Carlyon, " she said, in a very small voice, "forgive me, but--but--you cannot be so hard as you sound. You are fondof Dick, surely?"

"Yes, " he said deliberately. "I am fond of you both, if I may bepermitted to say so. "

Averil coloured a little. "Thank you, " she said. "I shall try presentlyto make him understand. "

"Understand what?" said Carlyon curiously. 

"Your feeling in the matter. "

"My what?" he said roughly. Then hastily, "I beg your pardon, MissEversley. But are you sure you understand it yourself?"

"I am doing my best, " she said, in a low voice. 

"But you are sorely disappointed, nevertheless, " he said, in a morekindly tone. "You expected something different. Well, it can't behelped. I should leave Dick's convictions alone, if I were you. At leasthe has no illusions left with regard to Carlyon of the Frontier. "

There was an involuntary touch of sadness in the man's quiet speech. Heno longer looked at Averil, and his face in repose wore an expression ofunutterable weariness. 

Averil held out her hand with an abrupt, childlike impulse. 

"Colonel Carlyon, " she said, speaking very rapidly, "you are right. Idon't understand. I think you hold too stern a view of yourresponsibilities. I believe no woman could think otherwise. But at thesame time I do still believe you are a good man. I shall always believeit. "

Carlyon glanced at her quickly. Her face was flushed, her eyes veryeager. He looked away again almost instantly, but he took heroutstretched hand. 

"Thank you, Averil, " he said gravely. "I believe under the circumstancesfew women would have said the same. Tell me! Did I hear a rumour thatyou are going out to India yourself very shortly?"

She nodded. "I have almost promised to go, " she said. "I have a marriedsister at Sharapura. I wrote to her of my engagement, and she wroteback, begging me to go to her if I could. She and her husband have beendisappointed several times about coming home, and it is still uncertainwhen they will manage it. She wants to see me before I marry and settledown, she says. "

"And you want to go?"

"Of course I do, " said Averil, with enthusiasm. "It has always been astanding promise that I should go some day. "

"And what does Derrick say to it?"

"Oh, Dick! He was very cross at first. But I have propitiated him bypromising to marry him as soon as I get back, which will be probablythis time next year. "

Averil's face grew suddenly grave. 

"I hope you will both be very happy, " said Carlyon, rather formally. 

"Thank you, " said Averil, looking up at him. "It would make me muchhappier if--you and Dick could be friends before then. "

"Would it?" said Carlyon thoughtfully. "I wonder why. "

"I should like my friends to be Dick's friends, " she said, with slighthesitation. 

Carlyon smiled a little. "Forgive me, Miss Eversley, for beingmonotonous!" he said.... "But, once more--how generous!"

Averil turned sharply away, inexplicably hurt by what she considered thenote of mockery in his voice, and went out, leaving him alone before thefire. Emphatically this man was entirely beyond her understanding. 

But, nevertheless, when they met again, she had forgiven him. 

VI

FIEND OR KING?

"Hullo, doctor! What news?" sang out a curly-haired subaltern on thesteps of the club, a newly-erected, wooden bungalow of which the littleFrontier station was immensely proud. "You're looking infernallyserious. What's the matter?"

Dr. Seddon rolled stoutly off his steaming pony and went to join hisquestioner. 

"What do you think you're doing, Toby?" he said, with a glance at anenormous pair of scissors in the boy's hand. 

"I'm making lamp-shades, " Toby responded, leading the way within. "What's your drink? Nothing? What a horribly dry beast you are! Yes, lamp-shades--for the ball, you know. Got to be ready by to-morrow night. We're doing them with crinkly paper. Miss Eversley promised to come andhelp me. But she hasn't turned up. "

"What?" exclaimed Seddon. "Not come back yet?"

Toby dropped his scissors with a clatter, and dived for them under thereading-room table. 

"Don't make me jump, I say, doctor!" he said pathetically. "I'm quiteupset enough as it is. That lazy lout, Soames, won't stir a finger. Theother chaps are on duty. And Miss Eversley has proved faithless. Whycan't you turn to and help?"

But Seddon was already striding to the door again in hot haste. 

"That idiot of a girl must have crossed the Frontier!" he said, as hewent. "There was a fellow shot on sentry-go last night. It's infernallydangerous, I tell you!"

Toby raced after him swearing inarticulately. A couple of subalternsjust entering were nearly overwhelmed by their vigorous exit. Theyrecovered themselves and followed to the tune of Toby's excitedquestioning. But none of the party got beyond the veranda steps, forthere the sound of clattering hoofs arrested them, and a jaded horsebearing a dishevelled rider was pulled up short in front of the club. 

"Miss Eversley herself!" cried Toby, making a dash forward. 

A native servant slipped unobtrusively to the sweating horse's bridle. Averil was on the ground in a moment and turned to ascend the steps ofthe club-house. 

"Is my brother-in-law here?" she said to Toby, accepting the hand heoffered. 

"Who? Raymond? No; he's in the North Camp somewhere. Do you want him?Anything wrong? By Jove, Miss Eversley, you've given us an awfulfright!"

Averil went up the steps with so palpable an effort that Seddon hastilydragged forward a chair. Her lips, as she answered Toby, were quitecolourless. 

"I have had a fright myself, " she said. Then she looked round at theother men with a shaky laugh. "I have been riding for my life, " she saida little breathlessly. "I have never done that before. It--it's veryexciting--almost more so than riding to hounds. I have often wonderedhow the fox felt. Now I know. "

She ignored the chair Seddon placed for her, turning to the boy calledToby with great resolution. 

"Those lamp-shades, Mr. Carey, " she said. "I'm sorry I'm so late. Youmust have thought I was never coming. In fact"--the colour was returningto her face, and her smile became more natural--"I thought so myself afew minutes ago. Let us set to work at once!"

Toby burst into a rude whoop of admiration and flung a ball of stringinto the air. 

"Miss Eversley, well done! Well done!" he gasped. "You--you deserve aV. C. !"

"Indeed I don't, " she returned. "I have been running away hard. "

"Tell us all about it, Miss Eversley!" urged one of her listeners. "Youhave been across the Frontier, now, haven't you? What happened? Someonetried to snipe you from afar?"

But Miss Eversley refused to be communicative. "I am much too busy, " shesaid, "to discuss anything so unimportant. Come, Mr. Carey, thelamp-shades!"

Toby bore her off in triumph to inspect his works of art. There was agood deal of understanding in Toby's head despite its curls which hekept so resolutely cropped. He attended to business without a hint ofsurprise or inattention. And he was presently rewarded for his goodbehaviour. 

Averil, raising her eyes for a moment from one of the shades which shewas tacking together while he held it in shape, said presently:

"A very peculiar thing happened to me this morning, Mr. Carey. "

"Yes?" he replied, trying to keep the note of expectancy out of hisvoice. 

Averil nodded gravely. "I crossed the Frontier, " she said, "and rodeinto the mountains. I thought I heard a child crying. I lost my way andfell among thieves. "

"Yes?" said Toby again. He looked up, frankly interested this time. 

"I was shot at, " she resumed. "It was my own fault, of course. Ishouldn't have gone. My brother-in-law warned me very seriously againstgoing an inch beyond the Frontier only last night. Well, one buys one'sexperience. I certainly shall never go again, not for a hundred wailingbabies. "

"Probably a bird, " remarked Toby practically. 

"Probably, " assented Averil, equally practical. "To continue: I didn'tknow what to do. I was horribly frightened. I had lost my bearings. Andthen out of the very midst of my enemies there came a friend. "

"Ah!" said Toby quickly. "The right sort?"

"There is only one sort, " she said, with a touch of dignity. 

"And what did he do?" said Toby, with eager interest. 

"He simply took my bridle and ran by my side till we were out ofdanger, " Averil said, a sudden soft glow creeping up over her face. 

Toby looked at her very seriously. "In native rig, I suppose?" he said. 

"Yes, " said Averil. 

"Carlyon of the Frontier, " said Toby, with abrupt decision. 

She nodded. "I did not know he had left England, " she said. 

"He hasn't--officially speaking, " said Toby. He was watching hersteadily. "Do you know, Miss Eversley, " he said, "I think I wouldn'tmention your discovery to any one else?"

"I am not going to, " she said. 

"No? Then why did you tell me?" he asked, with a tinge of rude suspicionin his voice. 

Averil looked him suddenly and steadily in the face. It was a veryinnocent face that Toby Carey presented to a serenely credulous world. 

"Because, " said Averil slowly, "he told me to tell you alone. 'Tell TobyCarey only, ' he said, 'to watch when the beasts go down to drink. ' Theywere his last words. "

"Good!" said Toby unconcernedly. "Then he knew you recognized him?"

"Yes, " Averil said; "he knew. " She smiled faintly as she said it. "Hetold me he was in no danger, " she added. 

"Is he a friend of yours?" asked Toby sharply. 

"Yes, " said Averil, with pride. 

"I'm sorry to hear it, " said Toby bluntly. 

"Why?" she asked, with a swift flash of anger. 

"Why?" he echoed vehemently. "Ask your brother-in-law, ask Seddon, askany one! The man is a fiend!"

Averil sprang to her feet in sudden fury. 

"How dare you!" she cried passionately. "He is a king!"

Toby stared for a moment, then grew calm. "We are not talking about thesame man, Miss Eversley, " he said shortly. "The man I know is a fiendamong fiends. The man you know is, no doubt--different. "

But Averil swept from the club-room without a word. She was very angrywith Toby Carey. 

VII

THE REAL COLONEL CARLYON

Averil rode back to her brother-in-law's bungalow, vexed with herself, weary at heart, troubled. She had arrived at the station among themountains on the Frontier two months before, and had spent a very happytime there with the sister whom she had not seen for years. The ladiesof the station numbered a very scanty minority, but there was no lack ofgaiety and merriment on that account. 

That the hills beyond the Great Frontier were peopled by tribes in aseething state of discontent was a matter known, but little recked of, by the majority of the community. Officers went their several ways, fully awake to threatening rumours, but counting them of smallimportance. They went to their sport; to their polo, their racing, their gymkhanas, with light hearts and in perfect security. They laydown in the dread shadow of a mighty Empire and slept secure in the veryjaws of danger. 

The fierce and fanatical hatred that raged over the Frontier was lessthan nothing to most of them. The power that sheltered them was whollysufficient for their confidence. 

The toughness of the good northern breed is of a quality untearable, made to endure in all climates, under all conditions. Ordered to carryrevolvers, they stuffed them unloaded into side-pockets, or left them inthe hands of _syces_ to bear behind them. 

Proof positive of their total failure to realize the danger thatthreatened from amidst the frowning, grey-cragged mountains was the factthat their womenkind were allowed to remain at the station, and evenrode and drove forth unattended on the rocky, mountain roads. 

True, they were warned against crossing the Frontier. A few officers, ofwhom Captain Raymond, who was Averil's brother-in-law, and Toby Carey, the innocent-faced subaltern, were two, saw the rising wave from afar;but they saw it vaguely as inevitable but not imminent. Captain Raymondplanned to himself to send his wife and her sister to Simla before themonsoon broke up the fine weather. 

And this was all he accomplished beyond administering a severe reprimandto his young sister-in-law for running into danger among the hills. 

"There are always thieves waiting to bag anyone foolish enough to showhis nose over the border, " he said. "Isn't the Indian Empire largeenough for you that you must needs go trespassing among savages?"

Averil heard him out with the patience of a slightly wanderingattention. She had not recounted the whole of her experience for hisbenefit, nor did she intend to do so. She was still wondering what themysterious message she had delivered to Toby Carey might be held tomean. 

When Captain Raymond had exhausted himself she went away to her own roomand sat for a long while gazing towards the great mountains, thinking, thinking. 

Her sister presently joined her. Mrs. Raymond was a dark-eyed, merry-hearted little woman, the gay originator of many a frolic, and animmense favourite with men and women alike. 

"Poor darling! I declare Harry has made you look quite miserable!" washer exclamation, as she ran lightly in and seated herself on the arm ofAveril's chair. 

"Harry!" echoed Averil, in a tone of such genuine scorn that Mrs. Raymond laughed aloud. 

"You're very rude, " she said. "Still, I'm glad Harry isn't the offender. Who is it, I wonder? But, never mind! I have a splendid piece of newsfor you, dear. Shut your eyes and guess!"

"Oh, I can't indeed!" protested Averil. "I am much too tired. "

Mrs. Raymond looked at her with laughing eyes. 

"There! She shan't be teased!" she cried gaily. "It's the loveliestsurprise you ever had, darling; but I can't keep it a secret any longer. I wanted to see him now that he is grown up, and quite satisfy myselfthat he is really good enough for you. So, dear, I wrote to him andbegged him to join us here. And the result is--now guess!"

Averil had turned sharply to look at her. 

"Do you mean you have asked Dick to come here?" she said, in a quick, startled way. 

"Exactly, dear; I actually have, " said Mrs. Raymond. "More--we had awire this morning. He will be here to dinner. "

"Oh!" said Averil. She rose hastily, so hastily that her sister was leftsitting on the arm of the bamboo chair, which instantly overturned onthe top of her. 

Averil extricated her with many laughing apologies, and, by the timeMrs. Raymond had recovered her equilibrium, the younger girl had losther expression of astonishment and was looking as bright and eager asher sister could desire. 

"Only Dick is such a madcap, " she said. "How shall we keep him fromgetting up to mischief in No Man's Land precisely as I have done?"

Mrs. Raymond opined that Averil ought by then to have discovered thesecret of managing the young man, and they went to _tiffin_ on theveranda in excellent spirits. 

Dr. Seddon was there and young Steele, one of Raymond's subalterns. Averil found herself next to the doctor, who, rather to her surprise, forebore to twit her with her early morning adventure. He was, in fact, very grave, and she wondered why. 

Steele, strolling by her side in the shady compound, by and byevolunteered information. 

"Poor old Seddon is in a mortal funk, " he said, "which accounts for hiswretched appetite. He has been wasting steadily ever since Carlyon wentaway. He thinks Carlyon is the only fellow capable of taking care ofhim. No one else is monster enough. "

"Is Colonel Carlyon expected out here?" Averil asked, in a casual tone. 

One of Steele's eyelids contracted a little as if it wanted to wink. Heanswered her in a low voice: "Carlyon is never expected before hisarrival, Miss Eversley. "

"No?" said Averil indifferently. "And, why, please do you call him amonster?"

Steele laughed a little. "Didn't you know?" he said. "Why, he is theKing of Evil in these parts!"

Averil felt her face slowly flushing. "I don't understand, " she said. 

"Don't you?" said Steele. "Honestly now?"

The flush heightened. "Of course I don't, " she said. "Otherwise whyshould I tell you so?"

"Pardon!" said Steele, unabashed. "Well, then, you must know that we areall frightened of Carlyon of the Frontier. We hate him badly, but he hasthe whip-hand of us, and so we have to do the tame trot for him. Overthere"--he jerked his head towards the mountains--"they would lie downin a row miles long and let him walk over their necks. And not a singleblackguard among them would dare to stab upwards, because Carlyon isimmortal, as everyone knows, and it wouldn't be worth the blackguard'swhile to survive the deed. 

"They don't call him Carlyon in the mountains, but it's the same man, for all that. He is a prophet, a deity, among them. They believe in himblindly as a special messenger from Heaven. And he plays with them, barters them, betrays them, every single day he spends among them. He isstrong, he is unscrupulous, he is merciless. He respects no friendship. He keeps no oath. He betrays, he tortures, he slays. Even we, theenlightened race, shrink from him as if he were the very fiendincarnate. 

"But he is a valuable man. The information he obtains is priceless. Buthe trades with blood. He lives on treachery. He is more subtle than thesubtlest Pathan. He would betray any one or all of us to death if itwere to the interest of the Empire that we should be sacrified. That, you know, in reason, is all very well. But, personally, I would soonertread barefoot on a scorpion than get entangled in Carlyon's web. He ismore false and more cruel than a serpent. At least, that is hisreputation among us. And those heathen beggars trust him so utterly. "

Steele stopped abruptly. He had spoken with strong passion. His honestface was glowing with indignation. He was British to the backbone, andhe loathed all treachery instinctively. 

Suddenly he saw that the girl beside him had turned very white. Hepaused in his walk with an awkward sense of having spoken unadvisedly. 

"Of course, " he said, with a boyish effort to recover his ground, "ithas to be done. Someone must do the dirty work. But that doesn't makeyou like the man who does it a bit the better. One wouldn't brushshoulders with the hangman if one knew it. "

Averil was standing still. Her hands were clenched. 

"Are you talking of Colonel Carlyon--my friend?" she said slowly. 

Steele turned sharply away from the wide gaze of her grey eyes. 

"I hope not, Miss Eversley, " he said. "The man I mean is not fit to bethe friend of any woman. "

VIII

THE STRANGER ON THE VERANDA

It was to all outward seeming a very gay crowd that assembled at theclub-house on the following night for the first dance of the season. For some unexplained reason sentries had been doubled on all sides ofthe Camp, but no one seemed to have any anxiety on that account. 

"We ought to feel all the safer, " laughed Mrs. Raymond when she heard. "No one ever took such care of us before. "

"It must be all rot, " said Derrick who had arrived the previous eveningin excellent spirits. "If there were the smallest danger of a rising youwouldn't be here. "

"Quite true, " laughed Mrs. Raymond, "unless the road to Fort Akbar isconsidered unsafe. "

"I never saw a single border thief all the way here!" declared Derrick, departing to look for Averil. 

He claimed the first waltz imperiously, and she gave it to him. She wasthe prettiest girl in the room, and she danced with a queenly grace ofmovement. Derrick was delighted. He did not like giving her up, butSteele was insistent on this point. He had made Derrick's acquaintancein the Frontier campaign of a year before, and he parted the two withoutscruple, declaring he would not stand by and see a good chap likeDerrick make a selfish beast of himself on such an occasion. 

Derrick gave place with a laugh and sought other partners. In the middleof the evening Toby Carey strolled up to Averil and bent down in aconversational attitude. He was not dancing himself. She gave him asomewhat cold welcome. 

After a few commonplace words he took her fan from her hand andwhispered to her behind it:

"There's a fellow on the veranda waiting to speak to you, " he said. "Calls himself a friend. "

Her heart leapt at the murmured words. She glanced hurriedly round. Everyone in the room was dancing. She had pleaded fatigue. She rosequietly and stepped to the window, Toby following. 

She stood a moment on the threshold of the night and then passed slowlyout. All about her was dark. 

"Go on to the steps!" murmured Toby behind her. "I shall keep watch. "

She went on with gathering speed. At the head of the veranda-steps shedimly discerned a figure waiting for her, a figure clothed in somewhite, muffling garment that seemed to cover the face. And yet she knewby all her bounding pulses whom she had found. 

"Colonel Carlyon!" she said, and on the impulse of the moment she gavehim both her hands. 

His quiet voice answered her out of the strange folds. "Come into thegarden a moment!" he said. 

She went with him unquestioning, with the confidence of a child. He ledher with silent, stealthy tread into the deepest gloom the compoundafforded. Then he stopped and faced her with a question that sent asudden tumult of doubt racing through her brain. 

"Will you take a message to Fort Akbar for me, Averil?" he said. "Amatter of life and death. "

A message! Averil's heart stood suddenly-still. All the evil report thatshe had heard of this man raised its head like a serpent roused fromslumber, a serpent that had hidden in her breast, and a terrible agonyof fear took the place of her confidence. 

Carlyon waited for her answer without a sign of impatience. Through hermind, as it were on wheels of fire, Steele's passionate words wererunning: "He lives on treachery. He would betray any one or all of us todeath if it were to the interest of the Empire that we should besacrificed. " And again: "I would sooner tread barefoot on a scorpionthan get entangled in Carlyon's web. "

All this she would once have dismissed as vilest calumny. But Carlyon'sabandonment of Derrick, and his subsequent explanation thereof, wereterribly overwhelming evidence against him. And now this man, this spy, wanted to use her as an instrument to accomplish some secret end of his. 

A matter of life or death, he said. And for which of these did hepurpose to use her efforts? Averil sickened at the possibilities thequestion raised in her mind. And still Carlyon waited for her answer. 

"Why do you ask me?" she said at last, in a quivering whisper. "What isthe message you want to send?"

"You delivered a message for me only yesterday without a singlequestion, " he said. 

She wrung her hands together in the darkness. "I know. I know, " shesaid; "but then I did not realize. "

"You saved the camp from destruction, " he went on. "Will you not do thesame to-night?"

"How shall I know?" she sobbed in anguish. 

"What have they been telling you?"

The quiet voice came in strange contrast to the agitated uncertainty ofher tones. Carlyon laid steady hands on her shoulders. In the dim lighthis eyes had leapt to blue flame, sudden, intense. She hid her face fromtheir searching; ashamed, horrified at her own doubts--yet stilldoubting. 

"Your friendship has stood a heavier strain than this, " Carlyon said, with grave reproach. 

But she could not answer him. She dared scarcely face her own thoughtsprivately, much less utter them to him. 

What if he were urging the tribes to rise to give the Government apretext for war? She had heard him say that peace had come too soon, that war alone could remedy the evil of constantly recurring outragesalong that troublous Frontier. 

What if he counted the lives of a few women and their gallant protectorsas but a little price to pay for the accomplishment of this end?

What if he purposed to make this awful sacrifice in the interests of theEmpire, and only asked this thing of her because no other wouldundertake it?

She lifted her face. He was still looking at her with those strange, burning eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. 

"Averil, " he said, "you may do a great thing for the Empire to-night--ifyou will. "

The Empire! Ah, what fearful things would he not do behind that mask!Yet she stood silent, bound by the spell of his presence. 

Carlyon went on. "There is going to be a rising, but we shall hold ourown, I hope without loss. You can ride a horse, and I can trust you. This message must be delivered to-night. There is not an officer atliberty. I would not send one if there were. Every man will be wanted. Averil, will you go for me?"

He was holding her very gently between his hands. He seemed to bepleading with her. Her resolution began to waver. They had shattered heridol, yet she clung fast to the crumbling shrine. 

"You will not let them be killed?" she whispered piteously. "Oh, promiseme!"

"No one belonging to this camp will be killed if I can help it, " hesaid. "You will tell them at Fort Akbar that we are prepared here. General Harford is marching to join them from Fort Wara. Whatever theymay hear they must not dream of moving to join us till he reaches them. They are not strong enough. They would be cut to pieces. That is themessage you are going to take for me. Their garrison is too small to besplit up, and Fort Akbar must be protected at all costs. It is a moreimportant post than this even. "

"But there are women here, " Averil whispered. 

"They are under my protection, " said Carlyon quietly. "I want you tostart at once--before we shut the gates. "

"Have they taken you by surprise, then?" she asked, with a sharp, involuntary shiver. 

"No, " Carlyon said. "They have taken the Government by surprise. That'sall. " He spoke with strong bitterness. For he was the watchman who hadawaked in vain. 

A moment later he was drawing her with him along the shadowy path. 

"You need have no fear, " he whispered to her. "The road is open all theway. I have a horse waiting that will carry you safely. It is barely tenmiles. You have done it before. "

"Am I to go just as I am?" she asked him, carried away by hisunfaltering resolution. 

"Yes, " said Carlyon, "except for this. " He loosened the _chuddah_ fromhis own head and stooped to muffle it about hers. "I have provided foryour going, " he said. "You will see no one. You know the way. Go hard!"

He moved on again. His arm was round her shoulders. 

"And you?" she said, with sudden misgiving. 

"I shall go back to the camp, " he said, "when I have seen you go. "

They went a little farther, ghostly, white figures gliding side byside. Wildly as her heart was beating, Averil felt that it was allstrangely unreal, felt that the man beside her was a being unknown andmysterious, almost supernatural. And yet, strangely, she did not fearhim. As she had once said to him, she believed he was a good man. Shewould always believe it. And yet was that awful doubt hammering throughher brain. 

They reached the bounds of the club compound and Carlyon stopped again. From the building behind them there floated the notes of a waltz, weird, dream-like, sweet as the earth after rain in summer. 

"I want to know, " Carlyon said steadily, "if you trust me. "

She stretched up her hands like a child and laid them against hisbreast. She answered him with piteous entreaty in which passionstrangely mingled. 

"Colonel Carlyon, " she whispered brokenly, "promise me that when this isover you will give it up! You were not made to spy and betray! You weremade an honourable, true-hearted man--God's greatest and best creation. You were never meant to be twisted and warped to an evil use. Ah, tellme you will give it up! How can I go away and leave you toiling in thedungeons?"

"Hush!" said Carlyon. "You do not understand. "

Later, she remembered with what tenderness he gathered her hands againinto his own, holding them reverently. At the time she realized nothingbut the monstrous pity of his wasted life. 

"It isn't true!" she sobbed. "You would not sacrifice your friends?"

"Never!" said Carlyon sharply. 

He paused. Then--"You must go, Averil, " he said. "There are two sentrieson the Buddhist road, and the password is 'Empire. ' After that-straightto Akbar. The moon is rising, and no one will speak to you or attempt tostop you. You will not be afraid?"

"I trust you, " she said very earnestly. 

Ten minutes later, as the moon shot the first silver streak above thefrowning mountains, a white horse flashed out on the road beyond thecamp--a white horse bearing a white-robed rider. 

On the edge of the camp one sentry turned to another with wonder on hisface. 

"That messenger's journey will be soon over, " he remarked. "An easytarget for the black fiends!"

In the mountains a dusky-faced hillman turned glittering, awe-struckeyes upon the flying white figure. 

"Behold!" he said. "The Heaven-sent rides to the moonrise even as heforetold. The time draws near. "

And Carlyon, walking back in strange garb to join his own people, muttered to himself as he went: "One woman, at least, is safe!"

IX

A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT

An hour before daybreak the gathering wave broke upon the camp. It wasToby Carey who ran hurriedly in upon the dancers in the club-room whenthey were about to disperse and briefly announced that there was goingto be a fight. He added that Carlyon was at the mess-house, and desiredall the men to join him there. The women were to remain at the club, which was already surrounded by a party of Sikhs and Goorkhas. Tobybegged them to believe they were in no danger. 

"Where is Averil?" cried Mrs. Raymond distractedly. 

"Carlyon has already provided for her safety, " Toby assured her, as heraced off again. 

Five minutes later Carlyon, issuing rapid orders in the veranda of themess-house, turned at the grip of a hand on his shoulder, and sawDerrick, behind him, wild-eyed and desperate. 

"What have you done with Averil?" the boy said through white lips. 

"She is safe at Akbar, " Carlyon briefly replied. Then, as Derrickinstantly wheeled, he caught him swiftly by the arm. 

"You wait, Dick!" he said. "I have work for you. "

"Let me go!" flashed Derrick fiercely. 

But Carlyon maintained his hold. He knew what was in the lad's mind. 

"It can't be done, " he said. "It would be certain death if you attemptedit. We are cut off for the present. "

He interrupted himself to speak to an officer who was awaiting an orderthen turned again to Derrick. 

"I tell you the truth, Dick, " he said, a sudden note of kindliness inhis voice. "She is safe. I had the opportunity--for one only. I tookit--for her. You can't follow her. You have forfeited your right tothrow away your life. Don't forget it, boy, ever! You have got to livefor her and let the blackguards take the risks. "

He ended with a faint smile, and Derrick fell back abashed, an unwillingadmiration struggling with the sullenness of his submission. 

Later, at Carlyon's order, he joined the party that had been detailed towatch over the club-house, the most precious and the safest position inthe whole station. He chafed sorely at the inaction, but he repressedhis feelings. 

Carlyon's words had touched him in the right place. Though fiercelyrestless still, his manhood had been stirred, and gradually thestrength, the unflinching resolution that had dominated Averil, took theplace of his feverish excitement. Derrick, the impulsive and headstrong, became the mainstay as well as the undismayed protector of the womenduring that night scare of the Frontier. 

There was sharp fighting down in the camp. They heard the firing and theshouts; but with the sunrise there came a lull. The women turned whitefaces to one another and wondered if it could be over. 

Presently Derrick entered with the latest news. The tribesmen had beentemporarily beaten off, he said, but the hills were full of them. Theirown losses during the night amounted to two wounded sepoys. Fightingduring the day was not anticipated. 

Carlyon, snatching hasty refreshment in a hut near the scene of thehottest fighting, turned grimly to Raymond, his second in command, asgradual quiet descended upon the camp. 

"You will see strange things to-night, " he said. 

Raymond, whose right wrist had been grazed by a bullet, was tryingclumsily to bandage it with his handkerchief. 

"How long is it going to last?" he said. 

"To-night will see the end of it, " said Carlyon, quietly going to hisassistance. "The rising has been brewing for some time. The tribesmenneed a lesson, so does the Government. It is just a bubble--this. Itwill explode to-night. To be honest for once"--Carlyon smiled a littleover his bandaging--"I did not expect this attack so soon. A Heaven-sentmessenger has been among the tribesmen. They revere him almost as muchas the great prophet himself. He has been listening to theirmurmurings. "

Carlyon paused. Raymond was watching him intently, but the quiet facebent over his wound told him nothing. 

"Had I known what was coming, " Carlyon said, "so much as three days ago, the women would not now be in the station. As things are, it would havebeen impossible to weaken the garrison to supply them with an escort toAkbar. "

Raymond stifled a deep curse in his throat. Had they but known indeed!

Carlyon went on in his deliberate way: "I shall leave you in commandhere to-night. I have other work to do. General Harford will be here atdawn. The attacking force will be on the east of the camp. You willcrush them between you! You will stamp them down without mercy. Let themsee the Empire is ready for them! They will not trouble us again forperhaps a few years. "

Again he paused. Raymond asked no question. Better than most he knewCarlyon of the Frontier. 

"It will be a hard blow, " Carlyon said. "The tribesmen are veryconfident. Last night they watched a messenger ride eastwards on a whitehorse. It was an omen foretold by the Heaven-sent when he left them tocarry the message through the hills to other tribes. "

Raymond gave a great start. "The girl!" he said. 

For a second Carlyon's eyes met his look. They were intensely blue, withthe blueness of a flame. 

"She is safe at Akbar, " he said, returning without emotion to theknotting of the bandage. "The road was open for the messenger. The horsewas swift. There is one woman less to take the risk. "

"I see, " said Raymond quietly. He was frowning a little, but not atCarlyon's strategy. 

"The rest, " Carlyon continued, "must be fought for. The moon is fullto-night. The Great Fakir will come out of the hills in his zeal andlead the tribes himself. Guard the east!"

Raymond drew a sharp breath. But Carlyon's hand on his shoulder silencedthe astounded question on his lips. 

"We have got to protect the women, " Carlyon said. "Relief will come atdawn. "

X

SAVED A SECOND TIME

All through the day quiet reigned. An occasional sword-glint in themountains, an occasional gleam of white against the brown hillside;these were the only evidences of an active enemy. 

The women were released from durance in the club-house, with strictorders to return in the early evening. 

Derrick went restlessly through the camp, seeking Carlyon. He found himsuperintending the throwing-up of earthworks. The most exposed part ofthe camp was to be abandoned. Derrick joined him in silence. Somehowthis man's personality attracted him strongly. Though he had defied him, quarrelled with him, insulted him, the spell of his presence wasirresistible. 

Carlyon paid small attention to him till he turned to leave that part ofthe camp's defences. Then, with a careless hand through Derrick's arm, he said:

"You will have your fill of stiff fighting to-night, boy. But, remember, you are not to throw yourself away. "

As evening fell, the attack was resumed, and it continued throughout thenight. Tribesmen charged up to the very breastworks themselves and fellbefore the awful fire of the defenders' rifles. Death had no terrors forthem. They strove for the mastery with fanatical zeal. But they strovein vain. A greater force than they possessed, the force of disciplineand organized resistance--kept them at bay. Behind the splendid courageof the Indian soldiers were the resource and the resolution of a handfulof Englishmen. The spirit of the conquering race, unquenchable, irresistible, weighed down the balance. 

In the middle of the night Captain Raymond was hit in the shoulder andcarried, fainting, to the closely guarded club-house, where his wife waswaiting. 

The command devolved upon Lieutenant Steele, who took up the taskundismayed. Down in the hastily dug trenches Toby Carey was fiercelyholding his men to their work. 

And Derrick Rose was with him, unrestrained for that night at least. 

"Relief at dawn!" Toby said to him once. 

And Derrick responded with a wild laugh. 

"Relief be damned! We can hold our own without it. "

 * * * * *

Relief came with the dawn, at a moment when the tribesmen were spurringthemselves to the greatest effort of all, sustained by the knowledgethat their Great Fakir was among them. 

General Harford, with guides, Sikhs, Goorkhas, came down like ahurricane from the south-east, cut off a great body of tribesmen fromtheir fellows, and drove them headlong, with deadly force, upon thedefences they had striven so furiously to take. 

The defenders sallied out to meet them with fixed bayonets. The briefsiege, if siege it could be called, was over. 

In the early light Derrick found himself fighting, fighting furiously, sword to sword. And the terrible joy of the conflict ran in his bloodlike fire. 

"Ah!" he gasped. "It's good! It's good!"

And then he found another fighting beside him--a mighty fighting man, grim, terrible, silent. They thrust together; they withdrew together;they charged together. 

Once an enemy seized Derrick's sword and he found himself vainlystruggling against the awful, wild-faced fanatic's sinewy grasp. He sawthe man's upraised arm, and knew with horrible certainty that he washelpless, helpless. 

Then there shot out a swift, rescuing hand. A straight and deadly blowwas struck. And Derrick, flinging a laugh over his shoulder, beheld aman dressed as a tribesman fall headlong over his enemy's body, struckto the earth by another swordsman. 

Like lightning there flashed through his brain the memory of a man whohad saved his life more than a year before on this same tumultuousFrontier--a man in tribesman's dress, with blue eyes of a strange, keenfriendliness. He had it now. This was the Secret Service man. Derrickplanted himself squarely over the prostrate body, and there stood whilethe fight surged on about him to the deadly and inevitable end. 

XI

THE SECRET OUT

"All Carlyon's doing!" General Harford said a little later. "He haspulled the strings throughout, from their very midst. Carlyon theubiquitous, Carlyon the silent, Carlyon the watchful! He has averted ahorrible catastrophe. The Indian Government must be made to understandthat he is a servant worth having. They say he personally led thetribesmen to their death. They certainly walked very willingly into thetrap arranged for them. Now, where is Carlyon?"

No one knew. In the plain outside the camp wounded men were beingcollected. The General was relieved to hear that Carlyon was not amongthem. He sat down to make his report, a highly eulogistic report, ofthis man's splendid services. And then he went to late breakfast at theclub-house. 

In the evening Averil rode back to the station with an escort. Theterrible traces of the struggle were not wholly removed. They rode roundby a longer route to avoid the sight. 

Seddon was the first of her friends who saw her. He was standing insidethe mess-house. He went hurriedly forward and gave her brief details ofthe fight. Then, while they were talking, Derrick himself came runningup. He greeted her with less of his boyish effusion than was customary. 

"How is the Secret Service man?" he asked abruptly of Seddon. "Is hebadly damaged?"

The latter looked at him hard for a second. 

"You can come in and see him, " he said, and led the way into the mess. 

Averil and Derrick followed him hand in hand. In a few low words the boytold her of his old friend's reappearance. 

"He has saved my life twice over, " he said. 

"He has saved more lives than yours, " Seddon remarked abruptly, over hisshoulder. 

He led the way "to the little ante-room where, stretched on a sofa, layDerrick's Secret Service man. He was dressed in white, his face halfcovered with a fold of his head-dress. But the eyes were open--blue, alert, beneath drooping lids. He was speaking, softly, quickly, as a manasleep. 

"The women must be protected, " he said. "Let the blackguards take therisks!"

Averil started forward with a cry, and in a moment was kneeling by hisside. The strange eyes were turned upon her instantly. They werewatchful still and exceeding tender--the eyes of the hero she loved. They faintly smiled at her. To his death he would keep up the farce. Tohis death he would never show her the secret he had borne so long. 

"Ah! The message!" he said, with an effort. "You gave it?"

"There was no need of a message, " Averil cried. "You invented it to getme away, to make me escape from danger. You knew that otherwise I wouldnot have gone. It was your only reason for sending me. "

He did not answer her. The smile died slowly out. His eyes passed toDerrick. He looked at him very earnestly, and there was unutterablepleading in the look. 

The boy stooped forward. Shocked by the sudden discovery, he yetanswered as it were involuntarily to the man's unspoken wish. He kneltdown beside the girl, his arm about her shoulders. His voice came with agreat sob. 

"The Secret Service man and Carlyon of the Frontier in one!" he said. "Aman who does not forsake his friends. I might have known. "

There was a pause, a great silence. Then Carlyon of the Frontier spokesoftly, thoughtfully, with grave satisfaction it seemed. He looked atneither of them, but beyond them both. His eyes were steady andfearless. 

"A blackguard--a spy--yet faithful to his friends--even so, " he said;and died. 

The boy and girl were left to each other. He had meant it to be so--hadworked for it, suffered for it. In the end Carlyon of the Frontier haddone that which he had set himself to do, at a cost which none otherwould ever know--not even the girl who had loved him. 

The Penalty

I

"Now then, you fellows, step out there! Step out like the men you are!Left--right! Left--right! That's the way! Holy Jupiter! Call those chapssavages! They're gentlemen, every jack one of 'em. That's it, myhearties! Salute the old flag! By Jove, Monty, a British squad couldn'thave done it better!"

The speaker pushed back his helmet to wipe his forehead. He was verymuch in earnest. The African sun blazing down on his bronzed facerevealed that. The blue eyes glittered out of the lean, tannedcountenance. They were full of resolution, indomitable resolution, andgood British pluck. 

As the little company of black men swung by, with the rhythmic pad oftheir bare feet, he suddenly snatched out his sword and waved it high inthe smiting sunlight. 

"Halt!" he cried. 

They stood as one man, all gleaming eyes and gleaming teeth. They wereall a good head taller than the Englishman who commanded them, but theylooked upon him with reverence, as a being half divine. 

"Now, cheer, you beggars, cheer!" he cried. "Three cheers for the King!Hip, hip--"

"Hooray!" came in hoarse chorus from the assembled troop. It soundedlike a war cry. 

"Hip, hip--" yelled the Englishman again. 

And again "Hooray!" came the answering yell. 

"Hip, hip--" for the third time from the man with the sword. 

And for the third time, "Hooray!" from the deep-chested troopers haltedin the blazing sunshine. 

The British officer turned about with an odd smile quivering at thecorners of his mouth. There was an almost maternal tenderness about it. 

He sheathed his sword. 

"You beauties!" he murmured softly. "You beauties!" Then aloud, "Verygood, sergeant! Dismiss them! Come along, Monty! Let's go and have adrink. "

He linked his arm in that of the silent onlooker, and drew him into thelittle hut of rough-hewn timber which was dignified by the name, printedin white letters over the door, of "Officers' Quarters. "

"What do you think of them?" he demanded, as they entered. "Aren't theysoldiers? Aren't they men?"

"I think, Duncannon, " the other answered slowly, "that you have workedwonders. "

"Ah, you'll tell the Chief so? Won't he be astounded? He swore I shouldnever do it; declared they'd knife me if I tried to hammer anydiscipline into them. Much he knows about it! Good old Chief!"

He laughed boyishly, and again wiped his hot face. 

"On my soul, Monty, it's been no picnic, " he declared. "But I'd havesacrificed five years' pay, and my step as well, gladly--gladly--soonerthan have missed it. Here you are, old boy! Drink! Drink to the latestauxiliary force in the British Empire! Damn' thirsty climate, this. "

He tossed his helmet aside, and sat down on the edge of the table--alithe, spare figure, brimming with active strength. 

"I've literally coaxed those chaps into shape, " he declared. "Oh, yes, I've bullied 'em too--cursed 'em right and left; but they never turned ahair--knew it was all for their good, and took it lying down. I'vetaught 'em to wash too, you know. That was the hardest job of all. Iknocked one great brute all round the parade-ground one day, just toshow I was in earnest. He went off afterwards, and blubbed like a baby. But in the evening I found him squatting outside, quite naked, and asclean as a whistle. To quote the newspapers, I was profoundly touched. But I didn't show it, you bet. I whacked him on the shoulder, and toldhim to be a man. "

He broke off to laugh at the reminiscence; and Montague Herne gravelyset down his glass, and turned his chair with its back to the sunlight. 

"Do you know you've been here eighteen months?" he said. 

Duncannon nodded. 

"I feel as if I'd been born here. Why?"

"Most fellows, " proceeded Herne, ignoring the question, "would have beenclamouring for leave long ago. Why, you have scarcely heard your ownlanguage all this time. "

"I have though, " said Duncannon quickly. "That's another thing I'vetaught 'em. They picked it up wonderfully quickly. There isn't one of'em who doesn't know a few sentences now. "

"You seem to have found your vocation in teaching these heathen to situp and beg, " observed Herne, with a dry smile. 

Duncannon turned dusky red under his tan. 

"Perhaps I have, " he said, with a certain, doggedness. 

Herne, with his back to the light, was watching him. 

"Well, " he said finally, "we've served our turn. The battalion is goingHome!"

Duncannon gave a great start. 

"Already?"

"After two years' service, " the other reminded him grimly. 

Duncannon fell silent, considering, the matter with bent brows. 

"Who succeeds us?" he asked at length. 

Herne shrugged his shoulders. 

"You don't know?" There was sudden, sharp anxiety in Duncannon's voice. He got off the table with a jerk. "You must know, " he said. 

Herne sat motionless, but he no longer looked the other in the face. 

"You've taught 'em to fight, " he said slowly. "They are men enough tolook after themselves now. "

"What?" Duncannon flung the word with violence. He took a single strideforward, standing over Herne in an attitude that was almost menacing. His hands were clenched. "What?" he said again. 

Herne leaned back, and felt for his cigarette-case. 

"Take it easy, old chap!" he said. "It was bound to come, you know. Itwas never meant to be more than a temporary occupation among thesefriendlies. They have been useful to us, I admit. But we can't fighttheir battles for them for ever. It's time for them to stand on theirown legs. Have a smoke!"

Duncannon ignored the invitation. He turned pale to the lips. For aspace of seconds he said nothing whatever. Then at length, slowly, in avoice that was curiously even, "Yes, I've taught 'em to fight, " he said. "And now I'm to leave 'em to be massacred, am I?"

Herne shrugged his shoulders again, not because he was actuallyindifferent, but because, under the circumstances, it was the easiestanswer to make. 

Duncannon went on in the same dead-level tone:

"Yes, they've been useful to us, these friendlies. They've made commoncause with us against those infernal Wandis. They might have stayedneutral, or they might have whipped us off the ground. But they didn't. They brought us supplies, and they brought us mules, and they helped usalong generally, and hauled us out of tight corners. They've given usall we asked for, and more to it. And now they are going to pay thepenalty, to reap our gratitude. They're going to be left to themselvesto fight our enemies--the fellows we couldn't beat--single-handed, without experience, without a leader, and only half trained. They aregoing to be left as a human sacrifice to pay our debts. "

He paused, standing erect and tense, staring out into the blindingsunlight. Then suddenly, like the swift kindling of a flame, hisattitude changed. He flung up his hands with a wild gesture. 

"No, I'm damned!" he cried violently. "I'm damned if they shall! Theyare my men--the men I made. I've taught 'em every blessed thing theyknow. I've taught 'em to reverence the old flag, and I'm damned if I'llsee them betrayed! You can go back to the Chief, and tell him so! Tellhim they're British subjects, staunch to the backbone! Why, they caneven sing the first verse of the National Anthem! You'll hear them atit to-night before they turn in. They always do. It's a sort of eveninghymn to them. Oh, Monty, Monty, what cursed trick will our fellows thinkof next, I wonder? Are we men, or are we reptiles, we English? And weboast--we boast of our national honour!"

He broke off, breathing short and hard, as a man desperately near tocollapse, and leaned his head on his arm against the rough wall as if inshame. 

Herne glanced at him once or twice before replying. 

"You see, " he said at length, speaking somewhat laboriously, "what we'vegot to do is to obey orders. We were sent out here not to think but todo. We're on Government service. They are responsible for the thinkingpart. We have to carry it out, that's all. They have decided to evacuatethis district, and withdraw to the coast. So"--again he shrugged hisshoulders--"there's no more to be said. We must go. "

He paused, and glanced again at the slight, khaki-clad figure thatleaned against the wall. 

After a moment, meeting with no response, he resumed. 

"There's no sense in taking it hard, since there is no help for it. Youalways knew that it was an absolutely temporary business. Of course, ifwe could have smashed the Wandis, these chaps would have had a betterlook-out. But--well, we haven't smashed them. "

"We hadn't enough men!" came fiercely from Duncannon. 

"True! We couldn't afford to do things on a large scale. Moreover, it'sa beastly country, as even you must admit. And it isn't worth a bigstruggle. Besides, we can't occupy half the world to prevent the otherhalf playing the deuce with it. Come, Bobby, don't be a fool, forHeaven's sake! You've been treated as a god too long, and it's turnedyour head. Don't you want to get Home? What about your people? Whatabout----"

Duncannon turned sharply. His face was drawn and grey. 

"I'm not thinking of them, " he said, in a choked voice. "You don't knowwhat this means to me. You couldn't know, and I can't explain. But mymind is made up on one point. Whoever goes--I stay!"

He spoke deliberately, though his breathing was still quick and uneven. His eyes were sternly steadfast. 

Herne stared at him in amazement. 

"My good fellow, " he said, "you are talking like a lunatic! I think youmust have got a touch of sun. "

A faint smile flickered over Duncannon's set face. 

"No, it isn't that, " he said. "It's a touch of something else--somethingyou wouldn't understand. "

"But--heavens above!--you have no choice!" Herne exclaimed, risingabruptly. "You can't say you'll do this or that. So long as you wear asword, you have to obey orders. "

"That's soon remedied, " said Duncannon, between his teeth. 

With a sudden, passionate movement he jerked the weapon from its sheath, held it an instant gleaming between his hands, then stooped and bent itdouble across his knee. 

It snapped with a sharp click, and instantly he straightened himself, the shining fragments in his hands, and looked Montague Herne in theeyes. 

"When you go back to the Chief, " he said, speaking very steadily, "youcan take him this, and tell him that the British Government can playwhat damned dirty trick they please upon their allies. But I will takeno part in it. I shall stick to my friends. "

And with that he flung the jingling pieces of steel upon the table, tookup his helmet, and passed out into the fierce glare of the littleparade-ground. 

II

"Oh, is it our turn at last? I am glad!"

Betty Derwent raised eyes of absolute honesty to the man who had justcome to her side, and laid her hand with obvious alacrity upon his arm. 

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, " he said. 

"I'm not!" she declared, with vehemence. "It's perfectly horrid. I hopeyou're not wanting to dance, Major Herne? For I want to sit out, and--and get cool, if possible. "

"I want what you want, " said Herne. "Shall we go outside?"

"Yes--no! I really don't know. I've only just come in. I want to getaway--right away. Can't you think of a quiet corner?"

"Certainly, " said Herne, "if it's all one to you where you go. "

"I should like to run away, " the girl said impetuously, "right away fromeverybody--except you. "

"That's very good of you, " said Herne, faintly smiling. 

The hand that rested on his arm closed with an agitated pressure. 

"Oh, no, it isn't!" she assured him. "It's quite selfish. I--I am likethat, you know. Where are we going?"

"Upstairs, " said Herne. 

"Upstairs!" She glanced at him in surprise, but he offered noexplanation. They were already ascending. 

But when they had mounted one flight of stairs, and were beginning tomount a second, the girl's eyes flashed understanding. 

"Major Herne, you're a real friend in need!"

"Think so?" said Herne. "Perhaps--at heart--I am as selfish as youare. "

"Oh, I don't mind that, " she rejoined impulsively. "You are all selfish, every one of you, but--thank goodness!--you don't all want the samething. "

Montague Herne raised his brows a little. 

"Quite sure of that?"

"Quite sure, " said Betty vigorously. "I always know. " She added withapparent inconsequence, "That's how it is we always get on so well. Areyou going to take me right out on to the ramparts? Are you sure therewill be no one else there?"

"There will be no one where we are going, " he said. 

She sighed a sigh of relief. 

"How good! We shall get some air up there, too. And I want air--plentyof it. I feel suffocated. "

"Mind how you go!" said Herne. "These stairs are uneven. "

They had come to a spiral staircase of stone. Betty mounted itlight-footed, Herne following close behind. 

In the end they came to an oak door, against which the girl set herhand. 

"Major Herne! It's locked!"

"Allow me!" said Herne. 

He had produced a large key, at which Betty looked with keensatisfaction. 

"You really are a wonderful person. You overcome all difficulties. "

"Not quite that, I am afraid. " Herne was smiling. "But this is acomparatively simple matter. The key happens to be in my charge. Withyour permission, we will lock the door behind us. "

"Do!" she said eagerly. "I have never been at this end of the ramparts. I believe I shall spend the rest of the evening here, where no one canfollow us. "

"Haven't you any more partners?" asked Herne. 

She showed him a full card with a little grimace. 

"I have had such an awful experience. I am going to cut the rest. "

He smiled a little. 

"Rather hard on the rest. However----"

"Oh, don't be silly!" she said impatiently. "It isn't like you. "

"No, " said Herne. 

He spoke quietly, almost as if he were thinking of something else. Theyhad passed through the stone doorway, and had emerged upon a flaggedpassage that led between stone walls to the ramparts. Betty passed alongthis quickly, mounted the last flight of steps that led to thebattlements, and stood suddenly still. 

A marvellous scene lay spread below them in the moonlight--silent landand whispering sea. The music of the band in the distant ballroom rosefitfully--such music as is heard in dreams. Betty stood quite motionlesswith the moonlight shining on her face. She looked like a nymph caughtup from the shimmering water. 

Impulsively at length she turned to the man beside her. 

"Shall I tell you what has been happening to me to-night?"

"If you really wish me to know, " said Herne. 

She jerked her shoulder with a hint of impatience. 

"I feel as if I must tell someone, and you are as safe, as any one Iknow. I have danced with six men so far, and out of those six three haveasked me to marry them. It's been almost like a conspiracy, as if theywere doing it for a wager. Only, two of them were so horribly in earnestthat it couldn't have been that. Major Herne, why can't people bereasonable?"

"Heaven knows!" said Herne. 

She gave him a quick smile. 

"If I get another proposal to-night I shall have hysterics. But I know Iam safe with you. "

Herne was silent. 

Betty gave a little shiver. 

"You think me very horrid to have told you?"

"No, " he answered deliberately, "I don't. I think that you wereextraordinarily wise. "

She laughed with a touch of wistfulness. 

"I have a feeling that if I quite understood what you meant, I shouldn'tregard that as a compliment. "

"Very likely not. " Herne's dark face brooded over the distant water. Hedid not so much as glance at the girl beside him, though her eyes werestudying him quite frankly. 

"Why are you so painfully discreet?" she said suddenly. "Don't you knowthat I want you to give me advice?"

"Which you won't take, " said Herne. 

"I don't know. I might. I quite well might. Anyhow, I should begrateful. "

He rested one foot on the battlement, still not looking at her. 

"If you took my advice, " he said, "you would marry. "

"Marry!" she said with a quick flush. "Why? Why should I?"

"You know why, " said Herne. 

"Really I don't. I am quite happy as I am. "

"Quite?" he said. 

She began to tap her fingers against the stonework. There was somethingof nervousness in the action. 

"I couldn't possibly marry any one of the men who proposed to meto-night, " she said. 

"There are other men, " said Herne. 

"Yes, I know, but--" She threw out her arms suddenly with a gesture thathad in it something passionate. "Oh, if only I were a man myself!" shesaid. "How I wish I were!"

"Why?" said Herne. 

She answered him instantly, her voice not wholly steady. 

"I want to travel. I want to explore. I want to go to the very heart ofthe world, and--and learn its secrets. "

Herne turned his head very deliberately and looked at her. 

"And then?" he said. 

Half defiantly her eyes met his. 

"I would find Bobby Duncannon, " she said, "and bring him back. "

Herne stood up slowly. 

"I thought that was it, " he said. 

"And why shouldn't it be?" said Betty. "I have known him for a long timenow. Wouldn't you do as much for a pal?"

Herne was silent for a moment. Then:

"You would be wiser to forget him, " he said. "He will never come back. "

"I shall never forget him, " said Betty almost fiercely. 

He looked at her gravely. 

"You mean to waste the rest of your life waiting for him?" he asked. 

Her hands gripped each other suddenly. 

"You call it waste?" she said. 

"It is waste, " he made answer, "sheer, damnable waste. The boy was madenough to sacrifice his own career--everything that he had--but it isdownright infernal that you should be sacrificed too. Why should you paythe penalty for his madness? He was probably killed long ago, and evenif not--even if he lived and came back--you would probably ask yourselfif you had ever met him before. "

"Oh, no!" Betty said. "No!"

She turned and looked out to the water that gleamed so peacefully in themoonlight. 

"Do you know, " she said, her voice very low, scarcely more than awhisper, "he asked me to marry him--five years ago--just before he went. It was my first proposal. I was very young, not eighteen. And--and itfrightened me. I really don't know why. And so I refused. He said hewould ask me again when I was older, when I had come out. I rememberbeing rather relieved when he went away. It wasn't till afterwards, whenI came to see the world and people, that I realized that he was more tome than any one else. He--he was wonderfully fascinating, don't youthink? So strong, so eager, so full of life! I have never seen any onequite like him. " She leaned her hands suddenly against a projectingstone buttress and bowed her head upon them. "And I--refused him!" shesaid. 

The low voice went out in a faint sob, and the man's hands clenched. Thenext instant he had crossed the space that divided him from the slenderfigure in its white draperies that drooped against the wall. 

He bent down to her. 

"Betty, Betty, " he said, "you're crying for the moon, child. Don't!"

She turned, and with a slight, confiding movement slid out a tremblinghand. 

"I have never told anyone but you, " she said. 

He clasped the quivering fingers very closely. 

"I would sell my soul to see you happy, " he said. "But, my dear Betty, happiness doesn't lie in that direction. You are sacrificing substanceto shadow. Won't you see it before it's too late, before the lean yearscome?" He paused a moment, seeming to restrain himself. Then, "I'venever told you before, " he said, his voice very low, deeply tender. "Ihardly dare to tell you now, lest you should think I'm trading on yourfriendship, but I, too, am one of those unlucky beggars that want tomarry you. You needn't trouble to refuse me, dear. I'll take it all forgranted. Only, when the lean years do come to you, as they will, as theymust, will you remember that I'm still wanting you, and give me thechance of making you happy?"

"Oh, don't!" sobbed Betty. "Don't! You hurt me so!"

"Hurt you, Betty! I!"

She turned impulsively and leaned her head against him. 

"Major Herne, you--you are awfully good to me, do you know? I shallnever forget it. And if--if I were not quite sure in my heart that Bobbyis still alive and wanting me, I would come to you, if you really caredto have me. But--but--"

"Do you mean that, Betty?" he said. His arm was round her, but he didnot seek to draw her nearer, did not so much as try to see her face. 

But she showed it to him instantly, lifting clear eyes, in which thetears still shone, to his. 

"Oh, yes, I mean it. But, Major Herne, but----"

He met her look, faintly smiling. 

"Yes, " he said. "It's a pretty big 'but, ' I know, but I'm going totackle it. I'm going to find out if the boy is alive or dead. If helives, you shall see him again; if he is dead--and this is the moreprobable, for it is no country for white men--I shall claim you formyself, Betty. You won't refuse me then?"

"Only find out for certain, " she said. 

"I will do that, " he promised. 

"But how? How? You won't go there yourself?"

"Why not?" he said. 

Something like panic showed in the girl's eyes. She laid her hands onhis shoulders. 

"Monty, I don't want you to go. "

"You would rather I stayed?" he said. He was looking closely into hereyes. 

She endured the look for a little, then suddenly the tears welled upagain. 

"I can't bear you to go, " she whispered. "I mean--I mean--I couldn'tbear it if--if----"

He took her hands gently, and held them. 

"I shall come back to you, Betty, " he said. 

"Oh, you will!" she said very earnestly. "You will!"

"I shall, " said Montague Herne; and he said it as a man whose resolutionno power on earth might turn. 

III

No country for white men indeed! Herne grimly puffed a cloud of smokeinto a whirl of flies, and rose from the packing-case off which he haddined. 

Near by were the multitudinous sounds of the camp, the voices of Arabs, the grunting of camels, the occasional squeal of a mule. Beyond lay thewilderness, mysterious, silent, immense, the home of the unknown. 

He had reached the outermost edge of civilization, and he was waitingfor the return of an Arab spy, a man he trusted, who had pushed on intothe interior. The country beyond him was a dense tract of bush almostimpenetrable; so far as he knew, waterless. 

In the days of the British expedition this had been an almostinsuperable obstacle, but Herne was in no mood to turn back. Behind himlay desert, wide and barren under the fierce African sun. He hadtraversed it with a dogged patience, regardless of hardship, and, whatever lay ahead of him, he meant to go on. Hidden deep below theman's calm aspect there throbbed a fierce impatience. It tortured him bynight, depriving him of rest. 

Very curiously, the conviction had begun to take root in his soul alsothat Bobby Duncannon still lived. In England he had scouted the notion, but here in the heart of the desert everything seemed possible. He feltas if a voice were calling to him out of the mystery towards which hehad set his face, a voice that was never silent, continually urging himon. 

Wandering that night on the edge of the bush, with the camp-fires behindhim, he told himself that until he knew the truth he would never turnback. 

He lay down at last, though his restlessness was strong upon him, compelling his body at least to be passive, while hour after hourcrawled by and the wondrous procession of stars wheeled overhead. 

In the early morning there came a stir in the camp, and he rose, to findthat his messenger had returned. The man was waiting for him outside histent. The orange and gold of sunrise was turning the desert into awonderland of marvellous colour, but Herne's eyes took no note thereof. He saw only his Arab guide bending before him in humble salutation, while in his heart he heard a girl's voice, low and piteous, "Bobby isstill alive and wanting me. "

"Well, Hassan?" he questioned. "Any news?"

The man's eyes gleamed with a certain triumph. 

"There is news, _effendi_. The man the _effendi_ seeks is no longerchief of the Zambas. They have been swallowed up by the Wandis. "

Herne groaned. It was only what he had expected, but the memory of theboy's face with its eager eyes was upon him. The pity of it! The vast, irretrievable waste!

"Then he is dead?" he said. 

The Arab spread out his hands. 

"Allah knows. But the Wandis do not always slay their prisoners, _effendi_. The old and the useless ones they burn, but the strong onesthey save alive. It may be that he lives. "

"As a slave!" Herne said. 

"It is possible, _effendi_. " The Arab considered a moment. Then, "Theroad to the country of the Wandis is no journey for _effendis_, " hesaid. "The path is hard to find, and there is no water. Also, the bushis thick, and there are many savages. But beyond all are the mountainswhere the Wandis dwell. It is possible that the chief of the Zambas hasbeen carried to their City of Stones. It is a wonderful place, _effendi_. But the way thither, especially now, even for an Arab----"

"I am going myself, " Herne said. 

"The _effendi_ will die!"

Herne shrugged his shoulders. 

"Be it so! I am going!"

"But not alone, _effendi_. " A speculative gleam shone in the Arab's waryeyes. He was the only available guide, and he knew it. The Englishmanwas mad, of course, but he was willing to humour him--for aconsideration. 

Herne saw the gleam, and his grim face relaxed. 

"Name your price, Hassan!" he said. "If it doesn't suit me--I go alone. "

Hassan smiled widely. Certainly the Englishman was mad, but he had asporting fancy for mad Englishmen, a fancy that kept his pouch wellfilled. He had not the smallest intention of letting this one out of hissight. 

"We will go together, _effendi_, " he said. "The price shall not be namedbetween us until we return in peace. But the _effendi_ will need adisguise. The Wandis have no love for the English. "

"Then I will go as your brother, " said Herne. 

The Arab bowed low. 

"As traders in spice, " he said, "we might, by the goodness of Allah, pass through to the Great Desert. But we could not go with a largecaravan, _effendi_, and we should take our lives in our hands. "

"Even so, " said the Englishman imperturbably. "Let us waste no time!"

It had been his attitude throughout, and it had had its effect upon themen who had travelled with him. They had come to look upon him withreverence, this mad Englishman, who was thus calmly preparing to riskhis life for a man whose bones had probably whitened in the desert yearsbefore. By sheer, indomitable strength of purpose Herne wasaccomplishing inch by inch the task that he had set himself. 

A few days more found him traversing the wide, scrub-grown plateau thatstretched to the mountains where the Wandis had their dwelling-place. The journey was a bitter one, the heat intense, the difficulties of theway sometimes wellnigh insurmountable. They carried water with them, but the need for economy was great, and Herne was continually possessedby a consuming thirst that he never dared to satisfy. 

The party consisted of himself, Hassan, an Arab lad, and five natives. The rest of his following he had left on the edge of civilization, encamped in the last oasis between the desert and the scrub, with ordersto await his return. If, as the Arab had suggested, he succeeded inpushing through to the farther desert, he would return by a moresoutherly route, giving Wanda as wide a berth as possible. 

Thus ran his plans as, day after day, he pressed farther into the heartof the unknown country that the British had abandoned in despair overthree years before. They found it deserted, in some parts almostimpenetrable, so dense was the growth of bush in all directions. And yetthere were times when it seemed to Herne that the sense of emptiness wasbut a superficial impression, as if unseen eyes watched them on thatjourney of endless monotony, as if the very camels knew of a lurkingespionage, and sneered at their riders' ignorance. 

This feeling came to him generally at night, when he had partiallyassuaged the torment of thirst that gave him no peace by day, and hismind was more at leisure for speculation. At such times, lying apartfrom his companions, wrapt in the immense silence of the African night, the conviction would rise up within him that every inch of theirprogress through that land of mystery was marked by a close observation, that even as he lay he was under _surveillance_, that the denseobscurity of the bush all about him was peopled by stealthy watcherswhose vigilance was never relaxed. 

He mentioned his suspicion once to Hassan; but the Arab only smiled. 

"The desert never sleeps, _effendi_. The very grass of the _savannah_has ears. "

It was not a very satisfactory explanation, but Herne accepted it. Heput down his uneasiness to the restlessness of nerves that were ever onthe alert, and determined to ignore it. But it pursued him, none theless; and coupled with it was the voice that called to him perpetually, like the crying of a lost soul. 

They were drawing nearer to the mountains when one day the Arab lad, Ahmed, disappeared. It happened during the midday halt, when the rest ofthe party were drowsing. No one knew when he went or how, but hevanished as if a hand had plucked him off the face of the earth. Itseemed unlikely that he would have wandered into the bush, but this wasthe only conclusion that they could come to; and they spent the rest ofthe day in fruitless searching. 

Herne slept not at all that night. The place seemed to be alive withghostly whisperings, and he could not bring himself to rest. He spentthe long hours revolver in hand, waiting with a dogged patience for thedawn. 

But when it came at last, in a sudden tropical stream of lightilluminating all things, he knew that, his vigilance notwithstanding, hehad been tricked. The morning dawned upon a deserted camp. The nativeshad fled in the night, and only Hassan and the camels remained. 

Hassan was largely contemptuous. 

"Let them go!" he said. "We are but a day's journey from Wanda. We willgo forward alone, _effendi_. The chief of the Wandis will not slay twopeaceful merchants who desire only to travel through to the GreatDesert. "

And so, with the camels strung together, they went forward. There was noattempt at concealment in their progress. The path they travelled wasclearly defined, and they pursued it unmolested. But ever the convictionfollowed Herne that countless eyes were upon them, that through thedepths of the bush naked bodies slipped like reptiles, hemming them inon every side. 

They had travelled a couple of hours, and the sun was climbingunpleasantly high, when, rounding a curve of the path, they camesuddenly upon a huddled figure. It looked at first sight no more than abundle of clothes kicked to one side, too limp and tattered to contain ahuman form. But neither Herne nor his companion was deceived. Both knewin a flash what that inanimate object was. 

Hassan was beside it in a moment, and Herne only waited to draw hisrevolver before he followed. 

It was the boy, Ahmed, still breathing indeed, but so far gone thatevery gasp seemed as if it must be his last. Hassan drew back thecovering from his face, and, in spite of himself, Herne shuddered; forit was mutilated beyond recognition. The features were slashed toribbons. 

"Water, _effendi_!" Hassan's voice recalled him; and he turned aside toprocure it. 

It was little more than a tepid drain, but it acted like magic upon thedying boy. There came a gasping whisper, and Hassan stooped to hear. 

When, a few minutes later, he stood up, Herne knew that the end hadcome; knew, too, by the look in the Arab's eyes that they stoodthemselves on the brink of that great gulf into which the boy's life hadbut that instant slipped. 

"The Wandis have returned from a great slaughter, " Hassan said. "TheirProphet is with them, and they bring many captives. The lad wanderedinto the bush, and was caught by a band of spies. They tortured him, andlet him go, _effendi_. Thus will they torture us if we go forward anylonger. " He caught at the bridle of the nearest camel. "The lust ofblood is upon them, " he said. "We will go back. "

"Not so, " Herne said. "If we go back we die, for the water is almostgone. We must press forward now. There will be water in the mountains. "

Hassan glanced at him sideways. He looked as if he were minded to defythe mad Englishman, but Herne's revolver was yet in his hand, and hethought better of it. Moreover, he knew, as did Herne, that their watersupply was not sufficient to take them back. So, without furtherdiscussion, they pressed on until the heat compelled them to halt. 

It had seemed to Herne the previous night that he could never close hiseyes again, but now as he descended from his camel, an intensedrowsiness possessed him. For a while he strove against it, and managedto keep it at bay; but the sight of Hassan, curled up and calmlyslumbering, soon served to bring home to him the futility ofwatchfulness. The Arab was obviously resigned to his particular fate, whatever that might be, and, since sleep had become a necessity to him, it seemed useless to combat it. What, after all, could vigilance do forhim in that world of hostility? The odds were so strongly against himthat it had become almost a fight against the inevitable. And he was tootired to keep it up. With a sigh, he suffered his limbs to relax and layas one dead. 

IV

HE awoke hours after with an inarticulate feeling that someone wantedhim, and started up to the sound of a rifle shot that pierced thestillness like a crack of thunder. In a second he would have been uponhis feet, but, even as he sprang, something else that was very close athand sprang also, and hurled him backwards. He found himself fightingdesperately in the grip of an immense savage, fighting at a hopelessdisadvantage, with the man's knees crushing the breath out of his body, and the man's hands locked upon his throat. 

He struggled fiercely for bare life, but he was powerless to loosen thatawful, merciless pressure. The barbaric face that glared into his ownwore a devilish grin, inexpressibly malignant. It danced before hisstarting eyes like some hideous spectre seen in delirium, intermittent, terrible, with blinding flashes of light breaking between. He felt as ifhis head were bursting. The agony of suffocation possessed him to theexclusion of all else. There came a sudden glaze in his brain that waslike the shattering of every faculty, and then, in a blood-red mist, hisunderstanding passed. 

It seemed to him when the light reeled back again that he had beenunconscious for a very long time. He awoke to excruciating pain, ofwhich he seemed to have been vaguely aware throughout, and found himselfbound hand and foot and slung across the back of a camel. He dangledhelplessly face downwards, racked by cramp and a fiery torment of thirstmore intolerable than anything he had ever known. 

Darkness had fallen, but he caught the gleam of torches, and he knewthat he was surrounded by a considerable body of men. The ground theytravelled was stony and ascended somewhat steeply. Herne swung aboutlike a bale of goods, torn by his bonds, flung this way and that, andutterly unable to protect himself in any way, or to ease his position. 

He set his teeth to endure the torture, but it was so intense that hepresently fainted again, and only recovered consciousness when theagonizing progress ceased. He opened his eyes, to find the camel thathad borne him kneeling, and he himself being bundled by two brawnysavages on to the ground. He fell like a log, and so was left. But, bound though he was, the relief of lying motionless was such that hepresently recovered so far as to be able to look about him. 

He discovered that he was lying in what appeared to be a hugeamphitheatre of sand, surrounded by high cliffs, ragged and barren, andstrewn with boulders. Two great fires burned at several yards' distance, and about these, a number of savages were congregated. From somewherebehind came the trickle of water, and the sound goaded him to somethingthat was very nearly approaching madness. He dragged himself up on tohis knees. His thirst was suddenly unendurable. 

But the next instant he was flat on his face in the sand, struck down bya blow on the back of the neck that momentarily stunned him. For a whilehe lay prone, gritting the sand in his teeth; then again with thestrength of frenzy he struggled upwards. 

He had a glimpse of his guard standing over him, and recognized thesavage who had nearly strangled him, before a second crashing blowbrought him down. He lay still then, overwhelmed in darkness for a long, long time. 

He scarcely knew when he was lifted at last and borne forward into thegreat circle of light cast by one of the fires. He felt the glare uponhis eyeballs, but it conveyed nothing to him. Over by the farther firesome festivity seemed to be in progress. He had a vague vision ofleaping, naked bodies, and the flash of knives. There was a good deal ofshouting also, and now and then a nightmare shriek. And then came thetorment of the fire, great heat enveloping him, thirst that was anguish. 

He turned upon his captors, but his mouth was too dry for speech. Hecould only glare dumbly into their evil faces, and they glared back athim in fiendish triumph. Nearer to the red glow they came, nearer yet. He could hear the crackle of the licking flames. They danced giddilybefore his eyes. 

Suddenly the arms that bore him swung back. He knew instinctively thatthey were preparing to hurl him into the heart of the fire, and theinstinct of self-preservation rushed upon him, stabbing him to vividconsciousness. With a gigantic effort he writhed himself free from theirhold. 

He fell headlong, but the strength of madness had entered into him. Hefought like a man possessed, straining at his bonds till they crackedand burst, forcing from his parched throat sounds which in saner momentshe would not have recognized as human, struggling, tearing, raging, infurious self-defence. 

He was hopelessly outmatched. The odds were such as no man in his sensescould have hoped to combat with anything approaching success. Almostbefore his bonds began to loosen, his enemies were upon him again. Theyhoisted him up, fighting like a maniac. They tightened his bondsunconcernedly, and prepared for a second attempt. 

But, before it could be made, a fierce yell rang suddenly from thecliffs above them, echoing weirdly through the savage pandemonium, arresting, authoritative, piercingly insistent. 

What it portended Herne had not the vaguest notion, but its effect uponthe two Wandis who held him was instant and astounding. They dropped himlike a stone, and fled as if pursued by furies. 

As for Herne, he wriggled and writhed from the vicinity of the fire, still working at his bonds, his one idea to reach the water that he knewwas running within a stone's throw of him. It was an agonizing progress, but he felt no pain but that awful, consuming thirst, knew no fear but aghastly dread that he might fail to reach his goal. For a singlemouthful of water at that moment he would have bartered his very soul. 

His breathing came in great gasps. The sweat was running down his face. His heart beat thickly, spasmodically. His senses were tottering. But heclung tenaciously to the one idea. He could not die with his thirstunquenched. If he crawled every inch of the way upon his stomach, hewould somehow reach the haven of his desire. 

There came the padding of feet upon the sand close to him, and he cursedaloud and bitterly. It was death this time, of course. He shut his eyesand lay motionless, waiting for it. He only hoped that it might beswift; that the hellish torture he was suffering might be ended at ablow. 

But no blow fell. Hands touched him, severed his bonds, dragged himroughly up. Then, as he staggered, powerless for the moment to stand, anarm, hard and fleshless as the arm of a skeleton, caught him and urgedhim forward. Irresistibly impelled, he left the glare of the fire, andstumbled into deep shadow. 

Ten seconds later he was on his knees by a natural basin of rock inwhich clear water brimmed, plunged up to the elbows, and drinking asonly a man who has known the thirst of the desert can drink. 

V

He turned at last from that exquisite draught with the water runningdown his face. His Arab dress hung about him in tatters. He was bruisedand bleeding in a dozen places. But the man's heart of him was aliveagain and beating strongly. He was ready to sell his life as dearly ashe might. 

He looked round for the native who had brought him thither, but itseemed to him that he was alone, shut away by a frowning pile of rockfrom the great amphitheatre in which the Wandis were celebrating theirreturn from the slaughter of their enemies. The shouting and theshrieking continued in ghastly tumult, but for the moment he seemed tobe safe. 

The moon was up, but the shadows were very deep. He seemed to bestanding in a hollow, with sheer rock on three sides of him. The watergurgled away down a narrow channel, and fell into darkness. Withinfinite caution he crept forward to peer round the jutting boulder thatdivided him from his enemies. 

The next instant sharply he drew back. A man armed with a long, nativespear was standing in the entrance. 

He was still a prisoner, then; that much was certain. But his guard wassingle-handed. He began to consider the possibility of overpowering him. He had no weapon, but he was a practised wrestler; and they were so farremoved from the yelling crowd about the fire that a scuffle in thatdark corner was little likely to attract attention. 

It was fairly obvious to him why he had been rescued from the fire. Doubtless his gigantic struggles had been observed by the onlooker, andhe was considered too good a man to burn. They would keep him for aslave, possibly mutilate him first. 

Again, stealthily, he investigated the position round that corner ofrock. The man's back was turned towards him. He seemed to be watchingthe doings of the distant tribesmen. Herne freed himself from his raggedgarment, and crept nearer. His enemy was of no great stature. In fact, he was the smallest Wandi that he had yet seen. He questioned withhimself if he could be full grown. 

Now or never was his chance, though a slender one at that, even if heescaped immediate detection. He gathered himself together, and sprangupon his unsuspecting foe. 

He aimed at the native weapon, knowing the dexterity with which thiscould be shortened and brought into action, but it was wrenched from himbefore he could securely grasp it. 

The man wriggled round like an eel, and in a moment the point was at histhroat. Herne flung up a defending arm, and took it through his flesh. He knew in an instant that he was outmatched. His previous struggles hadweakened him, and his adversary, if slight, had the activity of aserpent. 

For a few breathless seconds they swayed and fought, then again Hernewas conscious of that deadly point piercing his shoulder. With a sharpexclamation, he shifted his ground, trod on a loose stone, and sprawledheadlong backward. 

He fell heavily, so heavily that all the breath was knocked out of hisbody, and he could only lie, gasping and helpless, expecting death. Hisenemy was upon him instantly, and he marvelled at the man's strength. Sinewy hands encompassed his wrists, forcing his arms above his head. Inthe darkness he could not see his face, though it was close to his own, so close that he could feel his breathing, quick and hard, and knew thatit had been no light matter to master him. 

He himself had wholly ceased to fight. He was bleeding freely from theshoulder, and a dizzy sense of powerlessness held him passive, awaitinghis deathblow. 

But still his adversary stayed his hand. The iron grip showed no sign ofrelaxing, and to Herne, lying at his mercy, there came a fierceimpatience at the man's delay. 

"Curse you!" he flung upwards from between his teeth. "Why can't youstrike and have done?"

His brain had begun to reel. He was scarcely in full possession of hissenses, or he had not wasted his breath in curses upon a savage who waslittle likely to understand them. But the moment he had spoken, he knewin some subtle fashion that his words had not fallen on uncomprehendingears. 

The hands that held him relaxed very gradually. The man above him seemedto be listening. Herne had a fantastic feeling that he was waiting forsomething further, waiting as it were to gather impetus to slay him. 

And then, how it happened he had no notion, suddenly he was aware of achange, felt the danger that menaced him pass, knew a surging darknessthat he took for death; and as his failing senses slid away from him hethought he heard a voice that spoke his name. 

VI

"BE still, _effendi_!"

It was no more than a whisper, but it pierced Herne's understanding as aburst of light through a rent curtain. 

He opened his eyes wide. 

"Hassan!" he said faintly. 

"I am here, _effendi. _" Very cautiously came the answer, and in thedimness a figure familiar to him stooped over Herne. 

Herne tried to raise himself and failed with a groan. It was as if ared-hot knife had stabbed his shoulder. 

"What happened?" he said. 

"The _effendi_ is wounded, " the Arab made answer. "We are the prisonersof the Mullah. The Wandis would have slain us, but he saved us alive. Doubtless they will mutilate us presently as they are mutilating therest. "

Herne set his teeth. 

"What is this Mullah like?" he asked, after a moment. 

"A man small of stature, _effendi_, but very fierce, with the visage ofa devil. The Wandis fear him greatly. When he looks upon them with angerthey flee. "

Herne's eyes were striving to pierce the gloom. 

"Where on earth are we?" he said. 

"It is the Mullah's dwelling-place, _effendi_, at the gate of the Cityof Stones. None may enter or pass out without his knowledge. His slavesbrought me hither while the _effendi_ was lying insensible. He cut mybonds that I might bandage the _effendi's_ shoulder. "

Again Herne sought to raise himself, and with difficulty succeeded. Hecould make out but little of his surroundings in the gloom, but itseemed to him that he was close to the spot where he had received hiswound, for the murmur of the spring was still in his ears, and in thedistance the yelling of the savages continued. But he was faint anddizzy from pain and loss of blood, and his investigations did not carryhim very far. For a while he retained his consciousness, but presentlyslipped into a stupor of exhaustion, through which all outsideinfluences soon failed to penetrate. 

He dreamed after a time that Betty Derwent and he were sailing alonetogether on a stormy sea, striving eternally to reach an island wherethe sun shone and the birds sang, and being for ever flung back againinto the howling waste of waters till, in agony of soul, they ceased tostrive. 

Then came the morning, all orange and gold, shining pitilessly down uponhim, and he awoke to the knowledge that Betty was far away, and he wastossing alone on a sea that yet was no sea, but an endless desert ofsand. Intense physical pain dawned upon him at the same time, pain thatwas anguish, thrilling through every nerve, so that he pleadedfeverishly for death, not knowing what he said. 

No voice answered him. No help came. He rocked on and on in tormentthrough the sandy desolation, seeing strange visions dissolve before hiseyes, hearing sounds to which his tortured brain could give no meaning. In the end, he lost himself utterly in the mazes of delirum, and allunderstanding ceased. 

Long, long afterwards he came back as it were from a great journey, andknew that Hassan was waiting upon him, ministering to him, tending himas if he had been a child. He was too weak for speech, almost too weakto open his eyes, but the life was still beating in his veins. It wasthe turn of the tide. 

Wearily he dragged himself back from the endless waste in which he hadwandered, back to sanity, back to the problems of life. Hassan smiledupon him as a mother upon her infant, being not without cause forself-congratulation on his own account. 

"The _effendi_ is better, " he said. "He will sleep and live. "

And Herne slept, as a child sleeps, for many hours. 

He awoke towards sunset to hear sounds that made him marvel--thecheerful clatter of a camp, the voices of men, the protests of camels. 

It took him back to that last evening he had spent in contact withcivilization, the evening he had finally set himself to conquer theunknown, in answer to a voice that called. How much of that mission hadhe accomplished, he asked himself? How far was he even yet from hisgoal?

He gazed with drawn brows at the narrow walls of the tent in which helay, and presently, a certain measure of strength returning to him, heraised himself on his sound arm and looked about him. 

On the instant he perceived the faithful Hassan watching beside him. TheArab beamed upon him as their eyes met. 

"All is well, _effendi_, " he said. "By the mercy of Allah, we havereached the Great Desert, and are even now in the company of El Azra, the spice merchant. We shall travel with his caravan in safety. "

"But how on earth did we get here?" questioned Herne. 

Hassan was eager to explain. 

"We escaped by night from Wanda three days ago, the Prophet of theWandis himself assisting us. You were wounded, _effendi_, and withoutunderstanding. The Prophet of the Wandis bore you on his camel. It was ajourney of many dangers, but Allah protected us, and guided us to thisoasis, sending also El Azra to our succour. It is a strong caravan, _effendi_. We shall be safe with him. "

But here Herne suddenly broke in upon his complacence. 

"It was not my intention to leave Wanda, " he said, "till I had done whatI went to do. I must go back. "

"_Effendi_!"

"I must go back!" he reiterated with force. "Do you think, because Ihave been beaten once, I will give up in despair? I should have thoughtyou would have known me better by now. "

"But, _effendi_, there is nothing to be gained by going back, " Hassanpleaded. "The man you seek is dead, and we are already fifty miles fromWanda. "

"How do you know he is dead?" Herne demanded. 

"From the mouth of the Wandi Prophet himself, _effendi_. He asked mewhence you came and wherefore, and when I told him, he said, 'The man isdead. '"

"Is this Prophet still with us?" Herne asked. 

"Yes, _effendi_, he is here. But he speaks no tongue save his own. Andhe is a terrible man, with the face of a devil. "

"Bring him to me!" Herne said. 

"He will come, _effendi_; but he will only speak of himself. He will notanswer questions. "

"Enough! Fetch him!" Herne ordered. "And you remain and interpret!"

But when Hassan was gone, his weakness returned upon him, and thebitterness of defeat made itself felt. Was this the end of his longstruggle, to be overwhelmed at last by the odds he had so bravely dared?It was almost unthinkable. He could not reconcile himself to it. And yetat the heart of him lurked the conviction that failure was to be hisportion. He had attempted the impossible. He had offered himself invain; and any further sacrifice could only end in the same way. If BobbyDuncannon were indeed dead, his task was done; but he had felt soassured that he still lived that he could not bring himself to expel thebelief. It was the lack of knowledge that he could not endure, thethought of returning to the woman he loved empty-handed, of seeing oncemore the soul-hunger in her eyes, and being unable to satisfy it. 

No, he could not face it. He would have to go back, even though it meantto his destruction, unless this Mad Prophet could furnish him with proofincontestable of young Duncannon's death. He glanced with impatiencetowards the entrance. Why did the man delay?

He supposed the fellow would want _backsheesh_, and that thought senthim searching among his tattered clothing for his pocket-book. He foundit with relief; and then again physical weakness asserted itself, and heleaned back with closed eyes. His shoulder was throbbing with a fierypain. He wondered if Hassan knew how to treat it. If not, things wouldprobably get serious. 

The buzzing of a multitude of flies distracted his thoughts from this, and he began to long ardently for a smoke. He roused himself to hunt forhis cigarette-case; but he sought in vain and finally desisted with agroan. 

It was at this point that the tent-flap was drawn aside, admitting for amoment the marvellous orange glow of the sinking sun, and a man attiredas an Arab came noiselessly in. 

VII

Herne lay quite still, regarding his visitor with critical eyes. 

The latter stood with his back to the western glow. His face was morethan half concealed by one end of his turban. He made no advance, butstood like a brazen image, motionless, inscrutable, seeming scarcelyaware of the Englishman's presence. 

It was Herne who broke the silence. The light was failing very rapidly. He raised his voice with a touch of impatience. 

"Hassan, where are you?"

At that the stranger moved, as one coming out of a deep reverie. 

"There is no need to call your servant, " he said, halting slightly overthe words. "I speak your language. "

Herne opened his eyes in surprise. He knew that many of the Wandis hadcome in contact with Englishmen, but few of them could be said to have aknowledge of the language. He saw at a glance that the man before himwas no ordinary Wandi warrior. His build was too insignificant, moresuggestive of the Arab than the negro. His hands were like the hands ofan Egyptian mummy, dark of hue and incredibly bony. He wished he couldsee the fellow's face. Hassan's description had fired his curiosity. 

"So, " he said, "you speak English, do you? I am glad to hear it. And youare the Mullah of Wanda, the man who saved my life?"

He received no reply whatever from the man in the doorway. It was as ifhe had not spoken. 

Herne frowned. It seemed likely to be an unsatisfactory interview afterall. But just as he was about to launch upon a fresh attempt, the manspoke, in a slow, deep voice that was not without a certain richness oftone. 

"You came to Wanda--my prisoner, " he said. "You left because I do notkill white men, and they are not good slaves. But if you return to Wandayou will die. Therefore be wise, and go back to your people, as I go tomine!"

Herne raised himself to a sitting position. His shoulder was beginningto hurt him intolerably, but he strove desperately to keep it in thebackground of his consciousness. 

"Why don't you kill white men?" he said. 

But the question was treated with a silence that felt contemptuous. 

The glow without was fading swiftly, and the darkness was creeping uplike a curtain over the desert. The weird figure standing uprightagainst the door-flap seemed to take on a deeper mystery, a silence moreunfathomable. 

Herne began to feel as if he were in a dream. If the man had not spokenhe would have wondered if his very presence were but hallucination. 

He gathered his wits for another effort. 

"Tell me, " he said, "do you never use white men as slaves?"

Still that uncompromising silence. 

Herne persevered. 

"Three years ago, before the Wandis conquered the Zambas, there was awhite man, an Englishman, who placed himself at their head, and taughtthem to fight. I am here to seek him. I shall not leave without news ofhim. "

"The Englishman is dead!" It was as if a mummy uttered the words. Thespeaker neither stirred nor looked at Herne. He seemed to be gazing intospace. 

Herne waited for more, but none came. 

"I want proof of his death, " he said, speaking very deliberately. "Imust know beyond all doubt when and how he died. "

"The Englishman was burned with the other captives, " the slow, indifferent voice went on. "He died in the fire!"

"What?" said Herne, with violence. "You devil! I don't believe it! Ithought you did not kill white men!"

"He was not as other white men, " came the unmoved reply. "The Wandisfeared his magic. Fire alone can destroy magic. He died slowly but--hedied!"

"You devil!" Herne said again. 

His hand was fumbling feverishly at his bandaged shoulder. He scarcelyknew what he was doing. In his impotent fury he sought only for freedom, not caring how he obtained it. Never in the whole of his life had helonged so overpoweringly to crush a man's throat between his hands. 

But his strength was unequal to the effort. He sank back, gasping, half-fainting, yet struggling fiercely against his weakness. Suddenly hewas aware of the blood welling up to his injured shoulder. He knew in aninstant that the wound had burst out afresh; knew, too, that the bandagewould be of no avail to check the flow. 

"Fetch Hassan!" he jerked out. 

But the man before him made no movement to obey. 

"Are you going to stand by, you infernal fiend, and watch me die?" Herneflung at him. 

A thick mist was beginning to obscure his vision, but it seemed to himthat those last words of his took effect. Undoubtedly the man moved, came nearer, stooped over him. 

"Go!" Herne gasped. "Go!"

He could feel the blood soaking through the bandage under his hand, spreading farther every instant. 

This was to be the end, then, to lie at the mercy of this madman tilldeath came to blot out all his efforts, all his hopes. He made a lastfeeble effort to stanch that deadly flow, failed, sank down exhausted. 

It was then that a voice came to him out of the gathering darkness, quick and urgent, speaking to him, as it were, across the gulf of years:

"Monty, Monty, lie still, man! I'll see to you!"

That voice recalled Herne, renewed his failing faculties, galvanized himinto life. The man with the mummy's hands was bending over him, stripping away the useless bandage, fashioning it anew for the moment'semergency. In a few seconds he was working at it with pitiless strength, twisting and twisting again till the tension told, and Herne forced backa groan. 

But he clung to consciousness with all his quivering strength, bewildered, unbelieving still, yet hovering on the edge of conviction. 

"Is it really you, Bobby?" he whispered. "I can't believe it! Let melook at you! Let me see for myself!"

The man beside him made no answer. He had snatched up the first thing hecould find, a fragment of a broken tent-peg, to tighten the pressureupon the wound. 

But, as if in response to Herne's appeal, he freed one hand momentarily, and pushed back the covering from his face. And in the dim light Hernelooked, looked closely; then shut his eyes and sank back with anuncontrollable shudder. 

"Merciful Heaven!" he said. 

VIII

"Monty, I say! Monty!"

Again the gulf of years was bridged; again the voice he knew came downto him. Herne wrestled with himself, and opened his eyes. 

The man in Arab dress was still kneeling by his side, the skeleton handsstill supported him, but the face was veiled again. 

He suppressed another violent shudder. 

"In Heaven's name, " he said, "what are you?"

"I am a dead man, " came the answer. "Don't move! I will call your man ina moment, but I must speak to you first. Do you feel all right?"

"Bobby!" Herne said. 

"No, I am not Bobby. He died, you know, ages ago. They cut him up andburned him. Don't move. I have stopped the bleeding, but it will easilystart again. Lean back--so! You needn't look at me. You will never seeme again. But if I hadn't shown you--once, you would never haveunderstood. Are you comfortable? Can you listen?"

"Bobby!" Herne said again. 

He seemed incapable of anything but that one word, spoken over and over, as though trying to make himself believe the incredible. 

"I am not Bobby, " the voice reiterated. "Put that out of your mind forever! He belonged to another life, another world. Don't you believe me?Must I show you--again? Do you really want to talk with me face toface?"

"Yes, " Herne said, with abrupt resolution. "I will see you--talk withyou--as you are. "

There was a brief pause, and he braced himself to face, withoutblenching, the thing that a moment before, his soldier's trainingnotwithstanding, had turned him sick with horror. But he was spared theordeal. 

"There is no need, " said the familiar voice. "You have seen enough. Idon't want to haunt you, even though I am dead. What put it into yourhead to come in search of me? You must have known I should be long pastany help from you. "

"I--wanted to know, " Herne said. He was feeling curiously helpless, asif, in truth, he were talking with a mummy. All the questions he desiredto put remained unuttered. He was confronted with the impossible, and hewas powerless to deal with it. 

"What did you want to know? How I died? And when? It was a thousandyears ago, when those damned Wandis swallowed up the Zambas. They tookme first--by treachery. Then they wiped out the entire tribe. The poordevils were lost without me. I always knew they would be--but they madea gallant fight for it. " A thrill of feeling crept into the monotonousvoice, a tinge of the old abounding pride, but it was gone on theinstant, as if it had not been. "They slaughtered them all in the end, "came in level, dispassionate tones, "and, last of all, they killed me. It was a slow process, but very complete. I needn't harrow yourfeelings. Only be quite sure I am dead! The thing that used to be mybody was turned into an abomination that no sane creature could lookupon without a shudder. And as for my soul, devils took possession, sothat even the Wandis were afraid. They dare not touch me now. I havetrampled them, I have tortured them, I have killed them. They fly fromme like sheep. Yet, if I lead, they follow. They think, because I haveconquered them, that I am invincible, invulnerable, immortal. Theycringe before me as if I were a god. They would offer me human sacrificeif I would have it. I am their talisman, their mascot, their safeguardfrom defeat, their luck--a dead man, Herne, a dead man! Can't you seethe joke? Why don't you laugh?"

Again the grim voice thrilled as if some fiendish mirth stirred it tolife. 

Herne moved and groaned, but spoke no word. 

"What? You don't see it? You never had much sense of humour. And yetit's a good thing to laugh when you can. We savages don't know how tolaugh. We only yell. That is all you wanted to know, is it? You will goback now with an easy mind?"

"As if that could be all!" Herne muttered. 

"That is all. And count yourself lucky that I haven't killed you. It wastouch and go that night you attacked me. You may die yet. "

"I may. But it won't be your fault if I do. Great Heaven, I might havekilled you!"

"So you might. " Again came that quiver of dreadful laughter. "That wouldhave been the end of the story for everyone, for you wouldn't have gotaway without me. But that was no part of the program. Even you couldn'tkill a dead man. Feel that, if you don't believe me!" Suddenly one ofthe shrivelled, mummy hands came down to his own. "How much life isthere in that?"

Herne gripped the hand. It was cold and clammy; he could feel everyseparate bone under the skin. He could almost hear them grind togetherin his hold. He repressed another shudder; and even as he did it, heheard again the bitter cry of a woman's wrung heart, "Bobby is stillalive and wanting me. "

Would she say that when she knew? Would she still reach out her hands tothis monstrous wreck of humanity, this shattered ruin of what had oncebeen a tower of splendid strength? Would she feel bound to offerherself? Was her love sufficient to compass such a sacrifice? The barethought revolted him. 

"Are you satisfied?" asked the voice that seemed to him like a mockingecho of Bobby's ardent tones. "Why don't you speak?"

A great struggle was going on in Herne's soul. For Betty's sake--forBetty's sake--should he hold his peace? Should he take upon himself aresponsibility that was not his? Should he deny this man the chance thatwas his by right--the awful chance--of returning to her? The temptationurged him strongly; the fight was fierce. But--was it because he stillgrasped that bony hand?--he conquered in the end. 

"I haven't told you yet why I came to look for you, " he said. 

"Is it worth while?" The question was peculiarly deliberate, yet notwholly cynical. 

Desperately Herne compelled himself to answer. 

"You have got to know it, seeing it was not for my ownsatisfaction--primarily--that I came. "

"Why then?" The brief query held scant interest; but the hand he stillgrasped stirred ever so slightly in his. 

Herne set his teeth. 

"Because--someone--wanted you. "

"No one ever wanted me, " said the Wandi Mullah curtly. 

But Herne had tackled his task, and he pursued it unflinching. 

"I came for the sake of a woman who once--long ago--refused to marryyou, but who has been waiting for you--ever since. "

"A woman?" Undoubtedly there was a savage note in the words. Theshrunken fingers clenched upon Herne's hand. 

"Betty Derwent, " said Herne very quietly. 

Dead silence fell in the darkened tent--the silence of the desert, subtle, intense, in a fashion terrible. It lasted for a long time; solong a time that Herne suffered himself at last to relax, feeling thestrain to be more than he could bear. He leaned among his pillows, andwaited. Yet still, persistently, he grasped that cold, sinuous hand, though the very touch of it repelled him, as the touch of a reptileprovokes instinctive loathing. It lay quite passive in his own, a thinginanimate, yet horribly possessed of life. 

Slowly at last through the darkness a voice came:

"Monty!"

It was hardly more than a whisper; yet on the instant, as if by magic, all Herne's repulsion, his involuntary, irrepressible shrinking, wasgone. He was back once more on the other side of the gulf, and the handhe held was the hand of a friend. 

"My dear old chap!" he said very gently. 

Vaguely he discerned the figure by his side. It sat huddled, mummy-likebut it held no horrors for him any longer. They were not face to facein that moment--they were soul to soul. 

"I say--Monty, " stumblingly came the words, "you know--I never dreamedof this. I thought she would have married--long ago. And she has beenwaiting--all these years?"

"All these years, " Herne said. 

"Do you think she has suffered?" There was a certain sharpness in thequestion, as if it were hard to utter. 

And Herne, pledged to honesty, made brief reply:

"Yes. "

There followed a pause; then:

"Will it grieve her--very badly--to know that I am dead?" asked thevoice beside him. 

"Yes, it will grieve her. " Herne spoke as if compelled. 

"But she will get over it, eh?"

"I believe so. " Herne's lips were dry; he forced them to utterance. 

The free hand fastened claw-like upon his arm. 

"You'll tell me the straight truth, man, " said Bobby's voice in his ear. "What if I--came to life?"

But Herne was silent. He could not bring himself to answer. 

"Speak out!" urged the voice--Bobby's voice, quick, insistent, evenimploring. "Don't be afraid! I haven't any feelings left worthconsidering. She wouldn't get over that, you think? No woman could!"

Herne turned in desperation, and faced his questioner. 

"God knows!" he said helplessly. 

Again there fell a silence, such a silence as falls in a death-chamberat the moment of the spirit's passing. The darkness was deepening. Hernecould scarcely discern the figure by his side. 

The hand upon his arm had grown slack. All vitality seemed to have goneout of it. It was as though the spirit had passed indeed. And in thestillness Herne knew that he was recrossing the gulf, that hisfriend--the boy he had known and loved--was receding rapidly, rapidlybehind the veil of years, would soon be lost to him for ever. 

The voice that spoke to him at length was the voice of a stranger. 

"Remember, " it said, "Bobby Duncannon is dead--has been dead for years!Let no woman waste her life waiting for him, for he will never return!Let her marry instead the man who wants her, and put the empty yearsbehind! In no other way will she find happiness. "

"But you?" Herne groaned. "You?"

The hand he held had slipped from his grasp. Through the dimness he sawthe man beside him rise to his feet. A moment he stood; then flung uphis arms above his head in a fierce gesture of renunciation that sent astab of recollection through Herne. 

"I! I go to my people!" said the Prophet of the Wandis. "And you--willgo to yours. "

It was final, and Herne knew it; yet his heart cried out within him forthe friend he had lost. Suddenly he found he could not bear it. 

"Bobby! Bobby!" he burst forth impulsively. "Stop, man, stop and think!There must be some other way. You can't--you shan't--go back!"

He hardly knew what he said, so great was his distress. The gulf waswidening, widening, and he was powerless. He knew that it could never bebridged again. 

"It's too big a forfeit, " he urged very earnestly. "You can't do it. Iwon't suffer it. For Betty's sake--Bobby, come back!"

And then, for the last time, he heard his friend's voice across theever-widening gulf. 

"For Betty's sake, old chap, I am a dead man. Remember that! It's youwho must go back to her. Marry her, love her, make her--forget!"

For an instant those mummy hands rested upon him, held him, caressedhim; it was almost as if they blessed him. For an instant the veil waslifted; they were comrades together. Then it fell.... 

There came a quiet movement, the sound of departing feet. 

Herne turned and blindly searched the darkness. Across the gulf he criedto his friend to return to him. 

"Bobby, come back, lad, come back! We'll find some other way. "

But there came no voice in answer, no sound of any sort. The desert hadreceived back its secret. He was alone.... 

IX

"Now, don't bother any more about me!" commanded Betty Derwent, establishing herself with an air of finality on the edge of the troutstream to which she had just suffered herself to be conducted by hercompanion. "I am quite capable of baiting my own hook if necessary. Yourun along up-stream and have some sport on your own account!"

The companion, a very young college man, looked decidedly blank overthis kindly dismissal. He had been manoeuvring to get Betty all tohimself for days, but, since everybody seemed to want her, it had beenno easy matter. And now, to his disgust, just as he was congratulatinghimself upon having gained his end and secured a _tête-à-tête_ that, with luck, might last for hours, he was coolly told to run along andamuse himself while she fished in solitude. 

"I say, you know, " he protested, "that's rather hard lines. "

"Don't be absurd!" said Betty. "I came out to catch fish, not to talk. And you are going to do the same. "

"Oh, confound the fish!" said the luckless one. 

Nevertheless, he yielded, seeing that it was expected of him, and tookhimself off, albeit reluctantly. 

Betty watched him go, with a faint smile. He was a nice boy undoubtedly, but she much preferred him at a distance. 

She sat down on the bank above the trout-stream, and took a letter fromher pocket. It had reached her the previous day, and she had alreadyread it many times. This fact, however, did not deter her from readingit yet again, her chin upon her hand. It was not a lengthy epistle. 

 "DEAR BETTY, " it said, "I am back from my wanderings, and I am coming straight to you; but I want you to get this letter first, in time to stop me, if you feel so inclined. It is useless for me to attempt to soften what I have to say. I can only put it briefly, just because I know--too well--what it will mean to you. Betty, the boy is dead, has been dead for years. How he died and exactly when, I do not know; but I have certified the fact of his death beyond all question. He died at the hands of the Wandis, when his own men, the Zambas, were defeated. So much I heard from the Wandi Mullah himself, and more than that I cannot tell you. My dear, that is the end of your romance, and I know that you will never weave another. But, that notwithstanding, I am coming--now, if you will have me--later, if you desire it--to claim you for myself. Your happiness always has and always will come first with me, and neither now nor hereafter shall I ever ask of you more than you are disposed to give. --Ever yours, "

 "MONTAGUE HERNE. "

Very slowly Betty's eyes travelled over the paper. She read right to theend, and then suffered her eyes to rest for a long time upon thesignature. Her fishing-rod lay forgotten on the ground beside her. Sheseemed to be thinking deeply. 

Once, rather suddenly, she moved to look at the watch on her wrist. Itwas drawing towards noon. She had sent no message to delay him. Would hehave travelled by the night train? But she dismissed that conjecture asunlikely. Herne was not a man to do anything headlong. He would give herample time. She almost wished--she checked the sigh that rose to herlips. No, it was better as it was. A man's ardour was different from aboy's; and she--she was a girl no longer. Her romance was dead. 

A slight sound beside her, a footstep on the grass! She turned, looked, sprang to her feet. The vivid colour rushed up over her face. 

"You!" she gasped, almost inarticulately. 

He had come by the night train after all. 

He came up to her quite quietly, with that leisureliness of gait thatshe remembered so well. 

"Didn't you expect me?" he said. 

She held out a hand that trembled. 

"Yes, I--I knew you would come; only, you see, I hardly thought youwould get here so soon. "

"But you meant me to come?" he said. 

His hand held hers closely, warmly, reassuringly. He looked into herface. 

For a few seconds she evaded the look with a shyness beyond her control;then resolutely she mastered herself and met his eyes. 

"Yes, I meant you to come. I am glad you are back. I--" She broke offsuddenly, gazing at him in consternation. "Monty, " she exclaimed, "younever told me you had been ill!"

He smiled at that, and her agitation began to subside. 

"I am well again, Betty, " he said. 

"Oh, but you don't look it, " she protested. "You look--you look as ifyou had suffered--horribly. Have you?"

He passed the question by. "At least, I have managed to come backagain, " he said, "as I promised. "

"I--I am thankful to see you again, " she faltered her shyness returningupon her. "I've been--desperately anxious. "

"On my account?" said Herne. 

She bent her head. "Yes. "

"Lest I shouldn't come back?"

"Yes, " she said again. 

"But I told you I should, " He was still holding her hand, trying to readher downcast face. 

"Oh, I knew you would if you could, " said Betty. "Only--I couldn't helpthinking--of what you said about--about sacrificing substanceto--shadow. It--was very wrong of me to send you. "

She spoke unevenly, with obvious effort. She seemed determined that heshould not have that glimpse into her soul which he so evidentlydesired. 

"My dear Betty, " he said, "I went on my own account as much as on yours. I think you forget that. Or are you remembering--and regretting--it?"

She had begun to tremble. He laid a steadying hand upon her shoulder. 

"No, " she said faintly. Then swiftly, impulsively, she raised her face. "Major Herne, I--I want to tell you something--before you say any more. "

"What is it, Betty?" he said. 

"Just this, " she made answer, speaking very quickly. "I--I am not goodenough for you. I haven't been--straight with you. I've been realizingit more and more ever since you went away. I--I'm quite despicable. I'vebeen miserable about it--wretched--all the time you have been away. "

Herne's face changed. A certain grimness came into it. 

"But, my dear girl, " he said, "you never pretended to be in love withme. "

She drew a sharp breath of distress. 

"I know, " she said. "I know. And I let you go to that dreadful place, though I knew--before you went--that, whatever happened, it could makeno difference to me. But I hadn't the courage to tell you the truth. After what passed between us that night, I felt--I couldn't. And so--andso--I let you go, even though I knew I was deceiving you. Oh, do forgiveme if you can! I've had my punishment. I have been nearly mad withanxiety lest any harm should come to you. "

"I suppose I ought to be grateful for that, " Herne said. He still lookedgrim, but there was no anger about him. He had taken his hand from hershoulder, but he still held her trembling fingers in his quiet grasp. "Don't fret!" he said. "Where's the use? I shall get over it somehow. Ifyou are quite sure you know your own mind, there is no more to be said. "He spoke with no shadow of emotion. His eyes looked into hers withabsolute steadiness. He even, after a moment, very faintly smiled. "Except good-bye!" he said. "And perhaps the sooner I say that thebetter. "

But at this point Betty broke in upon him breathlessly, almostincoherently. 

"Major Herne, I--I don't understand. You--you can say good-bye, ofcourse--if you wish. But--it will be by your own choice if you do. "

"What?" he said. 

She snatched her hand suddenly from him. 

"I suppose you mean to punish me, to make me pay for my--idiocy. You--you think--"

"I think that either you or I must be mad, " said Herne. 

"Then it's you!" flung back Betty half hysterically. "To imagine for onemoment that I--that I meant--that!"

"Meant what?" A sudden note of sternness made itself heard in Herne'svoice. He moved a step forward, and took her shoulders between hishands, looking at her closely, unsparingly. "Betty, " he said, "let us atleast understand one another! Tell me what you meant just now!"

She faced him defiantly

"I didn't mean anything. "

He passed that by. 

"Why did you ask my forgiveness?"

She made a sharp gesture of repudiation. 

"What was there to forgive?" he insisted. 

"I--I am not going to tell you, " said Betty, with great distinctness. 

Again he overlooked her open defiance. 

"You are afraid. Why?"

"I'm not!" said Betty almost fiercely. 

"You are afraid, " he repeated deliberately, "afraid of my findingout--something. Betty, look at me!"

Her face was scarlet. She turned it swiftly from him. 

"Let me go!"

"Look at me!" he repeated. 

She began to pant. She was quivering between his hands like a wild thingcaught. "Major Herne, it isn't fair of you! Let me go!"

"Never, Betty!" He spoke with sudden decision; but all the grimness hadgone from his face. "You may as well give in, for I have you at mymercy. And I will be merciful if you do, but not otherwise. "

"How dare you?" gasped Betty almost inarticulately. 

"I dare do many things, " said Montague Herne, with a smile that was notall mirthful. "How long have you left off crying for the moon? Tell me!"

"I won't tell you anything!" protested Betty. 

"Yes, you will. I have got to know it. If you will only give in like awise woman, you will find it much easier. "

His voice held persuasion this time. For a little she made as if shewould continue to resist him; then impulsively she yielded. 

"Oh, Monty!" she said, with a sob; and the next moment was in his arms. 

He held her close. 

"Come!" he said. "You can tell me now. "

"I--don't know, " whispered Betty, her face hidden. "You--frightened meby being so ready to go away again. I couldn't help wondering if it hadbeen just kindness that prompted you to come to me. It--I suppose itwasn't?" A startled note of interrogation sounded in her voice. She wastrembling still. 

"Betty, Betty!" he said. 

"Forgive me!" she whispered back, "You see, I couldn't have enduredthat, because I--love you. No, wait; I haven't finished. I want you toknow the truth. I've been sacrificing substance to shadow, reality todreams, all my life--all my life. But that night--the night I took youinto my confidence--you opened my eyes. I began to see what I was doing. But I hadn't the courage to tell you so, and it seemed not quite fair toBobby so I held my peace. 

"I let you go. But I knew--I knew before you went--that even if youfound him, even if you brought him back, even if he cared for me still, I should have nothing to give him. My feeling for him was just a dreamfrom which I had awakened. Oh, Monty, I was yours even then; and I keptit back. That was why I wanted your forgiveness. "

Breathlessly she ended, and in silence he heard her out. He was holdingher very closely to him, but his eyes looked beyond her, as though theysearched a far horizon. 

"Do you understand?" whispered Betty at last. 

He moved, and the look in his eyes changed. It was as if the horizonnarrowed. 

"I understand, " he said. 

She lifted her face, with a gesture half shy, half confiding. 

"Are you going to forgive me, Monty? I--I've paid a big price for myfoolishness--bigger than you will ever know. I kept askingmyself--asking myself--whatever I should do if you--if you brought himback. "

"Poor child!" he said. "Poor little Betty!"

She clung to him suddenly. 

"Oh, wasn't I an idiot? And yet, somehow, I feel so treacherous. Monty--Monty, you're sure he is dead?"

"Yes, he is dead, " said Herne deliberately. 

She drew a deep breath. 

"I'm so thankful he never knew!" she said. "I--I don't suppose he reallycared, do you? Not enough to spoil his life?"

"God knows!" said Montague Herne very gravely. 

 * * * * *

"Hullo!" said Betty's fellow-sportsman, making his appearance some timelater. "Getting on for grub-time, eh? How have you got on? Why, Ithought you came out to fish, and not to talk! Who on earth----"

"My _fiancé_, " said Betty quickly. 

"Your--Hullo! Why, it's Major Herne! Delighted to see you! Had no ideayou were in this country. Thought you were hunting big game somewhere inAfrica. "

"I was, " said Herne. "I--had no luck. So I came home. "

"Where--presumably--you found it! Congratulations! Betty, I'm pleased!"

"How nice of you!" said Betty. 

"Yes, it is rather, all things considered. How ever, I suppose even Imust regard it as a blessing in disguise. Perhaps, when you aremarried, you will kindly leave off breaking all our hearts for nothing!"

"Perhaps you will leave off being so foolish as to let them be broken, "returned Betty, with spirit. 

"Ah, perhaps! Not very likely though I fear. Hearts are tenderthings--eh, Major Herne? And when someone like Betty comes along thereis sure to be some damage done. It's the penalty we have to pay forbeing only human. "

"Ah, well, you soon get over it, " said Betty quickly. 

"How do you know that? I may perhaps, if I'm lucky; but there areexceptions to every rule. Some of us go on paying the penalty all ourlives. "

A moment's silence followed the light words. Betty apparently hadnothing to say. 

And then: "And some of us don't even know the meaning of the word!" saidMontague Herne.