The Cardiff Times

"f CHAPTER XXn. (Continued.) Her mother met her on her way to their cabin. She took ber daughter by the hand and looked at ber with all a mother's tenderness of inquiry in boreyes. Claire was surprised. There was a phrase of congratulation trembling on her toother's lips. Claire was puzzled. "I saw yon standing apart from everyone at the rail. Have you anything to tell me ?" whis- pered Mrs La Roache. "What should I have to tell you?" said Claire. What did yoa expect me to tell you, my dear another ?" I don't know. I hoped-I hoped a great Ùeal," said her mother. Mr Trent—I saw that he was interested in vou from the first-I often Wondered if he wouli have set oat on this crnise .04 all if it bad not b,in his intention to-to-if I fee had not been so greatly interested in you-in us. Of course, he might look anywhere—when a tttan is a millionaire, and not yet forty-he is I Actually only thirty-seven-well, the whole world >8 at his feet. StiJJ, there is no better family in the world than your poor father's. Even if the Castle is in ruins there is enough left to show what the Roaches were at their best. A-nd yon are beautifnl, my dear child. There is no one Vho would dare to say that if a Prince—not a Balkan Prince, areal Prince-a Royal house- Irish bouse-that is why he was never known I except as La Roache in France, and afterwards in the Balkans- I "Dear mother," said Claire, I do not feel quite myself to-night. I have been strangely ner- voue since sunset, and that is probably why I cannot understand, to save my life, what you are saying. I have no notion any more than an infant might have why you talk to me in these snatches about nothing in particular and yet so earnestly. I wonder what it is to have sunstroke coming on, I begin to be a little frightened for rayself. I am going to bed." She had passed her mother, but her mother de- tained her. What have I got except you, mv darling child ?" she whispered, and Claire knew that the tears were in her eyes while she spoke. Is it not natural that I should have my hopes » I know tten, and I have seen how they sometimes make fools of themselves over women—not that anyone to earth would dare to suggest that with you- though some folks talk of Irish adventurers." Oh, mother, mother, if you knew how my head is aching. It has begon-I knew it would begin, I have been so nervous," cried Claire. OJ Great heavens. Yon may have contracted tome of the dreadful maladies these islands are toled for—yellow fever—malaria— Or the ague shakes—the thing that the old buccaneers used to suffer from so badly. That's J what I have, and it yon hear a voice in thenriddle »f the night calling out,' Billy Magraw, fetch aft She rD m,' you need not take it for John Silvers I parrot, but for me. Good night, you dear old loolisb thing, and I implore of yon not to be a lool, though you are my mother." I Clair hastened past her ana got within her own stateroom, shutting the door tight behind ber. She threw herself on her bed without removing even her bodice. She was overwhelmed I by her own thoughts, and not one of them re- ferred to anything that her mother had just I laid her mother's words, disjointed and inarti- culate, bad conveyed to her nothing except that ker mother was trying to bint something to her. What overwhelmed poor Claire was the thought that Philip Trent thought the same of her as he did before she had told him of her deception. ifhat meant that she was continuing to deceive Aim. That was because she bad been too vague she had not had strength or courage to acquaint him With the details of her deception and such an opportunity of doing so as 3he bad had might never occur again. The passion for confession (at odd times) which seems to be part of most women's natures and which has ruined the happi- ness of countless women, in addition to turning many truthful women into keepers of diaries— j for if a woman has no actual fault to confess she will invent one—was upon her. It had been upon j her all the evening, increasing in intensity dur. ing the balf-boor which she had spent looking over the side of the yacht, debating in her own I mind the question as to whether of the two men I' Would be more likely to forgive her were they io-lown the extent of her delinquencies. Claire handed tbe letter to the officer of the watch I And there she lay with her face down upon I the white face of the pillow, feeling all the I agony of suppressed confession. A sense of ber Own guilt had kept her there and it seemed to be increasing every moment and not the least revolting of its features was its reflection-con- stantly with her- that since she had satisfied her I conscience at first that her friend Lady Etelyn would be far haopier with Lord Medway than ahe would ever be with Stephen, she had never had more than a passing qualm. That was a detestable thought to have. She was overwhelmed by it. What was it that had blinded her perception all those weeks ? How was 't that after so long an interval she had at last been restored to sight ? For an hour she lay there, tortured by her remorse—tortured by the puzzling questions wbieh were put to her by the irritating falsetto »f eome iIQD within ber brain. And ahe had no one to whom she could confess. 8he bad no sympathetic ear into which she conld Donr the story of her wrongdoing, and so get rid of it for ever. Women are so religious that they have long ago come to regard confession of a fault as souivalent-with something over for future use-to expiation of that fault. She bad no one to whom she could confess. Oh if Lady Evelyn were but among the pas. fencers," she cried. She felt that ten minutes with Lady Evelyn would make her all right. Lady Evelyn was thousands of miles away. and jt 'Was impossible for her to x She started up and stood in beautiful dishevel. oi6nt in the middle of her cabin. She dung out a land and switched on the lamp. The picture that ahe saw in the mirror in front of her was of i girl with tossed hair falling about a white face, attt of which looked large, innocent, frightened ayes. a mouth that would have served as a perfect toodel for a painter of a figure of Expecta- tion "—parted lips, a hand on her heart. A sadden thought had come to her, and it came to her with all the force of a supreme revelation, lifting ber from her bed and setting her on her feet. 'After a breathless interval-an interval of I bated breath and beating heart-she sprang to the satinwood escritoire which was braced to the bulkhead and made a soatch for paper and pens. She sat down and began to write with the rapidity and the fluencv with which letters are Written in a scene on the stgge, her pen flying over the paper for dear life, and page after page being thumped upon the blotting paper. In a quarter ot an hour she bad BCiawled her name, *nd was gathering up the sheets and folding U»e» feverishly. thrusting envelope that was at hand. £ envelope when she bad addressed it upon the blotter, and, jumping up, wrapped her dressing- Sown about her and hurried on decK. „nj>r. The decks were deserted bvall e«ept the taehor watch and the th.ru °f^er; who •cooking in a deck-chair. She hastened to him Wiih the letter, and when be rose and put a to his cap she said— '• Good-night, Mr Stone. I have brought you • letter wbich I want you to be good enough to have posted for me ashore. The yacht will be Inder weigh very early, will it not Engineer has orders to have steam up at six bells, Mism La Roache. Steward is going ashore *t font belle. I had best give the letter to him. I don't like trusting these brigands in the boats, the officer. *• So many thanks. said sbe. I snouldn t bother yon only that it is particular. I put off Writing it until the last moment. Good-night, Mr j ril cot forget It, Miss La R°aclle- log man, once more putting up a finger to his and then watching ber returning to tbe deck- house. She had fastened her dressing gown m ?%rei«RB haste, and a gleam of white at the Jasp *fc*d met his eyes. He wished to heaven that^she b*d «ked him to do something difficult for her— •"nething shockingly unlawful—say, put a PO two of dynamite in the coal bunkers. Shewas the- Rart of girl for whom a man would go 'bVough Gre &oil watar and a Board of Trade in- beautiful, creature of the whito necks,nd £ °som went back to her cabin, and undressing with deliberation got into her bed ana jftll asleep between the act of lying down and *^Tin« her head on the pillow. The letter which she had written was addressed Lady Evelvn Carnaleigb, and contained a confession of tbe writer's treachery in matter of Mr Stephen Urquhart and his oner love with aa obligation of secrecy. CHAPTER XXIII. Claire had never given a thought as to what her attitude should be in regard to Stephen Urquhart for the remainder of the cruise. She did not feel nearlv so much resentment against him after she had made her confession to Lady EveJvn as she had an hour before, when she had accused him, in thought, of leading her into ways that were crooked. She had not had many opportunities during the voyage of being alone with him. He had been thoughtful enough to warn her when they started of the absolute necessity there was for preventing the possibility of awaking the suspicions of the most acute of their fellow-passengers in regard to the under- standing that existed between Mr Trent's private secretary and herself. He gave an intellectual definition of their respective atti- tudes. They were, of course, to be reservad in regard to each other, but at the same time not too reserved he assured her that there could not be a more compromising bearing of a woman to- ward a man than one of over-reaerve. Unneces- sary frigidity and unnecessary rigidity in their bearing towards each other were as certain to arouse suspicion nay. more certain, than exces- sive friendliness. He was a Polonious himself in his counsel to her in regard to this particular matter, and she agreed implicitly with all that he said, though it was unhappily in her power to tell him that be had upon one occasion at least shown a want of caution in his bearing in respect of one young woman whom be had no doubt cautioned as carefully as be was doing herself. But it was just because sbe had once heard that hushed Good night whispered at the foot of the staircase at Saunamara that Claire made up her mind to be even more careful than Stephen entreated her to be. She bad seen her- self carefolly scrutiniaed through the tortoise- shell and gold-framed lorgnettea-tbo sort that have handles—of some of the ladies who were to be her fellow-guests on the cruise, and she had no difficulty in perceiving that they were trying to determine what ber position was to be among the ship's company-whotbor she had been asked in order to divert suspicion from someone else or simply because she was a good Bridge player. She could hear the whispers of some and the purrs of others—for it is considered lucky to have a cat or two aboard every ship, and Mr Trent had sent invitations to two of the class "felinas." and they bad come with lorgnettes and smiles of the Cheshire variety. She had been very careful-so careful that be- fore Barbadoes was reached the musivorous prow- lers were puzzled and disappointed. She- had been as friendly as anyone aboard with Stephen, but no more so and although a certain Colonel Gilford had shown a strong desire to make love to her it stray corners, yet she still remained on friendly terms with him also, and this dis- couraged him She was, in fact, a model of dis- cretion. That was why some of the ship s company-in- cluding Colonel Gifford-callea her (in talk among themselves) cold as an icicle- but they all admitted that she had lovely eyes. Others were harder on her and called her thoughtful; but they also allowed that she had beautiful eyes. A faw others said that she knew how to dress and these were the people who hinted (among themselves) that she belonged to a family of ad. venturers. When a really handsome woman is really handsomely dressed, she is called an ad- vgutaress-sometimeb an American-by those I social felinse the velvet of whose claws has become somewhat frayed. Of course Stephen Urqubanh very good reeson for feeling satisfied with her discreet behaviour, with her coldness and with her taste in dress. He could not but feel that it would be something more than awkward for himself were it ever suspected that there was even that vague thing known as an understanding be. tween Claire and himself. To be sure, he was a man who had always at band an emergency exit, opening outwards, by which he could escape from any situation that was getting too hot for him. He had early in life taken care that his conscience as well as his memory was pro- vided with emergency exits, and he had occa- sionally found them very convenient. Just now he knew that should the worst come to the worst should the truth come to be known in the matter of his understanding with Claire-be conld use Lady Evelyn as an emergency exit to effect his escape from what many men would call & tight place. He saw this all along. If Mr Trent, who had confided in him that he loved Claire, were to suspect something and asked him if he, Stephen Urquhart, had been making love to Claire la Roache, be could restore his confidence by simply saying to him I am engaged to marry Lady Evelyn." But everything had one on so well that there was not the smallest chance now of his being I compelled to fall back upon such an explanation. For he had made that little excursion of his I ashore at the beautiful island of Martinique. and had climbed some distance an the picturesque slooe of Mont Pelee, and now the yacht Curlew four days later was steaming past the Palisadoes and Port Royal in the harbour of Kingston, I Jamaica, and maids and valets were busy packing trunks, poitmantaux, and kitbags, to be conveyed at the hotel at Constant Spring at the foot of the beautiful Blue Mountains, where rooms by the dozen had Deen cabled for by Mr Trent. to accommodate himself and bis guests for a week or two. 01 That evening after dinner Claire sat on the verandah of the hotel by the side of Philip Trent and a few others of the Cnrlew's company, feeling as if rest had come to her at last. The Blue Mountains seemed to give her the sense of being within the soothing influence of a great shadow in a weary land. Velvety- purple beneath the hollow cupola-arch of a sky of passionate stars, peak and ridge rose before her eves, not majestic, but gracious of outline and gentle of contour. The palms of the garden in front of the verandah were motionless, and not a leaf was stirring of the fnll-foliaged boughs of a mango. avenue, but every now and again there came a I waft of heavy scented flowers through the air as though the flowers were bieathing their souls into the night. The dewy perfumes of grove and crass were full of inexpressible tenderness to the wanderers who had come to this lotus land straight from the salt sea. Fireflies twinkled about the dark of the trees they weie like tbe reflection of stars in a silent irregularly rippling SCIn the long drawing-room of the hotel a band of strings were playing softly—not a selection from some of the jingling Hyaway Girls that bad made England ridiculous for some years, but a Concerto by Beethoven-something in sympathy with the sombre softness of this night of tropical warmth and rich scents. At intervals the musical tinkle of the tramcar bells and the soft hum of the wheels on the rails were heard faint through the distance, and ever and unceasing the chirrup of the tree-lizards quivered and shivered through the night. Not a false note I" said Claire in a whisper, when Philip turned to her with a smile that was almost a whisper and a question. Exquisite." He nodded and remained silent. The strings in the music-room had died away into silence, but out of the silence there came the gracious awakening of Gounod s "Berceuse' nlaved by a single viohnceHo with a note of the piano straving into the theme now and again. The" Berceuse" is the serenade that the lily sinus to the nightingale when the rose has wasted itself away in passion. It was so pathetically played that even Lady Innisfail. who was seated some distance away, not on the verandah but in the garden, was silent Archie Browne, who had really aa ear for music when Norah told him what to admire, suggested to Philip the advisability of sending a couple of five-pound Bank of England notes to the musicians—but his play upon the word Notes was delivered, to do him justice, sotto voce to Colonel Gifford. who had contrived to get into a chair immediately behind Claire. Yes Mr Archie Browns was extremely apprecia- tive, the musicians thought. And Archie thought that Philip Trent was a perfect stick—an in- sensible stick-because he only shook his bead in response to Archie's suggestiou. When tbe music ceased people began to stroll out to the garden. The moon had just risen large and glowing over the Blue Mountains, and beneath its light valley and ndge became clear. The etars faded away with the dying strains of the music and the fire-fly torches became feeble. onlight was over every- The glamour of the moonlight was over every- thing It made a silvery embroidery to the great leaves of the plantains, and it caused the palms to cast fantastic shadows over the grass of the tennis courts. This was in the early night; but balf-an-bour later the whole world bad wakened to the yellow flood of moonlight as the world wakens to a sunrise.. Claire stood at the verandah rail with Philip. He seemed somewhat distrait at the moment He was smoking, and every now and then be ap- peared to be anxious in regard to the burning of his cigar. He had an aspect of nervousness, but nervousness in repose. He had his back turned to the mountains and the moon as he leant against the ironwork of the verandah. He had scarcelv a word for anyone. But his silence had no chance of being obtru- sive, for among the forty passengers from the mail steamer Orinoco who were sojourning at Constant Springs there was young Turnleigh. the poet. His friends called him a poet, but the people who called themselves poets called him » mere metriciac." Others called him a mere tricions metneist," which sounded like compounding a felony. He was really none of these but only a babbler. He had squeezed himself beside Claire, to whom he had been presented by one of his fellow- passengers, and he babbled about the moonlight. No, no, mv friend Sydney, your moon is not for these latitudes," said, shaking his head aud waving his hand to the left. You remember Sydney's lines, Miss La Roache ?— With what sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st i the sky, How silently and with how wan a face I' That is the moon of the cold North-tbe land which we huve left behind us. There is no suggee- tion cf sadness about that massive moonlight j tbat clothes us as with a garment-a silver and satin flowing robe of moonlight it is-and the silver embroideries of that splendid garment contain some mystic suggestions of passion-I know not what, I cannot see them, but I know thai thev are there before me—curious symbols that hM-e gmwn wit the growth of the race f and only decayed with its decadence—a wonder of curves and interlacings, passion made sublime by suffering. Ah, there you have the true note i. of tropic moonlight. May you never forget it- I the true note of mortal life that becomes im- mortal through passion and sorrow for the cursa of immortality that has been imposed upon it." My aunt," broke in Archie Browne. It's I enough for a white man to think of it as matt- gilt, hand bumiahed moonlight. And I'm off for a cock-tail, anyway." Give me the moonlight of Romeo and Juliet' music by Gonnod, libretto by Shake- speare," cried Lady Innisfail. There's no mooniight worth talking about except that at Covent Garden, Moonlight and Melba. There's a dnet for you — moonlight is a duet, never a solo. That's what makes it so very human. It is always a duet, and if it is true it palpitates. There's a mystery for you, Mr Turnleigh." But Mr Turnleigh did not care greatly for other people's mysteries. He was in the business himself. But he would have dearly liked going for a stroll round the garden with Miss La Roache, and he said as much with his voice and much more with his eyes to Miss La Roache her- self. His project only broke down (be thought) through Miss La Roache's saying an alert Good-night to him prominently, and to the others on the verandah incidentally. Every chair in the great central lounge of the hotel had been occupied immediately after dinner but a good nuny of the sojourners had been passengers in the mail steamer that had arrived the day before, and having had enough of tossing to last them for some time, they had retired to their rooms, so that only about a dozen psople-some of them belonging to the Curfew- were on the setteei under the palm plants. Claire ivaved a good night to those nearest to her as she turned aside, on entering, to the staircase and I went to her room, which opened off a spacious boudoir with green jalousied windows just above the garden. The windows were open, and tbe jalousies thrown back, so that the room was flooded with moonlight, with the shadow of the tuft of the I great palm outside thrown upon the floor. Trent turned when he felt her hand uponbisarm Claire could see through the space between the two folds of her bedroom door the white muslin mosquito curtains inviting her beneath their canopy, but on tbe other hand there was the en- hancement of the moonlight and the scefits floating up from the garden—the incantation, hovering through the warm air. of the tree lizards. She seated herself in a chair at one of the open windows, and yielded to the fascination of the Nocturne of Nature outside. Voices were murmuring below, and there was an occasional whiff of a cigar mingling with the perfume of the roses and the yellow caladium bushes. In the course of a riuarter of an hour only a few men were left in the garden. Claire could hear the frou-frou of the dinner dresses on the stairs and corridors at the other side of her room. Suddenly a single figure arose from the garden chair beneath the great palm, and strolled into the light. She saw in a moment that it was Philip Trent, who had been sitting there alone since Lady Innisfeil and Norah had left his side-she had seen Norah and her mother cross the carriage drive and go up the steps to the porch before she had Deen at her window for five minutes. Philip Trent strolled away a few steps, and then remained motionless for a short time. as if lost in thought. He retraced bra steps as casually as before, ant threw one leg over the back of the ganten chair--only for a coupie of minutes, how. ever. He put his hanas behind bim, and with the slightly bent-bead of the thinker crossed the green patch toward the bend in the carriage drive. He did not go so far as the drive he ceased his objectless stroll, and apparently in that thoughtlessness wbich comes from too much thinking began to return to the botel-but. obliquely, so that be might come out among the sago palms and oleandera of tbe garden. Claire won<{ered what was the deep question that he was working out. She bad often watcbed him walk about in this fashion at Suanamara and bis walk was invariably followed by a, period of great activity in the secretarial staff, p hundreds of telegrams and cablegrams being despatched. Suddenly she saw something that puzzled her. She had seen the shadow of Philip Trent thrown on the bright grass, and then, as he paused tor a minute or two, it seemed to her eyes as if his shadow were cast j the opposite direction a well. At first she fancied that he was standing beside some shrub but when he walked on she saw what was taking place he was being followed by a black figure of a man across the grass. The figure was immediately behind him—a sombre shambling figure, apparently wearinft a cloak, and so close behind him that Claire won- dered how it was that Philip did not become aware of his presence. He was not aware of his presence or his action; so much was quite cer- tain to the girl, and this surprised her at first and then frightened her. Where had the man sprung from ? How had he got behind Mr Trent in the middle of the broad lawn without his becoming aware of his ap- proach ? What business had he now to dog his steps in this fashion- to become his second shadow, as it had seemed to her that he was ? She was puzzled, then angry, and, lastly, frightened, She stood up between the open jttlonsies almost breathless with the excitement caused by her tbougbt-ber apprehension. There he went, slowly, backward and forward upon the grass, his head slightly bent, and there the strange figure followed him and yet by no motion, by no gesture, did he suggest that be was aware of that mysterious presence. I He—they—came slowly along the carriage drive toward the hotel porch she could hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel, butorlyofODSper- son. This fact terrified her still more, for unless the nilent one meant some wickedness why should he step so Btealtbily as to make no sound what- ever ? » She was now leaning out of the window be- they-had come so close to the building she could not see them otherwise-she was leaning out sideways, her left hand holding back the swinging jalousie. They were coming alongside the porch and would be under her window in a few minutes; tbey-no, only be-to her amaze- ent she saw that Philip Trent was alone. At first she had an impression that the other was crouching behind him, and was thus concealed by him but the moon was at one side of him throwing hIs shadow across the bright carriage drive, and there was but one shadow. When he had almost reached the porch he stopped, and turning halfway round began to walk to the garden seat at the side of the great palm. The moment he turned she gave a cry- scarcely stifling it. He was there still-that stealthy following figure, and yet there was but one shadow in the moonlight, She saw Philip Trent make a pause as if he had heard her little cry. He paused and turned his bead slightly, then strolled on toward the seat. She had drawn back from the window out of sight. But he did not glance in the direction i of the window. She would have called out to him but for the fact of her mother's occupying the second bed- room, the door of which opened on to the bou- doir and was slightly ajar. The sound of a voice would have aroused her in a momant, Claire knew. When, however, Philip was within half a dozen yards of the black shade made by the dense mangoes beyond the tall palms she had a hor- rible feeling that if he once went out of tbe moonlight he would never be seen again. That loathsome Thing behind him wonld have strangled the life out of him in the darkness. In a second she had rushed to the door, noise- lessly but swiftly down the stairs she went into the deserted hall, through a faint scent of cigarette smoke, and ont through the wide open door, startling out of his feeble senses the negro porter who was sprawling on one of the Madeira chairs. Her feet could not have made any perceptible sound on the gravel, and the air was simmering with the chirrup of the tree lizards, yet Philip turned about and waited for her. He was still a step within the moonlight. She was almost in his arms—clutching at his hand, looking not at him, but behind him- beyond him into the place of shadows. Heavens 1 What is the matter ? My poor child," be said, laying bis other hand upon bers. She was breathless. j; 1 saw him behind yon," she gasped "A strange, wicked figure-black. I was at my win- dow. You were there on the lawn he followed you-l saw him—stealthily. I was frightened-- even now but where has he gone ? How was it that you did not hear him, close close behind you—so close that it seemed to be but one—one shadow ? I felt that if you went into that dark- ness you would die but you are here—he is gone. You think me a fooa girl." My poor chi!d," he saió-, what can I think of you except what I do think-all that is good, all that is sweet ? How can I thank you ? You have saved me from-from something. I will not go on to the seat, I will go back with you to the hotel." But I tell you tbat I saw bim—oh, perfectly clear. I tried to make allowance for—for every- thing, she cried,perceiving that he was humour- ing her, politely indulgent in regard to a foolish freak of her imagination. "How can I ever thank you sufficiently ?" he said. Some important nigger, I dare say. I II remember now that I did hear something—it may have been the thump of his feet beside me." I You could not; he made no eonncl-I listened for it. He shadowed you-so close-even now—" She looked apprehensively towards the man- goes. You are frightened," be said. Bat there is nothing to be frightened at now, my dear I Claire. You have saved me. Let me tell you how it was that I became oblivious to every sound—every presence near me-save only one." She stood in front of him, white and lovely in" the mellow moonlight. Her hair had become slightly disordered a long loose strand was lying, with a coiled curled end, on one of her bare shoulders. Her heart was still beating quickly within her bosom and its papitations were palpahle exquisite beneath the lily curves that swelled against the bondage of her bodice. Her throat and bosom were milk-white in the moonlight, and warm as milk to his face as she leant towards him,her eyes still gazing be- yond him into the shadows. He put his hand upon her bare arm soothingly. He saw that she had not heard a word that he bad spoken. She was too greatly interested in air that she was apprehensive of among the shadows of the trees. I think that I had better investigate that mystery. It will satisfy you-both of us. "he said, making a movement towards the trees. She grasped bis arm with both her hands. No, no-for God's sake," she said in a, whisper. No, no I will not let yon go there. Oh, you think that I have only had a foolish fancy but—I will not let you go there. I have » feeling—the shadow of death." And 1 have more faith in your feeling than I have in anything that exists," said he. I will not go near the trees. You must calli] your- self, my Claire there can be no danger now. You have saved me from—something. 1 trust to your feeling." Still she remained with her eyes fixed upon the same idlace-still apprehensive. Even when he drew her gently away she cast a glance every now' and then behind her. They went towards the hotel porch,both silent. I should hke to tell you what I was thinking of all this evening-all this night." he said. I should like to tell yon what was the thought that sbsorbed me so that I was unconscious of-of anything near me—any danger that :threatened me." Do not tell me anything now," she said with a curious shiver. I feel tbat-tbat some danger is threatening. I feel that if you were to speak-yes, a single word- a blow might fall upon us. Let us go inside the hotel. I think that if I know that you are within I shaH feel at ease. What a cuiious nigbt for me. All the mystery that used to be about these islands seems to have remained in the atmosphere and I feel that I have breathed deeply of it. I feel at this moment as if i were walking in a dream -as if this were the moonlight of a dream-and that place "—they bad reached the entrance ball of the hotel-" some place chat I am revisiting in my sleep." And I too have felt all this evening as if I have been in a dream—a very sweet dream—the only dream that ever entered my life," said he a dream of the future, and of the fature with love never separated from it for a day or an hour or a thought. That was rather a strange vision for me, was it not, Claire ?" She looked at him for a few moments, her eyes upon his. And then she felt a sudden glow fly through every part of her body ae if she had all at once swallowed a subtle liqueur-warm and exhilarating for a moment, but then bringing on a delicious languor-an entrancing drowsiness. She was conscious of her eyes half-closing. At that moment she put out a hand to him. Good night," she said. Good night." He took her hand and held it for a moment. Good night," he said. Before she had withdrawn her hand,he had his other arm round her and was holding her tightly to him, kissing her on the cheeks, her forehead, her mouth. She made not the least attempt to resist him. She seemed to know by instinct that it would be of no use to make such an attempt. She submitted. She did not return one of his kisses, but when he released her she did not feel that she had been shamed. She only fled silently up the stairs and into her room. Her mother spoke to her from within in the snrpliced voice of the newly-awakened. She asked her if she had just come upstairs, adding that she fancied she had heard someone in the outer room earlier in the night. Claire managed to tide over her mother's waking space, and all the time that she was giving vague replies to half-heard inquiries she was looking at bar face in the glass-at her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth-it seemed to her that she was someone quite apart from the figure in the glass. It seemed to her that she was someone who had been watching the adventures of one Claire ]a Roache during the evening. She was on the verge of being amused when she thought of all that that young woman had gone through, but she was overwhelmed with wonder to find that the thought of the kiase3 which she had received (passively) made her feel happy. She was not palpitating now. She was at-restr. Even the wonder of her own feelfng of happiness was not disturbing to her-it was even soothing to her. She was conscious of a curious sensation as of a question answered—a sensation of satis- faction and thus she undressed and went to her white bed under the white mosquito curtains in a soft glow of sublime contentment. She was asleep in a minute. (To be Continued.)