nt of all that thou hast done since I left thee in the rose garden or
I will split thy ears and stretch thy soul upon a torture rack of hideous
noise."

She lifted her violin again, threateningly. The novelist came down the
path, on a run, to seat himself upon the gray boulder.

The artist shouted with laughter. But the novelist and the girl paid no
heed to his unseemly merriment.

"Speak,"--she commanded, waving her wand,--"what hast thou done?"

"Did I not obey thy will and, under such terms as I could procure, open
for thee the treasure room of thy desire?" growled the man on the rock.

"And still," she retorted, "when I made myself subject to those terms, and
obediently looked not upon the hidden mystery--still the room of my
desires became a trap betraying me into rude hands from which I narrowly
escaped. And you--you fled the scene of your wrong-doing, without so much
as by-your-leave, and for these long weeks have wandered, irresponsible,
among my hills. Did you not say that my home was under these glowing
peaks, and in the purple shadows of these canyons? Did you think that I
would not find you here, and charm you again within reach of my power?"

"And what is thy will, good spirit?"--he asked, humbly--"tell me thy will
and it shall be done--if thou wilt but make music _only_ upon the
instrument that is in thy hand."

With a laugh, she ended the play, saying, "My will is that you and Mr.
King come, to-morrow evening, for supper with Miss Willard and me. Brian
Oakley and Mrs. Oakley will be there. I want you too."

The men looked at each other in doubt.

"Really, Miss Andres," said the artist, "we--"

The girl interrupted with one of her flash-like changes. "I have invited
you. You _must_ come. I shall expect you." And before either of the men
could speak again, she sprang lightly across the little stream, and
disappeared through the willow wall.

"Well, I'll be--" The novelist checked himself, solemnly--staring blankly
at the spot where she had disappeared.

The artist laughed.

"What do you think of it?" demanded Conrad Lagrange, turning to his
friend.

Aaron King, packing up his things, answered, "I think we'd better go."

Which opinion was concurred in by Brian Oakley who dropped in on them that
evening.

Chapter XX

Myra's Prayer and the Ranger's Warning

That same afternoon, while Sibyl Andres was making music for Aaron King in
the spring glade, Brian Oakley, on his way down