ave loved?"

"I have never loved anybody," she cried.

"Do you know what love means?"

"I haven't the faintest conception," she laughed, mockingly.

"I believe you said that to me some time ago," he said.

"I wish I could love," she said lightly. "But I suppose the chance is
forever lost if I am doomed to stay on this island all my life."

His smile was understood by the night.

CHAPTER XXV

THE COMING OF THE ENEMY

A fever of queer emotions plagued Hugh's mind as he sought sleep that
night. He lay awake on his couch of skins for hours, striving to put
from himself the delightful conviction that had presented itself so
suddenly. Through all his efforts to convince himself that his
impressions were the result of self-conceit or a too willing egotism,
there persistently ran the tantalizing memory of her simple confession.
When at last he slept it was to dream that a gentle hand was caressing
his forehead and loving fingers were running through his hair. For a
while the hand was Grace Vernon's, then it was Tennys Huntingford's,
then Grace's, then the other's. Its touch brought a curve to his lips.

While he lay awake in these wondering hours and slept through the
changing dream, the cause of his mingled emotions lay in the next
apartment, peacefully asleep from the moment her head touched the
pillow, totally unconscious of the minutest change in her heart or in
their relationship, as contented as the night about her.

The next morning he was speculatively quiet and she was brightly
talkative as they ate breakfast. He was awake when she took her
refreshing plunge in the pool, and heard her conversing learnedly with
her attendants, as if they understood all that she said--which they did
not. It was then that he thought what a solitude life would be if she
were not a part, of it. There was nothing in her manner to indicate that
she remembered their conversation of the night before. In fact, it was
apparent that she was wholly unconscious of the impression it had made.

Two of her white-robed attendants stood in the doorway while they ate,
another industriously fanning them. The flowing white robes were
innovations of the past few days, and their wearers were pictures of
expressive resignation. Robes had been worn only by Mozzos prior to the
revolution of customs inaugurated by the white Izor, and there was
woeful tripping of brown feminine feet over treacherous folds.

"Those ghastly gowns remind me that th