s object was speed. Ahead of him stretched nine miles of
perfect macadam, with enough beauty to fill the eye and heart with joy
for every mile, and at the end of the journey--unless he could
happily overtake her sooner--was Duska.

The car sped up between the villas, up to the white ribbon of road
where the ships, lying at anchor in the purpled water beneath, were
white toys no longer than pencils, where towns were only patches of
roof tiles, and mountainsides mere rumpled blankets of green and
color; where the road-houses were delights of picturesque rusticity
and flower-covered walls.

Thanks to a punctured tire, Marston found a large dust-coated car
standing at the roadside when he had covered only half of the journey.
It was drawn up near a road-house that sat back of a rough stone wall,
and was abandoned save for the chauffeur, who labored over his task of
repair. But Marston stopped and ran up the stone stairs to the small
terrace, where, between rose bushes that crowded the time-stained
facade of the modest caravansery, were set two or three small tables
under a trellis; and, at one of the tables, he recognized Mrs. Horton.

Mrs. Horton rose with a little gasp of delight to welcome him, and
recognized how his eyes were ranging in search for an even more
important personage while he greeted her. Off beyond the road, with
its low guarding wall of stone, the mountainside fell away
precipitously to the sea, stretching out below in a limitless expanse
of the bluest blue that our eyes can endure. The slopes were thickly
wooded.

"We blew out a tire," explained Mrs. Horton, "and Duska is exploring
somewhere over the wall there. I was content to sit here and wait--but
you are younger," she added with a smile. "I won't keep you here."

From inside the tavern came the tinkle of guitars, from everywhere in
the clear crystalline air hung the perfume of roses. Marston, with
quick apologies, hastened across the road, vaulted the wall, and began
his search. It was a brief one, for, turning into a clearing, he saw
her below him on a ledge. She stood as straight and slim and
gracefully erect as the lancelike young trees.

He made his way swiftly down the slope, and she had not turned nor
heard his approach. He went straight to her, and took her in his arms.

The girl wheeled with a little cry of recognition and delight; then,
after a moment, she held him off at arms' length, and looked at him.
Her eyes were deep, and need