s, and prayed not to wake.

"You speak when you sleep do you not, Jerry?" she said calmly,
"because you called my name, but your eyes were closed."

Then a cold sweat broke out on my forehead and I clenched my hands
under the blankets, for I knew I was awake.

"Margarita!" I gasped, "what is it? Why are you here?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you, Jerry," she answered pleasantly.
"Roger is asleep. Do you like this little room? It is my father's."

Her hair hung in two braids; one rosy bare foot showed under her
nightgown, as she sat, her hands clasped about her knees, like a boy.
The upper button of the gown was loose and I saw my milky, gleaming
pearl around her neck; it was no whiter than her even teeth.

"Get down," I said sternly, "get off the bed immediately and go back
to your room. You ought not to have come here!"

"But I do not want to get down, Jerry--the floor is cold. Roger is
asleep and he cannot talk to me. It is like being alone, when anyone
is asleep. Do you not want to talk to me, Jerry?"

"Yes, I want to talk to you, well enough," I answered in a sort of
stupor, "but--but you must go. Please go, Margarita!"

In her abominable perspicacity she answered what I meant, not what I
said.

"No," said she, shaking her head adorably, "I shall not go. Why do you
pull the blanket up to your chin so? Are you cold, too?"

My head was whirling and my breath came uneven through my lips, but I
fixed my eyes on the wall over her head, and this time there was, for
the best of reasons, no ambiguity in my voice.

"I beg and implore you, Margarita, to get down at once," I said, as
steadily as I could. "It is not at all proper for you to be here, and
I do not wish it. If you want to talk to me, I will dress immediately
and go out for a walk with you, but not unless you go instantly. Do
you understand me?"

She sighed plaintively and unclasped her hands from her knees.

"Yes, I understand you, Jerry," she said, dropping her voice that
haunting third, "but I would rather----"

"Are you going?" I cried.

"Y-yes, I am going," she murmured, and with what I knew were backward
imploring glances and argumentative pouts she slipped down,
hesitatingly, hopefully, as a child retreats, and pattered across to
the door.

When I lowered my eyes the room was empty--but where she had sat the
blanket was yet warm!

CHAPTER XV

FATE PLAYS ME IN THE SHALLOWS

To-day I dived into one of my boxes for some warme