d not fail to see a
beautiful chain and ornament about her slender white throat.

"But it's a long way," spoke the girl. "My name is Bird of Paradise.
What might yours be?"

"Betsy Dixon," replied Tavia aptly. "Yours is a much prettier name.
May I call you Birdie?"

"Certainly, and I shall call you Betty. I have a friend named Betty."

For some moments they walked along in silence. The two girls were as
different in dress and manner as were Dorothy and Tavia, and the
latter noticed how much like Dorothy the strange girl was. About the
same height, same colored hair, and the same deep, blue eyes.

"Are there no houses near here?" asked Tavia. "I am afraid night will
catch us soon."

"Oh, yes, there is a hotel over that ledge. It is there I am taking
you."

Tavia hoped it was true. She had passed through the stage of
sensitiveness, and was now only anxious to get somewhere or near
somewhere, for the night. She had made up her mind that she would ask
the first person she met to help her, with money or by directing her
to shelter. There was no longer any doubt as to her distress--night
was coming and she was almost worse than alone, and in the woods.

The girl in white walked along humming now, waving her arms every time
a bird passed, and when she did speak to Tavia her remarks seemed more
rambling than ever.

"We seem miles from every place," remarked Tavia weakly. "I do
wish----"

"There! There!" exclaimed the strange girl. "There is my flying
station! See that precipice?" pointing to a cliff far out on the ledge
of the hill over which they were walking. "Just over there is my
station. I told you I was Bird of Paradise. I am not--I am Madam
Fly-Fly, the French balloonist. Now watch me!"

"Don't!" shrieked Tavia. But it was too late. The girl had rushed to
the edge of the cliff, and with a wild wave of her arms had thrown
herself over!

Tavia, stunned at the suddenness of her tragic action, stood for a
moment looking down at the heap of white that lay so far below her.

Then she turned cautiously, and started down the dangerous descent
herself, clutching at brush and bramble as she tried to reach the
girl, who might be dead, in the moss and rocks that made such a
beautiful setting for the stream rambling on, unmindful of the terror
on its brink.

Tavia must reach the girl; but what then?

CHAPTER XX

HAPLESS TAVIA

Step by step, or rather, move by move, Tavia struggled to reach in
safety t