eet flesh. She snatched
her hand away with a faint cry, and sprang to her feet, and her cheeks
blazed anew as she turned to go.

"You want to leave me? You would punish me like that--just for a kissed
hand?"

He barred her way, taller than herself, though he stood upon the sloping
lower level. She had learned always to be true in thought and speech.

"I--don't--like to be touched." She said it without looking at him.

"You put your hand upon my head. Why did you do it if you hate me so?"

"I--don't hate you!"

"I love you! My rose, my dove, my star, my joy! Queen of all the girls
that ever I saw or dreamed of, say that you could love me back again!"

"I--must not."

Her bosom heaved. He could see the delicate white throat vibrating with
the tumultuous beating of her heart.

"Why not? Nobody has told you anything against me? Nobody has said to you
that I have no right to love you?" he demanded.

"No."

"Look at me."

The golden hazel, dark-lashed eyes she shyly turned to his were full of
exquisite, melting tenderness. Her lips parted to speak, and closed again.
He leaned towards her--hung over her, his own lips irresistibly attracted
to those sweetest ones....

"Lord Beauvayse----" she began, and stopped.

He begged:

"Please, not the duffing title, but 'Beauvayse' only. Tell me you love me.
Tell me that you'll wait until I'm able to come to you and say: 'My
beloved, the way's clear. Be my wife to-morrow!'"

His tone was masterful. His ardent eyes thrilled her. She murmured:

"Beauvayse ...!"

She swayed to him, as a young palm sways before a breeze, and he caught
her in his strenuous, young embrace, and held her firmly against him. Her
old terrors wakened, and dreadful, unforgettable things stirred in the
darkness, where they had lain hidden, and lifted hydra-heads. She cried
out wildly, and strove to thrust him from her, but he held her close.
There was a shaking among the tangled growths of bush and cactus high up
on the opposite bank, and Lynette realised that Beauvayse's arms no
longer held her. She leaned back against the boulder, panting and
trembling, and saw Beauvayse's revolver glitter in his steady hand, as
something came crashing down through the tangled jungle upon the edge of
the farther shore, and a heavily-built man in khaki pushed through the
shoulder-high growth of reeds, and leaped upon a rock that had a swirl of
water round it. It was Saxham.

"Miss Mildare!" called the strong