me without the sacrifice. This mood bore him company to Babylon Lane,
but the sight of the white gate of Dovelands Cottage terminated a train
of thought. Here it was that the story related by Fawkes had had its
setting.

No one responded to the ringing of the cattle-bell, and the door of the
cottage was closed. In the absence of a knocker Paul rapped with his
stick, and having satisfied himself that Mrs. Duveen and her daughter
were not at home turned away disappointed. He had counted upon an
intimate chat with Flamby, which should enable him to form some personal
impression of her true character.

He returned slowly along Babylon Lane, and passing the path through the
orchard, he chose that which would lead him through the fringe of the
wood wherein he and Don had first seen Flamby. Evidently the wood was a
favourite haunt of the girl's, for as he crossed the adjoining meadow he
saw her in front of him, lying flat upon a carpet of wild flowers, now
shadowed by the trees, her chin resting in one palm and her elbow upon
the ground. In her right hand she held a brush, which now and again she
applied with apparent carelessness to a drawing lying on the grass
before her, but without perceptibly changing her pose.

The morning was steamy and still, giving promise of another tropically
hot day, but Paul approached so quietly that he came within a few yards
of Flamby without disturbing her. There he stopped, watching and
admiring. She was making a water-colour drawing of a tiny lamb which
lay quite contentedly within reach of her hand, sometimes looking up
into her face confidently and sometimes glancing at the woolly mother
who grazed near the fringe of the trees. Flamby was so absorbed in her
work that she noted nothing of Paul's approach, but the mother sheep
looked up, startled, and the lamb made a sudden move in her direction.

"Be good, Woolly," said Flamby, and her voice had that rare vibrant note
which belongs to the Celtic tongue; "I have nearly finished now."

But the lamb's courage had failed, and not even the siren voice could
restore it. With the uncertain steps of extreme youth it sought its
mother's side, and the two moved away towards the flock which grazed in
a distant corner of the meadow.

"I fear I have disturbed you."

The effect of Paul's words was singular. Flamby dropped her brush and
seemed to shrink as from a threatened blow, drawing up her shoulders and
slowly turning her head to see who had s