ked
fingers testified to that.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she wailed, rocking herself, and then glanced
nervously over her shoulder, remembering the mysterious cause of the
disaster.

The next moment swiftly she released the injured foot and sprang up. A
man, attired in white linen, had emerged from the Magic Cave.

He stood a second looking at her, then came bounding towards her over the
rocks.

Chris shrank back against her boulder. She was feeling dizzy and rather
sick, and the apparition frightened her.

As he drew near she waved a desperate hand to stay his approach. "Oh,
please go away!" she cried in English. "I--I don't want any help. I'm
only looking for crabs."

He paid no attention whatever to her gesture or to her words. Only,
reaching her, he bowed very low, beginning with some formality, "_Mais,
mademoiselle; permettez-moi, je vous prie_," and ending in tones of quick
compassion, "_Ah, pauvre petite! Pauvre petite_!"

Before she knew his intention he was on his knees before her, and had
taken the cut foot very gently into his hands.

Chris leaned back, clinging to the boulder. The sunlight danced giddily
in her eyes. She felt as if she were slipping over the edge of the world.

"I can't--stand," she faltered weakly.

"No, no, _petite_! But naturally!" came the reassuring reply. "Be seated,
I beg. Permit me to assist you!"

Chris, being quite incapable of doing otherwise, yielded herself to
the gentle insistence of an arm that encircled her. She had an
impression--fleeting at the time but returning to her later--of friendly
dark eyes that looked for an instant into hers; and then, exactly how it
happened she knew not, she was sitting propped against the rock, while
all the world swam dizzily around her, and someone with sure, steady
hands wound a bandage tightly and ever more tightly around her wounded
foot.

"It hurts!" she murmured piteously.

"Have patience, mademoiselle! It will be better in a moment," came the
quick reply. "I shall not hurt you more than is necessary. It is to
arrest the bleeding, this. Mademoiselle will endure the pain like a brave
child, yes?"

Chris swallowed a little shudder. The dizziness was passing. She was
beginning to see more clearly, and her gaze travelled with dawning
criticism over the neat white figure that ministered so confidently to
her need.

"I knew he'd be French," she whispered half aloud.

"But I speak English, mademoiselle," he returned, without