ld a naked sword in his hand. Evidently he was drawing
pictures. She knew what they would be before she reached him: St. George
and the Dragon, that "beast enormous with eyes of fire"; the Sphinx, and
Cleopatra's Needle. She saw them all; and soon the great tide would race
up with a mighty roaring and wash them all away. Was it not the destiny
of all things--save one?

Stay! Was it the sand on which he was expending his skill thus? Why,
then, did his sword move so swiftly, like lightning-flashes, where the
sun caught it? Ah, now she saw more clearly. It was a duel. He was
fighting with every inch of him, steadfast, unflinching, in her cause.
How splendidly he controlled himself! The clear grace of his every
movement held her spellbound.

For a while she watched him, not heeding his adversary, watched the glint
of the crossed swords, the pass, the thrust, and the return. And then, by
some mysterious influence, her eyes were drawn upward to the face of his
opponent, and it was as if one of those flashing blades had found her
heart. For Bertrand de Montville was fighting the grey-eyed, level-browed
Englishman who was her husband!

With a cry she sprang forward to intervene. She flung herself between
them in an agony. One of them--Trevor--caught her in his arms. The other
staggered backwards and fell upon the sand. She saw his dead face as he
lay....

"Oh, Trevor!" she cried in anguish. "Trevor! Trevor!"

He held her closely to him. She felt his hand laid in soothing on her
head. Gasping, she opened her eyes upon his face.

"That's better," he said gently. "You've had a bad dream."

"Was it a dream?" she asked him wildly. "Was it a dream?"

And then she remembered that Bertrand had fallen asleep in the very early
hours of the morning, and that they had led her away to another room to
rest. Worn out in mind and body, she had yielded. She marvelled now that
she had been so easily persuaded.

She turned within the circle of her husband's arm. "Trevor, you promised
you would call me if he waked."

His hand was still upon her head; its touch was sustaining, subtly
comforting. "He did not wake, dear," he said.

The words were few, but in a flash she knew the truth. Her eyes grew wide
and dark. Her clinging hands tightened upon his arm. She made no sound of
any sort. She even ceased to breathe.

He drew her head down upon his shoulder, and held her fast pressed
against his breast. "Don't be afraid," he said.

But s