er night. An
urgent desire for solitude was upon her. All her throbbing pulses cried
out for it. Was it but yesterday--but yesterday that she had felt so
safe? And now--

Later, alone in her room at the Court, she leaned from her open window
seeking with an almost frantic intensity to recover the peace that had
been hers. How had she lost it? She could not say. Was it the mere piping
of a flute that had reft it from her? She wanted to laugh at herself, but
could not. It was too absurd, too fantastic, for everyday, prosaic
existence, that rhapsody of the starlight, but to her it had been pure
magic. In it she had heard the call of a man's being, seeking hers, and
by every hidden chord that had vibrated in answer she knew that he had
not called in vain. That was the knowledge that pierced her--the
knowledge that she was caught--against her will,--still wildly struggling
for freedom--but caught.

It had happened so suddenly, so amazingly. Yesterday she had been
free--only yesterday--Or stay! Perhaps even then the net had been about
her feet, and he had known it. How otherwise had he spoken so
intimately--dared so much?

She drew a long, deep breath, recalling his look, his touch, his voice.
Ah! Midsummer madness indeed! But she could not stay to face it. She must
go. The way was still open behind her. She would escape as she had come,
a fugitive from the force that pursued her so relentlessly. She would not
suffer herself to be made a captive. She would go.

Again she drew a long breath, but curiously it broke, as if a sharp spasm
had gripped her heart. She stood, struggling with herself. And then
suddenly she dropped upon her knees by the sill with her arms flung wide
and her head with its cloudy mass of hair bowed low.

"O God! O God!" she whispered convulsively. "Save me from this! Help me
to go--while I can! I am so tired--so tired!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE HONOURS OF WAR

Columbus was not accustomed to being awakened in the early June morning
and taken for a scamper when the sun was still scarcely two hours up. He
arose blinking at his mistress's behest, and but for her brisk urging he
would have turned over again and slept. But Juliet was insistent.

"I'm going down to the shore, you old sleepy-head," she told him. "Don't
you want to come?"

She herself had scarcely slept throughout the brief night, and a great
yearning for the sunshine and the sea was upon her. The solitude of the
beach drew her irre