t
recognised it for a surplus one which Mrs. Treacher kept in the
Barracks kitchen, to wear "against the draughts" on occasions when she
helped Archelaus with the cooking.) But most wonderful of all was her
hair. By some swift art the heavy coil had been drawn into two flat
bands, brought low over the forehead, and carried back over the ears in
a fashion almost slatternly. By no art could Vashti conceal that she
was beautiful. She was also too wise to attempt it. But, for the rest,
she had transformed herself.

"If you please, sir," she began timidly, with an Island curtsey, and
paused as if uncertain, at sight of Mr. Rogers, whether to hold her
ground or to flee: "If you please, sir, I be that frightened!"

Accent, intonation--both were perfect, of the true Island speech, that
delicate incommunicable sing-song. The Commandant's eyes grew rounder
yet with amazement, and Vashti--afraid, perhaps, of meeting them--flung
a glance of mock terror behind her, as though she had caught the
footfall of a pursuer.

"But--but who in the world--" stammered Mr. Rogers.

"If you please, gentlemen"--she turned, with another quick curtsey--"my
name is Vazzy Cara, and I come from Saaron. I live there with my
sister, Ruth, that is wife to Eli Tregarthen----"

Mr. Rogers gave a low whistle.

"It's true, sir--true as I stand here! The Governor knows me, and will
bear me out--won't you, sir?... A terrible way from Saaron it is, and
at this hour of night.... But ask the Governor, sir, and he'll tell you
I am a respectable woman; sister to Mrs. Tregarthen, and lives with her
to look after the children."

"Yes, yes," interrupted the Lieutenant, losing patience. "But the
question is, how you came here, and why?"

Vashti stood panting. By the heave of her bosom it was plain to see
that either her fears still possessed her or that she had been running
for dear life, and must catch breath. Her hand went up to her bodice.

"I came, sir, to see the Governor--all the way across from Saaron.
Eli--that's my sister's husband--is in terrible trouble over there,
because the Lord Proprietor means to turn him off his farm. Yes,
say!"--she drew a letter from her bodice, and went on with rising
voice. "Turn us out he will, though the Tregarthens have lived on the
Island ever since Saaron was Saaron. The Governor, here, in his time
would never have done such wickedness, nor suffered it, being a just
gentleman and merciful, as all the folk can bear wi