some yards off, at another of the camp-fires, stood, with some officers
of the regiment, one of the tourists; a very tall, very fair man, with
a gallant bearing, and a tawny beard that glittered to gold in the light
of the flames.

Cecil's glance followed Cigarette's. With a great cry he sprang to his
feet and stood entranced, gazing at the stranger. She saw the startled
amaze, the longing love, the agony of recognition, in his eyes; she saw
the impulse in him to spring forward, and the shuddering effort with
which the impulse was controlled. He turned to her almost fiercely.

"He must not see me! Keep him away--away, for God's sake!"

He could not have leave his men; he was fettered there where his
squadron was camped. He went as far as he could from the flame-light
into the shadow, and thrust himself among the tethered horses. Cigarette
asked nothing; comprehended at a glance with all the tact of her nation;
and sauntered forward to meet the officers of the regiment as they came
up to the picket-fire with the yellow-haired English stranger. She knew
how charming a picture there, with her hands lightly resting on her
hips, and her bright face danced on by the ruddy fire-glow, she made;
she knew she could hold thus the attention of a whole brigade. The eyes
of the stranger lighted on her, and his voice laughed in mellow music to
his companions and ciceroni.

"Your intendance is perfect; your ambulance is perfect; your
camp-cookery is perfect, messieurs; and here you have even perfect
beauty, too! Truly, campaigning must be pleasant work in Algeria!"

Then he turned to her with compliments frank and gay, and full of a
debonair grace that made her doubt he could be of Albion.

Retort was always ready to her; and she kept the circle of officers in
full laughter round the fire with a shower of repartee that would
have made her fortune on the stage. And every now and then her glance
wandered to the shadow where the horses were tethered.

Bah! why was she always doing him service? She could not have told.

Still she went on--and did it.

It was a fantastic picture by the bright scarlet light of the camp-fire,
with the Little One in her full glory of mirth and mischief, and her
circle of officers laughing on her with admiring eyes; nearest her the
towering height of the English stranger, with the gleam of the flame in
the waves of his leonine beard.

From the darkness, where the scores of gray horses were tethered,