nce more, as I had promised."

There was a slow weariness in the utterance of the words. She had said
that she could not reflect on leaving him to such a fate as this of his
in Africa without personal suffering, or without an effort to induce him
to reconsider his decision to condemn himself to it for evermore.

"That French child," she went on rapidly, to cover both the pain that
she felt and that she dealt, "forced her entrance here in a strange
fashion; she wished to see me, I suppose, and to try my courage too.
She is a little brigand, but she had a true and generous nature, and she
loves you very loyally."

"Cigarette?" he asked wearily; his thoughts could not stay for either
the pity or interest for her in this moment. "Oh, no! I trust not.
I have done nothing to win her love, and she is a fierce little
condottiera who disdains all such weakness. She forced her way in here?
That was unpardonable; but she seems to bear a singular dislike to you."

"Singular, indeed! I never saw her until to-day."

He answered nothing; the conviction stole on him that Cigarette hated
her because he loved her.

"And yet she brought you my message?" pursued his companion. "That
seems her nature--violent passions, yet thorough loyalty. But time is
precious. I must urge on you what I bade you come to hear. It is to
implore you to put your trust, your confidence in Philip. You have
acknowledged to me that you are guiltless--no one who knows what you
once were could ever doubt it for an instant--then let him hear this,
let him be your judge as to what course is right and what wrong for you
to pursue. It is impossible for me to return to Europe knowing you are
living thus and leaving you to such a fate. What motive you have to
sentence yourself to such eternal banishment I am ignorant; but all
I ask of you is, confide in him. Let him learn that you live; let him
decide whether or not this sacrifice of yourself be needed. His honor is
an punctilious as that of any man on earth; his friendship you can never
doubt. Why conceal anything from him?"

His eyes turned on her with that dumb agony which once before had
chilled her to the soul.

"Do you think, if I could speak in honor, I should not tell you all?"

A flush passed over her face, the first that the gaze of any man had
ever brought there. She understood him.

"But," she said, gently and hurriedly, "may it not be that you overrate
the obligations of honor? I know that many a n