es wavered
towards him. And swallowing that lump in her throat, she achieved a
toneless, "That is what I am going to do."

At the other end of the garden a sound came from the house.

Ryder seemed to rouse himself. "Good-bye, then," he said,
uncertainly.

"Good-bye, monsieur."

He looked oddly at her. "Good-bye," he muttered again, and turned,
and stumbled out of the gate.

A pool of moonlight lay without its arches, and he stepped into it
as if coming out of the shadows of an enchanted garden. He stood and
straightened himself as if throwing off that garden's spell. He put
back his shoulders and took a quick step down the lane.

A slight sound drew his eyes back.

She had followed him to the gate; she stood there, in the moonlight,
against the inky wells of shadow into which her black robe flowed,
and in the moonlight her face, gazing after him, was an exquisite,
ethereal apparition, like a spirit of the garden.

She had cast off her veil. He had a vision of her dark eyes shining
over rose-flushed cheeks, of deeper-rose-red lips in curves of
haunting sweetness, of the tender contour of her young face, fixed
unforgettingly in the radiant moonlight--only an instant's vision,
for while the blood stopped in his veins the darkness engulfed her,
like a magician's curtain.

But he waited while he heard the gate closed. Still he waited while
he heard her locking it. And then for all his hot young pride, he
turned back and knocked upon it. He called softly. He whispered
entreaties.

Not a sound. Not an answer.

In a revulsion of feeling he turned and made his way blindly from
the lane.

She had heard his voice. Like a creature utterly spent, she had been
leaning against the great gate from which she had withdrawn the key.
But she uttered not a breath in answer, and after she had heard his
footsteps die away she turned slowly back and groped among the rose
roots for the key's hiding place.

Mechanically she smoothed it over and moved on towards the house.
All was quiet there. That sound had been no alarm. Unobserved she
slipped within the little door, and up the spiral steps.

She had not seen the dark eyes that were watching her, from the
other side of the rose thicket. After the girl had gained the house,
the old woman came forward and stooped before the marked bush,
muttering under her breath at the thorns. After a few moments she
gave a little grunt of satisfaction and her exploring hand drew out
the key