r. Farquharson."

I was fairly taken aback at that, and a silence fell between us. It was
impossible to divine the drift of her questions. It was as if some
profound mistrust weighed upon her and she was not so much seeking to
interrogate me as she was groping blindly for some chance word of mine
that might illuminate her doubts.

I looked at the girl in silent wonder, yes, and in admiration of her
bronze and ivory beauty in the full flower of her glorious youth--and I
thought of Joyce. I felt that it was like her to have fallen in love
simply but passionately at the mere lifting of the finger of Fate. It
was only another demonstration of the unfathomable mystery, or miracle,
which love is. Joyce was lucky, indeed favored of the gods, to have
touched the spring in this girl's heart which no other man could reach,
and by the rarest of chances--her coming out to this remote corner of
the world. Lucky Joyce! I knew him slightly--a straightforward young
fellow, very simple and whole-souled, enthusiastically absorbed in
developing his rubber lands in Malduna.

Miss Stanleigh remained lost in thought while her fingers toyed with the
pendant of the chain that she wore. In the darkness I caught the glitter
of a small gold cross.

"Mr. Barnaby," she finally broke the silence, and paused. "I have
decided to tell you something. This Mr. Farquharson was my husband."

Again a silence fell, heavy and prolonged, in which I sat as if drugged
by the night air that hung soft and perfumed about us. It seemed
incredible that in that fleeting instant she had spoken at all.

"I was young--and very foolish, I suppose."

With that confession, spoken with simple dignity, she broke off again.
Clearly, some knowledge of the past she deemed it necessary to impart to
me. If she halted over her words, it was rather to dismiss what was
irrelevant to the matter in hand, in which she sought my counsel.

"I did not see him for four years--did not wish to.... And he vanished
completely.... Four years!--just a welcome blank!"

Her shoulders lifted and a little shiver went over her.

"But even a blank like that can become unendurable. To be always
dragging at a chain, and not knowing where it leads to...." Her hand
slipped from the gold cross on her breast and fell to the other in her
lap, which it clutched tightly. "Four years.... I tried to make myself
believe that he was gone forever--was dead. It was wicked of me."

My murmur of polite diss