Philip feelingly, "I'm sure you'll not take to the
road to-night, feeling wobbly. The inn back there in the village is
immensely attractive. And a bed is the place for a sick man."

"He will remain where he is," flashed Diane perversely, "until he feels
quite able to go on."

"Will you?" asked Philip pointedly.

The minstrel rose weakly and glanced at Diane with profound gratitude.

"After all," he said hurriedly, "he is doubtless right. Ill or not I
must go on."

"An excellent notion!" approved Philip cordially. "I'll go with you."

Now whether or not the hurry and excitement of rising in these somewhat
frictional circumstances brought on a recurrence of the nomad's
singular disease, Diane did not know, but certainly he staggered and
fell back, faint and moaning by the fire, thereby arousing an immediate
commotion.

Philip grimly took his pulse and met Diane's sympathetic glance with
one of honest indignation.

"Diane," he said in a low voice, "he is tricking you into sympathy
merely for the comfort of your camp. Twice now his fainting has been
attended by an absolutely normal pulse. Let Ras and Johnny carry him
back to his rumpus machine and I'll drive him to the inn."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed the girl with flaming color.
"Why are you so suspicious?"

Philip sighed.

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE GRAY OF DAWN

It was very quiet in the wood by the river. A late moon swung its
golden censer above the water by invisible chains, marking checkered
aisles of light in the silent wood, burnishing elfin rosaries of dew,
touching with cool, white fingers of benediction the leaf-cowled heads
of stately trees. Like lines of solemn monks they stood listening
raptly to the deep, full chant of the moving river. The sylvan mass of
the night was a thing of infinite peace and mystery, of silence and
solemnity.

Into the hush of the moonlit night came presently a jarring note, the
infernal racket of a motorcycle. Philip, a lone sentry by the camp of
his lady, stirred and frowned. The clatter ceased. Once again the lap
of the restless river and the rustle of trees were the only sounds in
the silent wood. Philip glanced at the muffled figure of the minstrel
asleep on the ground by the dead embers of the camp fire, and leaning
carelessly upon his elbow, fell again into the train of thought
disturbed by the clatter.

"Herodotus!" said Philip. "Hum!" And roused to instant alertness by
the cr