rose bushes were parted
displaying Braddock Washington, whose intelligent eyes set in his
good-looking vacuous face were peering in at them.

"Who kissed a corpse?" he demanded in obvious disapproval.

"Nobody," answered Kismine quickly. "We were just joking."

"What are you two doing here, anyhow?" he demanded gruffly. "Kismine,
you ought to be--to be reading or playing golf with your sister. Go
read! Go play golf! Don't let me find you here when I come back!"

Then he bowed at John and went up the path.

"See?" said Kismine crossly, when he was out of hearing. "You've
spoiled it all. We can never meet any more. He won't let me meet you.
He'd have you poisoned if he thought we were in love."

"We're not, any more!" cried John fiercely, "so he can set his mind at
rest upon that. Moreover, don't fool yourself that I'm going to stay
around here. Inside of six hours I'll be over those mountains, if I
have to gnaw a passage through them, and on my way East." They had
both got to their feet, and at this remark Kismine came close and put
her arm through his.

"I'm going, too."

"You must be crazy--"

"Of course I'm going," she interrupted impatiently.

"You most certainly are not. You--"

"Very well," she said quietly, "we'll catch up with father and talk it
over with him."

Defeated, John mustered a sickly smile.

"Very well, dearest," he agreed, with pale and unconvincing affection,
"we'll go together."

His love for her returned and settled placidly on his heart. She was
his--she would go with him to share his dangers. He put his arms about
her and kissed her fervently. After all she loved him; she had saved
him, in fact.

Discussing the matter, they walked slowly back toward the chateau.
They decided that since Braddock Washington had seen them together
they had best depart the next night. Nevertheless, John's lips were
unusually dry at dinner, and he nervously emptied a great spoonful of
peacock soup into his left lung. He had to be carried into the
turquoise and sable card-room and pounded on the back by one of the
under-butlers, which Percy considered a great joke.

9

Long after midnight John's body gave a nervous jerk, he sat suddenly
upright, staring into the veils of somnolence that draped the room.
Through the squares of blue darkness that were his open windows, he
had heard a faint far-away sound that died upon a bed of wind before
identifying itself on his memory, clouded with uneasy dre