ibraltar in
two or three days. Thence to Tangier was only like crossing a ferry.
The Colonel's man, l'Echelle, was sent to secure cabins, and we caught
the ship in due course. Three days later we were soon comfortably
settled in the Hotel Atlas, just above the wide sweep of sands that
encircle the bay. It was the season of fierce heat, but we faced the
northern breezes full of invigorating ozone.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Tangier, the wildest, quaintest, most savage spot on the face of the
globe, was to me the most enchanting. Our impressions take their
colour from the passing mood; we like or loathe a place according to
the temper in which we view it. I was so utterly and foolishly happy
in this most Eastern city located in the West that I have loved it
deeply ever since. After the trying and eventful episodes of the past
week I had passed into a tranquil haven filled with perfect peace. The
whole tenor of my life had changed, the feverish excitement was gone,
no deep anxiety vexed or troubled me, all my cares were transferred to
stronger shoulders than mine. I could calmly await the issue, content
to enjoy the moment and forget the past like a bad dream.

It was sufficient to bask in the sunshine, revelling in the free air,
rejoicing in the sweetness of my nascent love. We were much together,
Basil and I; we walked together, exploring the recesses of the native
town, and the ancient citadel, with its memories of British dominion;
we lingered in the Soko or native market, crowded with wild creatures
from the far interior; we rode together, for his first care was to
secure horses, and scoured the country as far as the Marshan and Cape
Spartel. I sometimes reproached myself with being so happy, while my
darling Henriette still sorrowfully repined at her past, with little
hope of better days. But even she brightened as the days ran on and
brought no fresh disquiet, while her boy, sweet little Ralph,
developed in health and strength.

A week passed thus, a week of unbroken quiet, flawless as the
unchanging blue of a summer sky; not a cloud in sight, not a suspicion
of coming disturbance and unrest. It could not go on like this for
ever. To imagine it was to fall asleep in a fool's paradise, lulled
into false serenity by the absence of portents so often shrouded and
unseen until they break upon us.

One day a cablegram reached me from Philpotts. She had arrived at
Marseilles on her return voyage from Tripoli, and was an