of my old complaint, and me with an 'andle to me name. Come,
lass, oop with ye bonnie head, for I'll tell 'ee the great news--I sees
a bead o' perspiration on Sir John's brow--an' so I'm off to take me
'air out of crackers. Though Tim does find it more home-like, 'e says,
when I 'ave 'em h'in--oh, dearie! dearie! I often wish I was plain
Mrs. Gruntham again with no aitches to mind. I'll be with you in ten
minutes, and then, lass, ye'll just run away and have a bath--I managed
the aitch that time--and come back as fresh as a daisy, if there were
such a innocent thing in this land of sphinxes and minxes--and ye'll
see ten beads then, which sounds as tho' I be a Roman instead of a
strict Baptist. I'll run along, love, and don't let 'im see tears in
them bonny eyes of yours when he comes to know ye, lass."

And the dearest old soul in the world waddled away to take her hair out
of the crackers which had made a steel halo round her silvery hair for
many a night, and waddled hack again to see Mary with a great glow in
her eyes, and her hand clasping the skeleton fingers of Jack
Wetherbourne, who had known her at last, and was gazing blissfully at
his beloved.

His lips moved, though so weak was he that no sound came from them, so
that Mary had to bend to catch the whisper until her ear just touched
the lips still distorted from the effects of the desert sun.

She sat up, blushing from chin to brow, and smilingly shook her head.

"I will marry you, Jack dear, as soon as we find Jill!"

Wetherbourne made a feeble and unsuccessful attempt to frown, and then
turned his eyes as Mary turned her head on the opening of the door
between the bedroom and the sitting-room.

In the doorway stood the bewildering picture of an Eastern woman.

Wrapped round in the voluminous cloak of the East, with the face and
head veils hiding all but her eyes, she stood quite still as Lady Sarah
bustled across the room towards her, and Mary held up a warning hand.

A twitching of the man's fingers drew Mary's attention, and once more
she leant down to him.

"We're engaged," came the faint whisper, "_it's Jill_!"

CHAPTER XLV

Decked out in Mary's trappings Jill lay on the couch, her pale face
shining like an evening flower, whilst she passed the brush over and
over again through the burnished strands of her wonderful hair.

Mary had sat spellbound, almost open-mouthed, at the Arabian Nights
tale Jill had poured into her astounded ears.