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Show "He is at madame's hotel. Madame has seen him.'' " Oh, the officer." "He is terrible. He is the best horseman of the Sahara. With the revolver he can hit any stone I throw up into the air-so!" He flung a stone up towards the quivering blue of the sky. "All women who see him love him. In Algiers they die for him, and in the desert, where he returns to his father's they will cry out thus from ,a .. Ju<w)'; until evening." He broke into a high twittering like bird. The man under the apricotturned round and looked towards "Hush!" said Lady Wyverne. But the boy did not heed her. with the success of his impersonation, he twittered shrilly than before. The Spahi to meet them. When he was close to them he lifted his hand to his turban and saluted gravely. "I believe I have had the honor of seeing madame at the hotel?" he said, almost as if interrogatively. "Madame is going to cross the river?" Lady Wyverne hesitated. She knew, of course, that the Spahi was going to carry her over. She saw his intention in his long and subtle eyes. She wished him to carry her. She even longed ridiculously to be carried by him. But she hesitated, because she was now fully aware that there was within her something that was more than wilful, something that was only kept back from running wild by -a what? A thin thread of resolution that might be snapped in a 1 moment, or even brushed aside. And she feared that the touch of the Spahi, like the hand of the East laid upon her, might snap, or brush aside that barrier, might send her unfet- 6, |