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imploring. “Don’t you truly know me? And—and why do you say you are not Tony? What do you mean? Oh, if it’s a joke, don’t joke any longer, please! I—I can’t bear it.”

Something like fear began to stretch cold fingers over Tony’s heart. Why was she so anxious? It wasn’t—natural. It wasn’t as if they had ever been great friends. But it was no use giving up now, and letting her know, with Trent Stoke within easy reach and the red road to Tanami left behind—was that pilgrimage to go for nothing? Better to hurt her a little now than to bar her from Trent Stoke after all. He hardened himself, and his eyes stared at her like a stranger’s, but she fancied there was something like a sneer in them now. The whole world was reeling and mad, she herself was trembling from head to foot, bewildered beyond measure.

“Oh, Tony!” she cried again, very low and piteously. If he did not answer now she felt she could not speak again—she would have to leave him standing there and run away across the Gardens, out into oblivion, never to be heard of again. He did not answer, and suddenly a fear like a knife stabbed Pamela’s heart. It was quite true, then, what Aunt Rosa had said about stories spreading which people would believe! The cruel, evil words came flooding back; she forced herself to speak.

“Oh, Tony, what have you heard?” she said.

What?—What? No, that child couldn’t have anything to tell—but there was some trouble, and now Tony’s hands were tied. Well, he had gone too far to go back. Still he was silent, but in his sombre eyes something had gleamed—she was sure of that. Her voice was more pitiful than a lost bird’s; she was absolutely in despair.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” she said, with quivering lips.