Leonie of the Jungle. Joan Conquest

thrown back upon themselves by some bleak rock.

      People were pushing and straining to look in at the windows, and rattling the doors which had been hurriedly locked by the keepers who had rushed to ascertain the cause of the tumult, whilst the tiger made the place resound with its terrific roars as it hurled its huge weight again and again at the bars of its cage.

      "Come on, Mother," shouted the keeper above the din, "bring all those children and let's get out. They'll quieten down when we've gone. Can't you read!"

      He shook Leonie slightly under the stress of his agitation as he hauled her in front of the notice which commands you to refrain from climbing the barrier.

      "Of course I can wead," she replied with dignity; "I'm weading the little——"

      "Well! read that!"

      "But—but"—stammered Leonie, having read with difficulty—"but I knew the tiger, Mr. Keeper!"

      "Oh! yes! of course! You were tiger 'unting and brought him from the Sunderbunds about four years ago; it wasn't the gentleman, of course not!"

      "But weally," pleaded Leonie with the tears very near, "weally I've—I've dweamed lots about him, and—and—and——"

      "Take her away, Sir—she makes me see red she does. No thank you. Sir—very much obliged, but it's part of my duty to see that people don't climb the barrier, and I kind of failed—p'raps the little girl what came and——"

      They were outside by this time and the centre of an interested admiring crowd; it is only bleeding meat at three o'clock as a rule which can rouse the inhabitants of the lion house from their prison apathy.

      Taking the dirty little paw Cuxson, crumpling up a note, put it into the dirty little palm and closed the fingers tightly over it. Whereupon Gertrude Ellen blushed furiously, and went to her mother with her clenched fist behind her back, where she kept it stiffly until tea-time, when she held out the bit of paper without a word, to the tune of "Lawks a mercy me!" from her mother, who immediately ordered more buns on the strength of it.

      "Lor' bless yer, lovey!" said Mrs. Higgins, whose bonnet was bobbing on the nape of her neck, leaving the wisps of hair to straggle unrestrainedly in the honest grey eyes, as she knelt on the ground and tugged Leonie's short skirts into place. "Yer did give us a turn, dearie; yer might 'av 'ad yer 'and nipped orf by that there brute. Come 'ere, Lil and 'Erb—I'll 'ave yer eaten by the camuls next!"

      The bow-legged twins, with their spirit of adventure quashed, rolled back to mother, and stood wide-eyed as she ran her work-worn hand through the stranger's luxuriant curls.

      "Give us a kiss, lovey, an' go an' get some tea!"

      For the second time that day Leonie moved to obey the same command, but this time there was no hesitation as she put her thin arms round the woman's neck and kissed her sweetly once and again.

      And the woman, who sensed something amiss in the quivering little body, held her firmly, patting her gently with the same hand which dealt out indiscriminately such resounding and often well-earned smacks among her own; and Leonie sighed and leant confidingly against the stout, badly corseted figure.

      "How comfy," she whispered shyly. "How soft you are. Auntie never holds me in her arms, and when Nannie does she's always full of bits of things that stick out."

      And then with a little scream of delight she was away, speeding over the gravel in the wake of a lumbering great form wending its way in and out of the crowd.

      "Cut along, Sir, or you'll find her 'obnobbing with the gorilla next!

       I've never seen such a child for downright mischievousness."

      Cuxson cut along as bidden and for all he was worth, pulling Leonie up in front of the ticket office for elephant rides, and after purchasing tickets sidetracked her to a tea-table.

      * * * * * * * *

      "Mind you bring Jingles when you come to stay!"

      "Pwomise," called back Leonie from her Nannie's arms as she opened the door to them and lifted the tired happy child from the taxi.

      But she didn't because she never went.

CHAPTER VIII

       Table of Contents

      "And make my seated heart knock at my ribs

       Against the use of nature. Present fears

       Are less than horrible imaginings."—Shakespeare.

      Big Ben announced the approaching hour of midnight, throwing the sonorous notes to the soft spring wind which wafted them up to Harley Street.

      Save for the light thrown by the dancing flames of a log fire, and the orange disc made on the desk by the light of a heavily shaded lamp, the room was dark; the silence broken only by the occasional crackle of the wood fire and the faint rustle as Sir Jonathan turned a page.

      "Notes" was written in letters of brass across the thick book heavily bound in leather, and of which the small key to the massive Bramah lock was kept in a pocket especially made in every waistcoat Sir Jonathan possessed.

      Slowly he read through the page he had just written, crossing a t, dotting an i, adding or scratching out a word of the writing which was in no way more legible than that of any other surgeon; and when he had read he ran his hand through the mass of snow-white hair, sighed, and pushed the book further back on to the desk.

      It is an eerie sound that of someone speaking aloud to himself, and still more eerie when it occurs in the middle of the night when the only part of the speaker to be clearly seen is the strong white hands moving in the orange disc thrown on the desk by the heavily shaded lamp.

      And it is a strange habit this talking aloud of the solitary soul.

      Mad?

      Not a bit.

      Dumb in the babel and din of chaotic midday, unresponsive to the uncongenial matter around, it will talk on subjects gay and grave, and even laugh with the silent sympathetic shades of midnight.

      Nevertheless it is mighty eerie to hear it unawares.

      For the twentieth time the famous specialist picked up a letter and read it from beginning to end.

      "Strange, Jim, old fellow," said he as he laid it down, "strange how I think of you to-night. Seeing your little one, I suppose. But somehow to-night more than ever I feel the blank you made in my life when you left. How you'd have loved the kiddie, Jim. Strange wee soul with a shadow already on her life—a big black shadow, Jim, which I—I am going——!"

      He turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

      "Ugh!" he said, as he turned back to the desk and drew the book towards him.

      "Leonie Hetth—age seven—walks in her sleep and dreams—dreams are evidently of India—things that walk softly and purr—a small light—and wet red which may mean blood—green eyes and a black woman who—who——"

      Once more he ran his hand through his hair, but time irritably, then shook his head from side to side rubbed his hand across his eyes.

      "I've been sitting up too late these last few nights over that opium case. Don't seem to be able to collect or hold my thoughts. Jim, old fellow, I wonder what made you leave Leonie in the care of that damn silly, shallow woman, and I wonder how you could ever have produced anything so highly strung and temperamental as your little daughter. I sup——"

      He stopped quite suddenly and rose, standing with his head bent forward.

      There was not a sound!

      Feeling for the arm of his chair with his face still turned to the curtained window he sank back, only to spring