The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure. Rex Beach

it and into a narrow three-foot space, the left side of which was bounded by a board fence about head-high.

      "Quick!" she cried, eagerly. "Once we are on the other side we may escape. The others are somewhere close by."

II

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      Van Dam, being accustomed by this time to a certain obedience, lifted the girl up to the top of the fence, scrambled over it himself, and held up his arms to her. He was in another yard, much cleaner than the one he had just quit. There were trees and flowers in it, and looking down on them were shuttered windows which seemed empty. As she surrendered her weight to him he gave rein to the license which was in his blood and pressed a warm kiss back of her mask where the hair lay in wispy ringlets against her neck.

      "Mon Dieu! What a man!" she laughed, struggling gently to free herself. "You had better put on your mask. We haven't far to go, but there may be observing eyes."

      "Am—I—er—quite the person you pictured?" he queried, as he adjusted the false face.

      "Not at all."

      "You have never seen me before to-day?"

      "Of course not! How could I?"

      "I have seen you often."

      "Impossible! Where?"

      "Dreams!" said Van Dam, vaguely, yet with some degree of truth. "This all seems like a dream, as a matter of fact. I'm afraid I'll turn over, and you'll change into an old lady with hoop-skirts, or a flock of purple snowbirds, or a friendly crocodile with gold spectacles."

      She pondered this for a moment as they made their way across the yard, being careful in the mean while to see if they were observed. After a moment she halted.

      "Wait!" she said. "I—am not sure we dare risk going farther, for the streets are alarmed and the Wolf is in the neighborhood with all his pack. I had thought to take you straight home, but now they will be watching. It would be madness to try it." Again she fell silent, only to exclaim: "I have an idea. Come!" She turned abruptly to the right.

      "Where are we going now?" he inquired, mildly.

      She pointed to a house the back yard of which abutted upon the one that they were crossing. "Yonder is your cousin Alfred's house. He is away at business, the servants are out watching the carnival, and so it is empty. Do you dare venture it?"

      "Just the thing!" he said, amiably. "I owe Alfred a call."

      The girl laughed shortly. "Ah! He would die of rage—or fright—if he knew; but you can wait there while I go—"

      "Oh, I say! You're not going to leave me?" queried Roly in genuine alarm.

      "Of course, silly! Some one must bring her."

      Van Dam fell silent, speculating upon this last remark. After a moment he said, "You're sure Alfred won't return?"

      "Who knows? We must run some hazards. The key will be under the step, I think. Come!"

      They gained ingress to the next inclosure through a cedar hedge. Then, as they neared the back door, a distant commotion sounded from the stable-yard, warning them that the Spider's friends had stumbled upon him. But the girl's ready fingers found the key where it was hidden, and an instant later they were in a spotless creole kitchen ornamented with shining pots and pans. A cat rose from a sleepy window-ledge, arched its back, and stretched.

      With a warning gesture Van Dam's guide bade him wait, then disappeared, returning in a moment.

      "It is as I thought—the house is empty." She beckoned him, and he followed her past a pantry, down a hall, and into a study furnished with a considerable degree of elegance. Drawn blinds shut out the glaring heat; it was dim and cool and restful.

      The maiden heaved a sigh of relief and steadied herself against one of the massive mahogany chairs, showing by her attitude that the recent strain had told upon her.

      "Heaven be praised! You are safe here, for a time at least," she managed to say.

      "Nice, comfy place, this," remarked Van Dam, with an appreciative glance at the surroundings. "We can sit here and—and get acquainted—eh?"

      "Hm-m! I think I have learned to know you quite well in the past half-hour," she laughed.

      "True! But we've had very little chance to talk calmly and rationally; now, have we? Of course you're accustomed to such things, perhaps; but it has been a trifle strenuous for a person of my easy ways. I don't mind telling you that I'm positively winded. Let's rest a bit before you leave."

      But the girl shook her head at his suggestion. "You forget how she has waited and longed for this hour. She has been very ill; nothing seemed to interest her until you promised to come on the last day of the fiesta. Since then she has been like another woman. She is counting the moments now until she feels your arms about her."

      Roly stirred uncomfortably, for here was something he had not counted upon. One woman at a time was ample; he had no desire to hold another to his breast. He was shocked, too, that this girl should suggest such a thing after what had passed between them. It was unseemly. He felt tempted to confess his deception and to demand an explanation of the whole affair, but some sense of shame held him back. Besides, his companion was undoubtedly sincere, and he could not bring himself to cause her dismay.

      Another reason that urged him to hold his tongue and to let the adventure run its course was that as yet he had not seen her face. The desire to do so was becoming insufferable. He was about to claim the privilege when she changed the current of his thoughts.

      "You must not be shocked if she does not recognize you. She has been ill, very ill, since you—proved so great a—trial to her. You understand?"

      "Perfectly!" he said, thankful that she could not detect his signs of bewilderment.

      "Very well, then. You will make free of your cousin Alfred's hospitality while I am gone." She laughed nervously. "La! There is irony for you."

      "Suppose he should return in the mean time?"

      She shrugged. "You seem quite capable of caring for yourself, m'sieu'. I should not wish to be in his shoes, that is all. But there is little danger. And now I must leave you."

      "Just a moment," he said, taking her two hands in his. "You have seen my face. Don't you think I wish to see yours?"

      Her breath caught at the tone of his voice. "Not yet. Please! When I return—when you have held her in your arms and made your peace. Then, perhaps, if you wish—but not until then." She pressed his fingers meaningly, and he thrilled.

      "You haven't spoken my name, either," said he. "Won't you tell me that you—like me?"

      "I—like you, Cousin Emile," said she; then, in a voice that told him she was blushing rosily, "and what name do you give to me?"

      Roly's wits came to his rescue barely in time; with an air of deepest tenderness, that was not all assumed, he said: "I haven't dared acknowledge the name my heart has given you, even to myself. It is—"

      "No, no!" she laughed, tremulously. "Call me Madelon."

      "Madelon, Desire of my Dreams." He raised her hand to his lips. "Until you give me leave to lift your mask I kiss these dimpled fingers."

      It was plain that his boldness did not altogether displease her, for she paused reluctantly upon the threshold. Her eyes were shining, although her mask smiled at him vacuously as she said:

      "You are a most unusual young man. You awaken something strange within me. I cannot despise you as I should, for you have taken away my reason. That is disturbing, is it not? Now, then, avail yourself of the hospitality of the man who has robbed you. I shall return as fast as ever my feet will bring me." She waved him a kiss and was gone.