Chapter IV: Part 4

After her father's death she was almost entirely alone, with no relatives save distant cousins and separated from the friends of her youth by the years in France. Always she and her father had led a fairly isolated existence on their big thousand-acre wheat farm. Her own love of the outdoors, of boyish amusements and of the work of the estate, together with her father's companionship, had been sufficient.

Shut up in the small New York apartment, ill and grieving, notwithstanding, the affection and attention lavished upon her, for several months Gill had found life difficult.

With the arrival of the cold New York spring she approached a better frame of mind, but still was without desire to join in any gaiety.

Her one expressed wish was to be allowed to remain alone in the apartment while the other girls went for the visit to the "House by the Blue Lagoon".

This they positively refused to consider.

As she had been Sally's especial charge, Sally announced that she did not believe Gill sufficiently strong to make the journey or to be in the society of so many persons, so she had concluded to stay on in New York with her. Sally was not easily dissuaded from a decision, so partly to avoid this sacrifice, partly because she did not wish to be separated from her friends and was interested in Bettina Graham's home, Gill finally agreed to accompany them.

The stipulation was that she was to be allowed to be alone as much as she liked and to take no part in any of the entertainments, unless she felt the inclination. No one would try to persuade her to do anything against her wish.

On this evening of the dance, Gill had been undecided whether or not to leave her own room. At length the desire to see the beautiful old house lighted and filled with spring flowers and the girls in their party dresses brought her down to the drawing room. Here she was introduced to a number of the guests and enjoyed talking to them, but positively refused to dance. And no one insisted beyond the ordinary demands of courtesy, as her black dress offered a sufficient explanation.

Gill was not in deep mourning; her dress was of sheer black muslin, cut low in the neck, with a narrow edging of black net.

She no longer wore her hair bobbed in the old, half boyish fashion, but dressed as simply as possible in a knot at the back of her head.

The small claim she possessed to good looks, Gill believed had vanished altogether and for all times. Her color was gone and her animation and she had depended upon both.

Yet to Allan Drain, who found himself glancing toward her with interest several times during the evening, she possessed an attraction he had not been aware of in their acquaintance at Half Moon Lake. There was a softer and gentler atmosphere about her. Her pallor, in contrast with the red-brown hair and eyes, had its own beauty.

Toward the latter part of the evening, observing that Gill was so white that she appeared ill, Allan crossed the room to the chair where she was sitting alone at the moment.

"Won't you come out of doors with me for a little while, Miss Gilchrist. I believe you will like it better than indoors and I know I shall."

Then, as Gill hesitated.

"Please come, I have not had an opportunity to talk to you alone since our arrival. I want to tell you that I think I was a good deal of a boor in refusing to say I forgave you last winter when you confessed that by accident you had burned up the manuscripts of my poems. After I returned home I discovered copies of a number of them stored away in odd places. I am obliged to confess they seemed so utterly no account that you did me a favor by destroying them before they could be read by any one."

Gill shook her head.

"You are kind, but I don't in the least believe you. I told you then and I still feel that I would rather you would not forgive me. I have no idea of forgiving myself."

"Is it too far, shall we walk down to the lagoon? I have not seen it at night."

Allan picked up a white shawl which some one had left on the veranda.

"No, it is not far, but it is probably cold down there, so put this around you. Isn't this place a marvel? Any one who could not write poetry here, or at least dream it, could nowhere on earth. Do you know the story of the house and the island and the blue lagoon? I have made myself a nuisance trying to find out."

"No, not as much as I should like to hear," Gill answered, placing the shawl about her shoulders in an obedient fashion.

"Originally the island was given by a special grant from the British king to an Irishman named Bryan O'Bannon, who had fought gallantly in his service during one of the innumerable wars. He appears to have been unlike most Irishmen and a man of wealth, or else he married wealth, because his wife was one of the sisters of the great Lord Fairfax of Virginia.

"They built this place and lived here like royalty, with hundreds of colored servants I suppose. There is no special story of a tragedy until the civil war. Then one day a boatload of northern soldiers landed on the island and took possession. None of the men of the family were at home. It chanced, however, that a young Confederate officer was on leave of absence visiting the girl to whom he was engaged. When the northerners surrounded the house, she hid him in one of the secret passages. The story goes that she was insulted by one of the enemy and drowned herself in the blue lagoon. The young officer, waiting her return and not knowing how to escape, starved to death."

Gill shivered.

"Good gracious, what a tale on a night like this! No matter how beautiful a place is, nor how shut off from the world, it seems never able to escape sorrow."

Allan Drain looked more closely at his companion, whose expression was scarcely discernible in the flickering lights made by the Chinese lanterns, swinging like censers between the trees that led to the blue lagoon. The winter before she would not have been capable of a speech like this!

"I am sorry, perhaps I should not have told you so unhappy a story. I should have remembered that you have been ill and in trouble. I have not had an opportunity before to express my sympathy. I have been through such a lot of bad health myself, at least I appreciate what _it_ means."

"You are all right now, or a great deal stronger? Certainly you look so. You are kind to be so good to me. I was so stupid and disagreeable when you were ill and lonely during the winter in the Adirondacks. I seem to be one of the persons who has to learn through experience. Until recently I have always been so well and I am afraid spoiled. I hope I shall never be so impossible again. Tell me do you feel more interested in your medical studies, or is writing still your one ambition?"

"I am ashamed to say that it is, ashamed because I seem to have so little talent to justify all the time and thought I give to it, when I should be hard at work trying to learn my profession. I often fear I am one of the people who shall fall between the two, a failure in both. I did not intend to be so dismal, but I have had a pretty severe disappointment of late."

"I am sorry, would you rather tell me of it, or not?"

By this time they had reached the edge of the lagoon and stood looking down at the water, so deep a blue it was nearly black under the night sky with the stars reflected in its surface.

There were few waves and only a light breeze; a small row-boat tied to a stake lapped gently to and fro.

"Would you like to go for a row? I am not a skillful oarsman, but I can manage. We need not be out long."

Gill hesitated.

"I would like it very much, but we must be sure to return before the dance is over. I won't be able to help with the rowing, I have never attempted it in my life. You know I am an inland person and never have spent any time near the sea until now. I never saw the ocean until we crossed to France."

With the boat untied, Allan helped his companion in and Gill sat down facing him.

Neither of them spoke until they were a few yards from the shore and moving toward the opening into the bay.

"Yes, I would like to tell you of my disappointment. I have not wished to speak of it to any one else, why you will understand when I explain the circumstances.

"Last winter in New York Mrs. Graham suggested that, when I came to make her a visit in the spring at the 'House by the Blue Lagoon', I might bring with me the manuscript of the play, which I have been at work upon for a year and that she would persuade Mrs. Burton to allow me to read it to her. Of course with this possibility I have worked doubly hard until there have been moments, not many I confess, when my play has not seemed altogether bad. I have had Mrs. Burton in mind as I wrote; I could not help this, she is the only great actress I have ever known personally and in some ways the greatest I have ever seen act. I don't believe I have been mad enough to dream that she would like my play well enough to appear in it, but I hoped that she might say a few words of encouragement, perhaps give me a letter of introduction to a manager who would read my play if she made the request."

"Well, what has happened?" Gill demanded, leaning forward with her lips slightly parted, her eyes large and interested fixed upon her companion's face.

"Only that Mrs. Burton declines to be annoyed. Mrs. Graham did not offer exactly this explanation, but what she said amounted to the same thing. Please don't think I am blaming Mrs. Burton, I understand her position. She sent word to me that she was very tired after a winter of hard work and that for the present wished to forget the stage altogether. She begged me to appreciate that she was not a producer of plays and that her opinion of what I have written would be of small value. In case she did not like my work she might disappoint me, when a manager might be delighted with what I have accomplished."

"Yes, that is true," Gill returned, "so why feel especially disappointed? I am sure Mrs. Burton will give you a letter to a manager, even if she prefers not to read your play."

With the peculiar despondency which is an attribute of the artistic temperament, Allan Drain shook his head.

"No, if Mrs. Burton is not interested, I do not care to interest any one else. With every line I have written I have thought and dreamed of her as my heroine. I don't want any one else to play it, at least this is the way I feel at present."

In several moments Gill did not speak, while Allan Drain pulled hard at his oars, wishing to conquer his discouragement through strenuous physical exercise.

He was surprised when his boat so soon shot out of the lagoon into the broader waters of the bay. The waves were not high and he rowed quietly and steadfastly, keeping close, as he believed to the shores of the small island.

Still Gill dreamed on, feeling wonderfully peaceful and happier than in many months. She never had forgiven herself for her carelessness in throwing the manuscript of Allan Drain's verses into the fire in their winter cabin at Half Moon Lake. Now it was a consolation to discover that Allan Drain really had forgiven her; there was no pretence in his words and friendliness to-night. If only she had possessed sufficient influence with their Camp Fire guardian to persuade her to do what he so greatly wished! After all it was not so tremendous a favor, in Gill's estimation. However, if Mrs. Burton had refused the request made by her hostess and most dearly loved friend, no one else would avail.

"I am so sorry, I do wish I could be of service," Gill murmured, speaking as much to herself as to her companion. "Don't you think perhaps we had better start home? I don't wish to, I did not realize that I was so tired watching the dancing and being in the midst of so many people until you brought me out into this beauty and quiet."

"Yes, well I'll go on only a few moments longer and then turn around. Once we are inside the lagoon we can reach our landing in a quarter of an hour."

When he spoke Allan was not aware that the wind was growing stronger and that the tide was turning and running out toward the sea. Neither did he realize the length of time he and Gill had been on the water, nor the distance they had gone, so swiftly and smoothly his oars worked, as the beat moved in unison with the tide.

Ten minutes after their brief conversation, in attempting to swing around, Allan discovered that he had a task ahead of him. To his surprise and consternation he also found that already he was fatigued. He had been out on the water only once since his arrival at the island and then in company with David Hale who was an excellent oarsman. It had not occurred to him that as he had rowed only two or three times in several years he was not in training.

Fortunately his companion was not aware of his difficulty and was remaining blessedly silent, so that he could give his entire attention to his rowing.

Allan strained and pulled, realizing that the wind was blowing him out of his course.

A half hour he kept on without faltering, always with the intention of reaching the shores of the island and skirting it until he could discover the lagoon. And always his companion continued silent.

When he had time to think, Allan concluded that she had fallen asleep and was grateful.

If he could not get in to shore he was managing not be driven far out of the course.

At midnight the small steamboat would call at the island to take the guests back to the mainland, who were not to spend the night, and with luck he might be able to signal them.

"Don't you think you had better rest for a few moments, Mr. Drain?" A quiet voice suggested. "Please don't be worried, I am not uneasy. At the worst, if we cannot reach the lagoon and no boat comes to our rescue, we shall only drift about until the tide turns. When daylight arrives we shall have no difficulty. I hate your wearing yourself out and wish I could help."

Gill laughed, a more courageous, gayer laugh than he had heard from her since their earlier acquaintance.

"Why, you did not think I was asleep? I am not so stupid as all that! I did not wish to trouble you by talking."

Compelled to follow Gill's advice, resting his oars, Allan allowed their boat to move with the tide. Another half hour went by; at length both of them appreciated that it must be well past midnight and there was little chance of rescue by their friends. The small steamboat crossed directly from the island to the mainland and made no circuit of the bay.

Without comment Allan picked up his oars again.

"I think I can manage to reach the island, even if we do not discover the lagoon before dawn. I have walked around the island several times and there are a number of places where one can land. We will be more comfortable than in this cramped little boat and warmer. Besides we are in some danger with the waves growing higher and stronger and the night darker. I am not going to attempt to disguise the fact from you, you are as courageous as I am, in truth you are more courageous as I remember you. If you wish to have the score settled with me in regard to the accidental burning of my manuscript, I have accomplished it with a vengeance to-night by bringing you out on the water and getting you into this difficulty. I only hope you may not be ill again as a result of my stupidity. But I must not talk, I have no breath to spare. Once we are safe and ashore I'll offer my apology."

"Don't worry about me. If it were not that the others may be troubled, and I trust Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Burton went to their rooms before anyone missed us, and if you were not wearing yourself out, do you know I could enjoy this experience. I am not in the slightest degree frightened, I suppose I am a kind of an adventurer."

A quarter of an hour after, Allan and Gill beheld a darker line of land and rowing closer their boat grounded in the sand amid shallow water.

"I'll carry you ashore, it will be simpler than trying to get in by any other method. Then I'll wade out and drag the boat after us."

"I can wade, please don't, I am far too heavy," Gill protested, remembering the character of illness from which Allan Drain had suffered at the time of their first meeting.

As he lifted her from her place and her arms closed about his throat, there was no sign of weakness in her companion.

Five minutes later she was seated on the dry sand, able to see the tall figure struggling in the darkness and drawing the heavy boat ashore.

"You should have allowed me to help, it was not fair," Gill argued almost angrily, as, panting for breath, he dropped down at her side with the boat only a few feet away.

*CHAPTER XII*

*THE CAMP FIRE*

"No, I don't need your coat. With the heat from the fire the white scarf is sufficiently warm. I am grateful to you for making me bring it along. I don't think we had best sit still at present. You are so overheated, it will be wiser to cool off slowly. Do you mind my taking your arm? I am blind in the dark, blinder than most persons, and although this coast is chiefly sand there are a few rocks in unexpected places." The girl extended her hand.

With a groan at Gill's words, Allan Drain half arose to a sitting posture.

"Don't be so sensible; I realize that it would be more intelligent to tramp about until we get rid of the stiffness from our cramped position in the boat and until I feel less like a wet blanket, yet the desire of my heart at present is to stretch out here by the fire and not to stir save to put on fresh firewood."

"Poor woodsman, how long would our few sticks last?" Gill remonstrated. "Be a man; if you won't come with me I shall have to go stumbling along in the dark, picking up more driftwood until we have a supply that will last all night. After a time we shall probably be too sleepy to exert ourselves. It is rather fun, isn't it, playing Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, when we cannot be more than a few miles from the house and the lagoon? At dawn we can reach home in an hour or so, but to go tramping about the island in the dark with no idea of the direction strikes me as the height of absurdity. I am sorry you do not like sensible persons, because I do try to be sensible on occasions. I suppose it is too much to expect of a poet. Come with me, please?"

"Did you suppose I would allow you to wander off alone, even if I am poet, or struggle to be one?" Allan Drain demanded, feeling Gill's slender fingers close firmly on his arm. "Do you know it never occurred to me that you and I would be friends, but after to-night I shall insist upon it, whether you like me or not. Don't dare say that I do not like sensible persons, I never liked anything better than the calm fashion in which you accept our dilemma, treating it as if it were rather a joke, than a disaster. Do you mind if I mention that you have not once suggested that there might be any gossip, or even discussion of the fact that you and I are forced to spend the night, in this--in this--well, in this informal fashion."

Gill laughed and stumbled a little, her companion promptly assisting her.

"Of course I have thought of it, but it makes no difference. This is no special virtue on my part; as soon as we are able to explain, none of the house party will consider the subject again. Yet I believe I am capable of going ahead in this world and doing what I think right, even if people should talk. Perhaps I am mistaken, one really never knows about oneself. Isn't that a log I fell over a moment ago? If you take one end and I the other it will burn a long time. Then in case any one comes to look for us they can discover us by the sign of the red flower."

"Red flower? What are you talking about?" Allan Drain said irritably, feeling uninterested in further physical exertion, now that he had landed Gill safely on the island and had only to wait a few hours before they could row or walk home.

"Wait until I can tell you," Gill answered.

A few moments after, when they had carefully laid the old log, cast up on the island after voyaging upon what unknown waters, on the camp fire and stood watching the flames leap up into the night, blue, rose and gold, Gill added:

"Did you not know that in the old days our forefathers called flame, the 'Red Flower'? If by any chance the tribal fire died out they went forth, sometimes to war, to steal the 'Red Flower' from the enemy."

Allan Drain remained silent.

Glancing at him and seeing his face lit by the glow, Gill was startled by his expression.

"You can't guess what you have just done for me? Oh, it may not seem of importance to you, and yet I can scarcely explain how much it means to me. For months and months I have been trying to find a title for my new play and now you have given me the perfect title: 'The Red Flower'. It's a wonder! The theme of my play is the flame of life that burns for good or ill in each one of us, and burns with greater beauty and purity in my heroine than in any one else.

"Forgive me, to think of my daring to talk of my play and myself (for at times they seem the same thing) with you here in the cold and dark, waiting for morning! Shall we continue to walk, or will you rest for a little, while I explore. It is possible I may find a more comfortable place than this for you."

Gill sat down, resting her chin in her hand and gazing into the fire. She could hear the waves lapping against the shore of the little island and behind her the wind rustling in the trees.

After to-night, surely she and Allan Drain must be good friends as he had stated. In any case her former prejudice against him was vanishing.

If he were willing to believe that this night's experience canceled the injury she had done him, the price was not severe.

Gill looked up at the stars; it must now be between two and three o'clock in the morning. She only could hope that her Camp Fire guardian, her hostess and friends were not seriously troubled. This thought alone made her unhappy, although she was beginning to feel weary and lonely now that Allan Drain had disappeared, if only for a few moments.

"Miss Gilchrist, Gill," she heard him calling, using her diminutive name in his excitement for the first time in their acquaintance. "I have discovered a tiny house an eighth of a mile back from the shore, a fisherman's cottage I think it must be. I have noticed one or two of these huts when I have tramped over the island. It isn't clean and it is pretty dark, but it is under shelter and if you will go in and rest I'll keep guard outside until daylight."

Gill shook her head.

"Leave our fire and the stars and the outdoors? Thank you, no. We will sit here together and you won't mind if I doze now and then. See here, Mr. Drain, Allan Drain, when we met in the Adirondacks you did not like me because you thought I was like a boy. I know it is unattractive, but to-night suppose you try to think of me as a boy, as if we were two comrades who had met with an unexpected adventure, for which one was no more to blame than the other, and that we were both determined to make the best of it.

"If you don't mind sitting closer I'll lean against your shoulder a few moments. If I am a nuisance don't hesitate to say so."

In ten minutes Allan Drain discovered that his companion was asleep, this time in reality.

Her red-brown hair having tumbled partly down--Gill had unloosened it, so that it hung crisp and straight to her shoulders--her pallor seemed strangely to have departed with the night's adventure, or else her skin was warmed by the heat from the fire; her lips, irregular in shape, were slightly parted.

An interesting face, Allan Drain concluded, if not a beautiful one, and a nature, generous and faulty, which so far was not fully awakened. Doubtless she would fight valiantly for a friend, but might prove a formidable enemy.

Gill stirred, and without being aware of the fact her companion smiled.

After the night's experience would they be enemies or friends? He hoped and intended they should be friends, as he had announced earlier in the evening.

Few girls, in his estimation, possessed the gift for friendship. And personally there was no possibility of a relation deeper than friendship in his own life for many years; whether as a physician or a writer, he had a long and difficult road to travel before he could expect even a fair amount of wealth.

Now and then during the next few hours Allan dozed. Occasionally he would have to awaken Gill by rising and going forth in search of fresh firewood.

At dawn they both opened their eyes at the same moment.

A mist was rising from the sea, curling heavenward and scattered by light winds.

In the sky there was an indefinite, faint glow.

Later the clouds parted and Allan recalled his reading of the Iliad and Homer's description of Apollo and his immortal horses and chariot. Almost one could see them move across the sky trailing clouds of glory. Then the colors blended and day arrived.

In the interval neither Allan nor Gill spoke after their first good morning.

Finally Gill stood up, stretching out her arms, her face radiant.

"Never shall I forget the beauty of this dawn, never as long as I live. I had not thought to see the morning come up out of the ocean. I beg your pardon if I seem too enthusiastic; please remember that I was born and brought up in Kansas and an island in the midst of the sea is almost as thrilling an experience as the sight of a new planet. Now I'll descend to realities and go and wash my face in the salt water. Shall we walk or row back home? I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Then what do you say to remaining an hour longer and catching fish and frying them for breakfast? Perhaps I can find fishing tackle in the hut I stumbled into last night."

On the way to the water Gill called back over her shoulder.

"Don't tempt me, we must return as soon as possible."

"Then we will row home; it will be quicker and save the trouble of bringing the boat in later. Besides, how much more dignified to row calmly up the blue lagoon than to tramp across the island!"

Gill rejoined him and was attempting to fix her hair.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but there is nothing to suggest dignity in either one of us at present. I am judging by your appearance and guessing at my own."

"Sure you feel none the worse for the night outdoors?"

Then as she shook her head, Allan made no further comment, although conscious of the fact that few persons would have passed through the discomforts of such a night and on awaking make no reference to anything save the beauty of the morning.

There were a number of other circumstances Allan felt he would like to mention--the soreness of his arms and back, the stiffness of his legs, a general shiveriness and a sensation of not having been to sleep in ages. Yet in the face of Gill's better sporting instinct he declined to complain. The freshness and splendor of the dawn had brought a physical as well as spiritual exaltation.

Landing at the accustomed place in less than an hour, as they approached the old house no one appeared to be stirring except the birds in the eaves.

"Do you suppose by some good fortune no one has missed us? One scarcely knows whether to be pleased or chagrined. At least I shall awaken Bettina and recount our adventure. Good-by, I shall try to sleep most of the day and see you to-night I hope."

As Gill nodded her farewell, Allan left her at the door of the big house and went on to one of the cabins nearby, which was at present occupied by the half dozen masculine guests.

By this time it was approaching six o'clock and Gill discovered that one of the maids had unlocked the front door. Going in, she went directly to Bettina's room. When there was no immediate answer to her knock she walked quietly in.

Bettina sat up in bed, looking like a princess in a fairy tale with her two long braids of light hair falling over her shoulders and her nightdress of silk and lace. Notwithstanding Bettina's ideas of service and devotion to the less fortunate, her mother insisted, and Bettina was not unwilling, that she wear beautiful clothes. As her mother bought the clothes and gave them to her, Bettina had no alternative.

"Gill, what _is_ the matter? Are you ill, do you need anything? Why you are dressed in the same frock that you wore last night at the dance."

Bettina rubbed her eyes, becoming more aware of her surroundings, as Gill stood laughing and gazing down upon her.

"So this is what it means to be shipwrecked and spend the night on an island in the society of a poet? One returns to find one never has been missed."

"Sit down, Gill, and talk sensibly. Shipwrecked? Island? Are you still dreaming? Did you not go up to your room last night before the dance was over and retire before the rest of us? When I found you had vanished, Sally told me that you had said you were tired and that no one was to pay any attention to you if you disappeared."

"Yes, I did tell Sally that and was about to depart when Allan Drain asked me to go for a walk with him. Afterwards we went to row for a half hour on the lagoon, managed to slip into the bay and, when the tide turned, were carried farther out. We discovered the island, but not the blue lagoon and were forced to wait until daylight. I am sorry, I realized when it was too late that I should not have gone, but tried to make the best of it and to accept the situation in a matter-of-fact fashion. I am going to bed now. Will you explain to your mother and Mrs. Burton that I'll go into the details of our adventure when I am not so tired. At least the thing I feared did not occur, you were not frightened and did not believe the water had swallowed us up."

*CHAPTER XIII*

*THE FOLLOWING DAY*

Not in several years could Sally Ashton recall so trying a day as the present one, not since those fateful days in France when she had nursed an unknown soldier in a ruined chateau.

In the first place, she was worried about Gill. Characteristic of Gill to insist that the night outdoors in the fog and cold probably had been good for her; Sally was not under a similar impression. Devotedly and faithfully she had nursed and watched the other girl during the past winter, to discover that Gill possessed a boyish carelessness and lack of judgment concerning her own health.

So in and out of Gill's room, Sally spent a portion of her morning, carrying in the breakfast tray, insisting that Gill, in spite of her protests, use a hot water bag prevent her taking cold.

At eleven o'clock again she tiptoed softly back, and finding Gill awake departed to bring a glass of milk, in case she should prefer to sleep on through luncheon.

"I may not be able to come in to see you during the afternoon, Gill; Bettina suggests that, as she is your hostess, I might permit her to have a little of the care of you, so I agreed. There is something else I may have to attend to and you seem all right."

With a harrassed, even troubled air, unlike her usual serenity, Sally stood frowning, looking not at Gill, but out the open window.

Gill stretched forth her hand.

"Sally, dear, what is the matter? You are not worrying about me, that is too absurd! You are a perfect dear and I am everlastingly grateful, but I have not even taken cold. There is something else on your mind. If you don't wish to confide in me, why not tell some one, Mrs. Graham or Mrs. Burton."

Sally failed to lift her eyes.

"No, not at present. I had thought of speaking to Aunt Betty and then decided I had best wait. Tante is absolutely out of the question. By the way, she was much upset when she heard what had happened to you and Allan Drain, but after a talk with Allan is in a happier frame of mind. I was to tell you that she would see you when you were more rested."

Sally waited, as if trying to reach a decision before stirring from her present position.

"Gill, if there was something you believe you ought to do, would you go ahead, even if it made some one you cared for angry?" she unexpectedly demanded.

Gill studied her closely.

"I don't know what to answer, as would depend partly upon circumstances But, Sally, dear, please don't get yourself into any difficulty. You have been through a trying winter with me and are here by the blue lagoon for a holiday."

Sally shook her head.

"I'll do my best to avoid it."

A few moments before lunch Sally discovered Dan Webster alone on the front porch and went toward him in her sweetest and most friendly fashion.

"It is nice to find you by yourself, Dan. You said last night that I had been avoiding you, which was not exactly true. I have had something on my mind and it is hard, as you know, at a house party, to slip away from the others."

Dan laughed.

"Yes, Sally, but it is the very fact of your slipping away from the others that I did object to. Had you gone with me I might have felt differently."

Sally put out her hand, catching at her companion's coat sleeve.

"Promise me, Dan, that if I do something you don't like, you won't be angry? You might have a little faith in me!"

Dan shook his head.

"Faith or no faith, Sally, I won't have you trudging over this island alone on any kind of fool's errand. If you do what I asked you not, I shall find it hard to forgive you. Let's not talk of this; why not come for a walk with me this afternoon? We have not had a walk in ages!"

"No, Dan, I can't, I am sorry, but I am tired from waiting on Gill all morning and from the dance last night and mean to have a nap."

Then to Sally's relief, Mrs. Graham appeared on the veranda and luncheon was announced.

In the afternoon from her bedroom window Sally saw most of the house party disappear. They were crossing over to the mainland to watch a drill at the fort. She had declined to go, but was happy to observe that Dan was with them and walking with Vera Lagerloff, whom he had known since they were children.

A short time after, making a pretence of keeping her word, Sally lay down on her bed for five minutes. Then she arose, put on a sweater and a small, close-fitting hat and unobserved went downstairs. Instead of going out at once, however, she slipped into the drawing-room and sat down by a window where she was almost completely concealed by the curtain.

She sat there about a half hour. At the end of that time another member of the house-party appeared from a side door, glanced about her, as if wondering whether she was observed, and then started alone, presumably for a walk.

Not at once, but within two or three moments, Sally arose and followed her. By walking rapidly she might be able to join her; by loitering she might keep her in view.

As the girl walked quickly and as Sally was not fond of strenuous exercise, she was forced to hurry in order not to lose sight of her.

After an hour and a quarter of fast walking the girl in advance reached the small fisherman's hut which Allan Drain had discovered the night before.

She remained waiting in the open doorway until a small boat landed on the beach and a young man jumped out. Then she ran forward to meet him.

From her place of concealment behind a clump of trees Sally was neither surprised nor shocked. There was no question with regard to the likeness between Juliet Temple and her companion, plainly they were sister and brother. Then why did Juliet Temple not bring her brother to the "House by the Blue Lagoon"? The question puzzled and troubled Sally.

After all, she was making a mistake. If another girl chose to have secret meetings with her own brother, it was not her affair.

Had she not always distrusted Juliet Temple and believed she intended some wrong purpose, never would she have pursued her present course.

Dan must never learn what she had been doing, or he might be not only angry but disdainful.

Sally turned and started home, sitting down now and then to rest. Having finally made up her mind to cease playing detective, she was in a more comfortable frame of mind.

Should Juliet Temple by any chance overtake her, Sally determined to confess.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*AN INTERVIEW*

Seated on a log and looking out toward the water, hearing some one coming up behind her, not anxious to begin an interview which might lead to uncomfortable explanations, Sally did not turn her head.

When some one called her name, she jumped quickly to her feet and swinging around, faced Dan Webster.

Instantly her face grew scarlet.

"You have followed me, Dan. I shall never forgive you. Deliberately you made a pretence of going away with the others for the afternoon in order that I might be deceived."

Sally's words were harsher than her manner, for even as she spoke she put her hands to her hot cheeks and her voice trembled.

Dan was looking at her as she never had seen him. His usually ruddy, freshly colored skin had lost nearly every vestige of color, his lips were set and hard and his blue eyes at once stern and unhappy.

"Certainly I followed you, Sally, I told you that was my intention, and you are perfectly right in your supposition that I tricked you by appearing to leave the island. I did this not because I really believed you would continue your secret meetings, but because I wanted to be convinced."

"Secret meetings!" Sally exclaimed, moving backwards a step or two and dropping her hands at her sides. "I think it is my right, Dan, to ask what you mean."

"Why, I mean what I said. How could I mean anything else? Please don't make things worse by failing to tell the truth, particularly now when it is too late to do anything else. I have been tramping about for the past half hour trying to decide what was best. I am going directly to Tante, and I wish you would come with me, and tell her that you have had half a dozen secret meetings with a young fellow who lands on the island in an out-of-the-way spot, instead of using the lagoon where he could be seen from the house. Doubtless you will explain your reason."

Sally was silent, her face now paler than her companion's.

"Of course I know, Sally, there is no harm in what you have been doing, but you yourself will confess that it does not look well and that anyone who cares for you has a right to try to protect you from your own indiscretion. Who is this fellow? Is he some friend whom you don't think the rest of us would care to know? And for what reason? I saw you stop behind a clump of trees and a few moments later his boat landed and I walked away. I did mot wish actually to spy upon you. You must only have spoken to him, as it was a brief time ago. Perhaps you are befriending this fellow in some way; if you are, why not let me help?"

"I am befriending no one," Sally returned.

"Then come with me to Tante. Perhaps you will confide in your Camp Fire guardian. I was never so disappointed in any human being in my life, Sally, as I am in you. I feel as if I were in a nightmare from which I must wake up."

Almost roughly Dan took Sally by the arm.

The next instant she had broken away and a second time seated herself on the log.

"Go and tell whom you like, Dan Webster, and whatever you like, and not only Tante, but Aunt Betty and the entire group of Camp Fire girls. Be sure to miss no one. Afterwards don't speak to me again."

Hesitating, his sternness slightly relaxed, as whose would not have been by the sight of Sally, Dan took one step in her direction and then paused. Unexpectedly her head went down, the golden brown eyes that had been so full of defiance the moment before, filled and brimmed over, as she buried her head in her hands.

He was under the impression that he had been sufficiently unhappy upon making the discovery that she was keeping a secret from her friends, but his past unhappiness was as nothing to this.

"Sally, dear, I am afraid I spoke rudely to you. You know I was concerned for your sake. Of course I am not going to speak of the matter to Tante, as you'll tell her yourself at once."

"I shall do no such thing, Dan," Sally answered in a muffled tone.

Dan appeared and felt defeated.

Slowly he began walking up and down a few feet away, his head bowed, an expression of anxiety and depression on his handsome, boyish face.

Finally he came and stood in front of the girl.

"Sally, I want to apologize to you, you must do what you think best. You asked me to have faith in you and I have not had. Good-by. I won't ask you to walk home with me, but come soon, dear, you are tired and upset and ought to rest before dinner."

Dan was moving away when Sally caught up with him.

"Dan, please listen. I want to tell you what actually has happened, I never wanted to tell anyone anything so much in my whole existence. I am afraid you will think I have not behaved very well, but you may scold as much as you like because I agree with you.

"Of course I have not been meeting any strange youth for any purpose whatsoever. What I have been doing is following Juliet Temple and I have little excuse to offer.

"Soon after her arrival I noticed that she slipped off several times alone and one day I followed her, partly from curiosity and the old distrust I always have felt for her. It is a curious thing, Dan. I believe Juliet is honestly fond of Tante, but I think in the end she will use her for her own purpose.

"Well, Juliet went farther than I expected and I saw her meet some one whom I feel sure is her brother, as they look so exactly alike. Besides, I heard that he was a soldier and most of the time he is in uniform. It is Juliet's affair of course and she probably has some legitimate excuse for not wishing us to know him, but I confess it troubles me.

"In a way I feel I owe an apology to Juliet, but it might be more comfortable for us both not to speak of it. I was just reaching a decision to forget the whole matter when you interrupted and frightened me. If you doubt what I have told you, Dan, you can wait until Juliet returns and tell her what I have told you. I would prefer she and Tante should both know than that you should doubt me."

"But I don't doubt your word, Sally; nothing would ever induce me to doubt you now or in the future," Dan returned with more earnestness than his previous point of view gave him the excuse for possessing. "Besides, now I recall that twice I have seen Juliet Temple not far away, soon after observing you. I am a dunce and a blockhead and your devoted friend, Sally.

"Why in the world do you feel this distrust of Juliet Temple? No wonder Tante thinks she has a hard time among you girls and appeals to me to be kind to her. She seems to me a tiresome kind of girl, who isn't capable of anything out of the ordinary. She is clever enough to be a good secretary, or companion, or whatever she is to Tante, and that is the end of it."

"Think so, Dan? Well, perhaps you are right," Sally replied. "Suppose we hurry home. I don't wish to appear as if you had made me cry, although it is perfectly true that you have."

"Never as long as we live shall I trouble you again."

Wise in things feminine, Sally shook her head and smiled.

*CHAPTER XV*

*TWISTED COILS*

"If you can finish, Juliet, without further assistance from me, I believe I will go and look for the Camp Fire girls. They have been so busy with their own affairs of late, I feel slightly neglected. Then do take a walk, or lie down, whichever you prefer. You have been looking a little nervous and pale of late. I would understand if you had been working hard, but we both have been having a holiday."

Mrs. Burton stood before her mirror making soft little pats at her hair, characteristic of all girls and women.

She had on a house dress of crepe de chine in a curious shade of old gold with a girdle of brown velvet.

"I can't become accustomed to my appearance in this dress, Juliet. It seems to me I look rather worse than usual. I wish it were becoming to you so I might present it to you, but I am afraid the color is wrong."

Juliet Temple made no reply and seemed scarcely to have heard what had been said to her. She was seated at a desk with several bills and a check book before her.

As Mrs. Burton, preparing to leave the room, opened the door, she said in a low tone:

"Would you mind signing these checks before you go? One is for the rent of the apartment."

"Tante, won't you come for a ride with us around the island? We won't be long!" Bettina Graham called at the same instant from outside in the hall.

"Wait a moment, dear, and I'll join you. Give me the checks, Juliet, please. What an abominable pen! Are the three all you wish me to sign?"

"Yes, all for the present," Juliet answered, gathering them hastily together and placing one over the other.

At the same time Mrs. Burton went out of the room.

"I don't feel like driving, Bettina. I was intending to see what you girls were doing and perhaps have an impromptu Camp Fire meeting. We have been neglecting our Council meetings of late and it is not a good plan, yet I know it is difficult with so many masculine guests to be entertained. Who is going for the drive?"

"Oh, no one except my shadows, as you call my two small girls, and David Hale and Marguerite Arnot. Marguerite has been so busy helping mother look after the house she and David have scarcely been able to exchange a word, and you know I always have wished them to be friends. Mother said she would go if you liked, but not otherwise."

"Are the other girls here? I'll find mother when she has rested, I know this is the hour she lies down."

"Yes, I think they are in the house somewhere. I am not sure about Sally. I heard Dan ask her to go for a row and heard Sally decline, but she may have changed her mind, even Sally sometimes does change her mind--for Dan.

"I must hurry, but if you pass my room, dear, will you look at the old English prints that father found and presented me for my sitting-room. They are so lovely I feel mother should have them, but she insists not."

Bettina ran off down the stairs and Mrs. Burton moved toward the front of the old house, where Bettina's apartment of bedroom and sitting-room was located.

Coming toward her through the hall with a book under his arm was Allan Drain.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Burton, if I am intruding by being up here, when I know this second floor is the feminine part of the house, but Miss Bettina told me I could get this book from her bookcase. I was trying to escape without being discovered."

The Camp Fire guardian laughed.

"Oh, the situation is not so serious as that. You need not run away. Stop a moment, won't you? I want to speak to you. I have been intending to for the past ten days. I am afraid you think I am unkind and selfish not to allow you to read your new play to me. I know Mrs. Graham tried to explain as pleasantly as possible, but the fact remains that I did refuse, even when she asked me and I don't like to refuse her many things. I was tired; you see I have not acted for a number of years and the past winter was a good deal of a strain. Besides, I am the poorest kind of a critic! I want you to know that I trust your play will be a great success, and if not this, then the next one. It is a long and oftentimes difficult road you have started to travel, yet I presume it is like acting, if the thing is in your blood, you must keep at it through good and ill. Forgive me and understand my attitude. I am afraid I am growing more selfish as I grow older, but I don't wish you to feel this all unkindness, I might have to say something discouraging and I might be wrong and then I should have hurt you for nothing."