adingly. "Could you not just
show me the way and let me go----?"

"So much worse?" His face was very grave and gentle. "So much worse? I
don't think I understand."

"So _very_ much worse. To have been found like this--Oh, promise me to
say nothing about it. I know that I can trust you."

"I think you had better tell me all about it, Signorina."

He saw that dark misery, like a film, swim blindingly over her wide
eyes.

"I cannot."

He considered a moment before he spoke again.

"If you really do not want any one to know that I found you I am willing
to hold my tongue. But don't you see what a lot of ridiculous deception
that would involve? You would have to make up all sorts of little
things. And then, after all, you'd be sure to say something--one always
does--and let it all out----"

Maria Angelina looked at him pathetically and a sudden impulse stabbed
him to say hastily, "I'll fall in with any plan you want to make. Only
wait to decide until you feel rested. Then perhaps we can decide
together. . . . And now, if you are really getting dry----"

"Truly, I am, Signor Elder. I am indeed dry and hot."

"Then you'd better make up your mind to curl up on that cot over there
and sleep."

"I couldn't sleep."

There was truth beneath Maria Angelina's quick disclaimer. Exhausted as
she was, her mind was vividly awake, now, excited with the strangeness
of her presence there.

Her mortification at his finding her was gone. He was so rarely kind, so
pleasantly matter of fact. He was as gayly undisturbed as if the heavens
rained starving young girls upon him every night! And somehow she had
known he was like this . . . but he was like no one else that she had
known. . . .

Her mind groped for a comparison. For an instant she vainly tried to
picture Paolo Tosti doing the honors to such a guest--but that picture
was unpaintable.

This Barry Elder was chivalry itself; he was kindness and comfort--and
he was a strange, stirring excitement that flung a glamour over the
disaster of the hour.

It was like a little hush before the final storm, a dim dream before the
nightmare enfolded her again.

Her eyes followed him as he turned out the kerosene lamp, which was
sputtering, and flung fresh logs upon the hearty fire. Overhead the
rain droned, like monotonous fingers upon a keyboard, and beside her
Sandy slept noisily, with sudden whimpers.

Barry's eyes, meeting the wistful dark ones, smiled responsively, and
Ma