built round
three sides of a square, the left-hand side being the house
itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
tumble-down stable and some sheds.

The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very
welcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She
dragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went
up to the inn-door.

She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of
the light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She
found herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of
stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained
in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a
stove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently
leading into the bar, for beside it was a window through which
Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles.
Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leading
probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
ran a long table.

The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down
at the table, the door opposite opened, and a short,
foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the
girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.

"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog and
I'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings
dried and get some tea? I..."

"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very
marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and
slipped out by the way she came.

"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, as
she crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed to
be connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she
wanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...

A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of
rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the
centre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole
body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire,
and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.

"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!
miserable! Te voile enrol."

A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, the
hideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow
her. And now Nur-el-Din had com