might bring him too."

"Cinders?" he questioned, pausing.

"My dog," she explained. "But he doesn't talk French, so I don't suppose
he will follow you."

He received the information with a smile. "But I speak English,
mademoiselle," he protested for the second time.

"Ah yes, you do--after a fashion," admitted Chris. "But I don't suppose
Cinders would understand it. It's not very English English."

He raised his shoulders in a gesture that was purely French. "_La belle
dame sans merci_!" he murmured ruefully. "_Bien_! I will do my possible."

"Splendid!" laughed Chris. "No one could do more."

She watched him go with eyes that sparkled with merriment. The trim,
slight figure was quite good to look upon. He went bounding over the
rocks with the sure-footed grace of a chamois.

"I wonder who he really is," said Chris, "and where he comes from."

CHAPTER II

DESTINY

Over the rocks went the stranger with the careless speed of youth,
humming to himself in a soft tenor, his brown face turned to the sun. The
pleasant smile was still upon it. He had the look of one in whose eyes
all things are good.

Ahead of him gleamed the towel with the sandals upon it, sandals that
might have been fashioned for fairy feet. He quickened his pace at sight
of them. But she was charming, this English child! He had never before
seen anyone quite so dainty. And of a courage unique in one so young!

He was nearing the sandals now, but the sun was in his eyes, and he saw
only the towel spread like a tablecloth over the rock. He sprang lightly
down on to a heap of shingle, and reached for it, still humming the
_chanson_ that the little English girl had somehow put into his head.

The next instant a deep growl arrested him, and sharply he drew back.
There was something more than a pair of sandals on the towel above him,
something that crouched in an attitude of tense hostility, daring him to
approach. It was only a small creature that thus challenged him, only a
weird black terrier of doubtful extraction, but he bristled from end to
end with animosity. Quite plainly he regarded the sandals as his
responsibility. With glaring eyes and gleaming teeth he crouched,
prepared to defend them.

The young Frenchman's discomfiture was but momentary. In an instant he
had taken in the situation and the humour of it.

"But it is the good Cinders!" he said aloud, and extended a fearless
hand. "So, my friend, so! The little mistress wa