sy to comprehend, is it not?"

Again he paused for an answer, but Mordaunt said no word; his lips were
firmly closed.

With a characteristic lift of the shoulders Bertrand continued.
"_Apres cela_ we met again and then again. _La petite_ was lonely,
and I, I played with her. I drew for her the pictures in the sand. We
became--pals." He smiled with a touch of wistfulness over the word that
his English friend had taught him. "We shared our secrets. Once--she
was bathing"--his voice softened imperceptibly--"and I took her into my
boat and rowed her back. It was then that I knew first that I loved her.
Yet we remained comrades. I spoke to her no word of love. She was too
young, and I had nothing to offer. I said to myself that I would win her
when I had won my reputation, and in the meantime I would be patient. It
was not very difficult, for she did not understand. And then one day we
went to explore my cavern--she called it the Magic Cave, of which she was
the princess and I her _preux chevalier_. We were as children in those
days," he put in half-apologetically, "and it was her _fete_. _Bien_, we
started. _Le petit_ Cinders went with us, and almost before we had
entered he ran away. We followed him, for Christine was very anxious. I
had never been beyond the second cavern myself, and we had only one
lantern. We came to a place where the passage divided, and here we agreed
that she should wait while I went forward. I took the lantern. We could
hear him yelp in the distance, and she feared that he was hurt. So I left
her alone, and presently, hearing him, as I thought, in front of me, I
ran, and stumbled and fell. The lantern was broken and I was stunned. It
was long before I recovered, and then it was with great difficulty that I
returned. I found her awaiting me still, and Cinders with her. It was
dark and horrible, but she was too brave to run away. I heard her
singing, and so I found her. But by that time the sea had reached the
mouth of the cave, and there was no retreat. We had no choice. We were
prisoners for the night. It might have happened to anyone, monsieur. It
might have happened to you. You blame me--not yet?"

Again the note of pleading was in his voice, but Mordaunt maintained his
silence. Only his eyes were no longer sphinx-like. They were fixed
intently upon the Frenchman's face.

Bertrand went on as though he had been answered. "I kept watch all
through the night, while she slept like an infant in my a