ionate insistence.

"Daisy!" he whispered huskily. And again, "Daisy!"

And Daisy turned with a sudden deep sob and hid her face upon his
breast.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE EAGLE CAGED

In spite of Olga's ecstatic welcome, Muriel took her place on the
hockey-field that afternoon with a heavy heart. Her long attendance
upon Daisy had depressed her. But gradually, as the play proceeded,
she began to forget herself and her troubles. The spring air
exhilarated her, and when they returned to the field after a sharp
shower her spirits had risen. She became even childishly gay in the
course of a hotly-contested battle, and the sadness gradually died
out of her eyes. She had grown less shy, less restrained, than of old.
Youth and health, and a dawning, unconscious beauty had sprung to life
upon her face. She was no longer the frightened, bereft child of Simla
days. She no longer hid a monstrous fear in her heart. She had put it
all away from her wisely, resolutely, as a tale that is told.

The wild wind had blown the hair all loose about her face by the time
the last goal was won. Hatless, flushed, and laughing, she drew back
from the fray, Olga, elated by victory, clinging to her arm. It was a
moment of keen triumph, for the fight had been hard, and she enjoyed
it to the full as she stood there with her face to the sudden,
scudding rain. The glow of exercise had braced every muscle. Every
pulse was beating with warm, vigorous life.

She laughed aloud in sheer exultation, a low, merry laugh, and turned
with Olga to march in triumphant procession from the field.

In that instant from a gate a few yards away that led into the road
there sounded the short, imperious note of a motor-horn, repeated many
times in a succession of sharp blasts. Every one stood to view the
intruder with startled curiosity for perhaps five seconds. Then there
came a sudden squeal of rapture from Olga, and in a moment she had
torn her arm free and was gone, darting like a swallow over the turf.

Muriel stood looking after her, but she was as one turned to stone.
She was no longer aware of the children grouped around her. She no
longer saw the fleeting sunshine, or felt the drift of rain in her
face. Something immense and suffocating had closed about her heart.
Her racing pulses had ceased to beat.

A figure familiar to her--a man's figure, unimposing in height,
unremarkable in build, but straight, straight as his own
sword-blade--had bounded