d sigh she
resigned herself to an evening of comic songs and personalities; and
decided that a headache must rescue her, if no other champion were
forthcoming.

It was a clear night of stars. The moon had not yet risen; though a
herald brightness gave news of her coming. No least whisper of wind
stirred the tree-tops. Sun-baked fir branches crackled and snapped
like fairy musketry; and many-hued flames,--rose and saffron,
heliotrope and sea-green,--played hide-and-seek among them, flinging
inverted shadows on faces nearest the blaze.

Human beings break into song round a bonfire as naturally as birds
after a shower of rain, and for those who see in such a fire no mere
holocaust of dead twigs, but the Red Flower of the Jungle, the symbol
and spirit of wild life, this spontaneous minstrelsy has a charm
peculiarly its own. A charm of the simplest, certainly; for at
camp-fires the banjo reigns supreme; and the aptest songs are those
that 'rip your very heartstrings out' and offer fine facilities for
effervescing between the verses.

Already a remarkable assortment of these had challenged the winking
stars; and Quita was encouraging the requisite headache, while Garth
contemplated the suggestion of a stroll towards the lake, when Michael
Maurice came up to them.

"Quita, _cherie_, they have sent me to ask if you will sing. I have my
fiddle here for accompaniment."

She hesitated. A rare shyness, born of the afternoon's fiasco, was
still upon her.

"Who sent you?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Colonel Mayhew, and several others." He bent lower. "_Tu es trop
fatiguee apres ce vilain polo_?"

"_Non, ce n'est pas ca . . . mais . . ._"

"Do, Miss Maurice, please, do," urged an enthusiastic young civilian on
her left. "A woman's voice, especially yours, would be a rare treat
after our promiscuous shouting."

And on her other side Garth, pressing closer, whispered his plea.

"Don't disappoint me. It is ages since I last heard you sing."

Without answering either, she touched her brother's arm. "Tune up,
Michel," she said low and hurriedly. "I have thought of a song."

Garth murmured his thanks with unusual _empressement_. Her instant
acquiescence had both moved and flattered him; and his hopes rode high.
As a matter of fact, she had not even heard his request. She had
simply obeyed an impulse, as in most crises of her life;--an impulse so
peremptory that it seemed almost a command from Beyond.

"W