me?"

"Forgive you for what?" Max asked, though he guessed what she meant, and
added hastily, "I'm sure there's nothing to forgive."

"Yes, there is," she insisted; "you know that as well as I do. But you
will forgive me, because--because I think you must have _understood_. I
was not myself at all."

Max hesitated and stammered. He did not dare admit how well he had
understood, though it seemed a moment for speaking clear truths, here in
this wonderful garden which they two had to themselves, with the magic
light of sunset and moonrise shining into their souls.

"You needn't be afraid of shaming me," the girl went on. "I felt that
you understood everything, so we can talk now, when I've come back a
little to myself. I didn't mind your seeing, then, because everything
seemed unimportant except--_just him_, and my being there with him. And
I don't mind even now, because there's so much that's the same in my
life and yours. I feel (as I felt before I was carried out of myself)
that we've drifted together at a time when we can help each other. You
can forgive me for being selfish and thoughtless to you, because I was
at a great moment of my life, and you realized it. Didn't you?"

"Yes," said Max.

"I've always adored him. He was the one I meant, of course, when I told
you about caring for somebody," Sanda confessed. "You see, my father has
never let me love him, in a personal sort of way. He has held me off,
though I hope it's going to be different when he sees me. Sir Knight
(that's what I always called Richard, ever since I was small) was very
kind whenever he had time. He didn't mind my worshipping him. He never
wrote, because he was too busy; but when he came home from his wonderful
expeditions and adventures, he generally had some present for me. I've
always followed him as far as I could, through the newspapers, and--I
_knew_ he was somewhere in Algeria now. I'm afraid--that's partly what
made my wish to come so--terribly, irresistibly strong. I didn't quite
realize that, until I saw him. Honestly, I thought it was because I
couldn't live with my aunts any longer, and because I wanted so much to
win my father before it was too late. But meeting Richard here,
unexpectedly, when I imagined him somewhere in the South, showed me--the
truth about myself. I'd been so anxious for you to come back, and to
hear all that had happened to you; but meeting him put everything else
out of my head!"

"It was natural," said