ong, now bringing out in strong relief some one face or
figure, then plunging it into profoundest shadow. It burnished the high
forehead and scalp lock of the Indian, and made to gleam intensely the
gold earring in the ear of the mulatto. The scarlet cloth wound about
the head of a Turk seemed to turn to actual flame. Under the baleful
light vacant faces of dully honest English rustics became malignant,
while the negro, dancing with long, outstretched arms and uncouth
swayings to and fro, appeared a mirthful fiend.

The three gentlefolk and their mad conductress gazed from out the shadow
and at a safe distance. Sir Charles Carew, a man of taste, felt strong
artistic pleasure in the Rembrandtesque scene before him--the leaping
light, the weird shadows, resolving themselves into figures posed with
savage freedom, the dancing satyr, the sombre pines above, and, beyond
the pines, the stillness of the stars. Betty drew a little shuddering
breath, and her hand went to clasp Patricia's. The latter was looking
steadily upward at the slender crescent moon.

"Do not look, Betty," she said quietly. "I do not. It is a horror to
me--a horror. I am going back," she said, turning.

But she had reckoned without Margery, who caught her by the arm. "Come,"
she said imperiously. "Come and see the breaking heart!" Patricia
hesitated, then yielded to curiosity and the insistent pressure of the
skeleton fingers.

The cabins nearest them were deserted, their occupants having joined
themselves to the groups further down the lane where the firelight beat
strongest and the torches were more numerous. With no more sound than a
moth would make, flitting through the dusk, the mad woman led them to
the outermost of these cabins. Within five paces of the door she stopped
and pointed a long forefinger.

"The breaking heart!" she said in a triumphant whisper.

A man lay, face downwards, in the coarse and scanty grass. One arm was
bent beneath his forehead, the other was outstretched, the hand
clenched. It was the attitude of one who has flung himself down in dumb,
despairing misery. As they looked, he gave a long gasping sob that shook
his whole frame, then lay quiet.

A burst of revelry came down the lane. The man raised his head
impatiently, then let it drop again upon his arm.

Patricia turned and walked quickly back the way they had come. Betty and
Sir Charles followed her; Margery, her whim gratified, had vanished into
the darkness of the