thing except that her father was a labourer at Sheba, the manor-farm.
The family has belonged to this parish for generations. I believe July
is the last of them."

He faced round upon her again. "_Sand_, did you say? That's a strange
thing to remember. How does _sand_ come into your mind? Think, now."

She cast down her eyes; her fingers plucked at the daisy-chain. After a
while she shook her head. "I can't think," she answered, glancing up
timidly and pitifully.

"Surely we are wasting time," I suggested. To tell the truth I
disapproved of his worrying the poor girl.

He took the daisy-chain from her, looking at me the while with something
between a "by-your-leave" and a challenge. A smile played about the
corners of his mouth.

"Let us waste a little more." He held up the chain before her and began
to sway it gently to and fro. "Look at it, please, and stretch out your
arm; look steadily. Now your name is Julia Constantine, and you say
that the arm on the wall belongs to you. Why?"

"Because . . . if you please, sir, because of the mark."

"What mark?"

"The mark on my arm."

This answer seemed to discompose as well as to surprise him.
He snatched at her wrist and rolled back her sleeve, somewhat roughly,
as I thought. "Look here, sir!" he exclaimed, pointing to a thin red
line encircling the flesh of the girl's upper arm, and from that to the
arm and armlet in the fresco.

"She has been copying it," said I, "with a string or ribbon, which no
doubt she tied too tightly."

"You are mistaken, sir; this is a birthmark. You have had it always?"
he asked the girl.

She nodded. Her eyes were fixed on his face with the gaze of one at the
same time startled and confiding; and for the moment he too seemed to be
startled. But his smile came back as he picked up the daisy-chain and
began once more to sway it to and fro before her.

"And when that arm belonged to you, there was sand around you--eh!
Tell us, how did the sand come there?"

She was silent, staring at the pendulum-swing of the chain. "Tell us,"
he repeated in a low coaxing tone.

And in a tone just as low she began, "There was sand . . . red sand
. . . it was below me . . . and something above . . . something like a
great tent." She faltered, paused and went on, "There were thousands of
people. . . ." She stopped.

"Yes, yes--there were thousands of people on the sand--"

"No, they were not on the sand. There were only two