the crystals, by the
fascination she found in venturing into these new and strange
countries, but above all by the domination of this stronger and older
personality, she had until now followed without much sober thinking.
If she hesitated, if she paused, he had only to tell of some rumor of
a strange seaman in the city of Bogova or repeat one of the dozen wild
tales current of Americans who had gone into the interior in search of
gold and there been lost for years to turn up later sound and rich. He
had hurried her half asleep from the house at Bogova and frightened
her into silent obedience by suggesting that Wilson might by force
take her back home when upon the eve of finding her father. She had
looked again into the crystal and as always had seen him wandering
among big hills in a region much like this. What did it all mean? She
did not know, but now a deeper, more insistent longing was lessening
the hold of the other. Her thoughts in the last few days had gone back
more often than ever they had to the younger man who had played, with
such vivid, brilliant strokes, so important a part in her life. She
felt, what was new to her, a growing need of him--a need based on
nothing tangible and yet none the less eager. She turned to Sorez.

"I am almost getting discouraged," she said. "When shall we turn
back?"

"Soon. Soon. Have you lost interest in the treasure altogether?"

"The treasure never mattered very much to me, did it? You have done
your best to help me find my father, and for that I am willing to help
you with this other thing. But I am beginning to think that neither of
the quests is real."

She added impulsively:

"Twice I have left the most real thing in my life--once at home and
once in Bogova. I shall not do it again."

"You refer to Wilson?"

"Yes. Here in the mountains--here with Flores and his wife, I am
beginning to see."

"What, my girl?"

"That things of to-day are better worth than things of to-morrow."

Sorez shifted a bit uneasily. He had come to care a great deal for the
girl--to find her occupying the place in his heart left empty by the
death of the niece who lived in Boston. He was able less and less to
consider her impersonally even in the furtherance of this project. He
would have given one half the fortune he expected, really to be able
to help the girl to her father. He had lied--lied, taking advantage of
this passionate devotion to entice her to the shores of this lake with