t-bottomed boat far up the river with Lady Braydon, so
Lady Betty was quite desolate. She told Bellairs so mournfully.

"And Clarice won't let me come near her," she exclaimed. "A step on the
floor, the creak of the cabin door as I come in, tortures her. She is
all nerves. I hope I shan't have her headache presently."

"Is it likely?"

"I often do. She seems to pass it on to me. I never had a headache until
I knew her. But, indeed, I never seemed to live, I never seemed to know
anything, be anything, until she came into my life."

"I wish I had known you before you knew her," Bellairs said.

"Why?"

"I don't know--perhaps to see if you were really so very different from
what you are now."

"I was--utterly."

"What were you like?"

"I can't remember--but I was utterly different."

As she ceased speaking, Bellairs glanced over the rail to the river
bank. Two blue-robed donkey boys stood there trying to attract his
attention, and pointing significantly to their gaily-bedizened donkeys.

"Shall we go for a ride?" he said to Lady Betty. "Just along the river
bank? Then we shall see Lord Braydon as he sails back. Mdlle. Leroux
won't miss you. Shall we go?"

Betty hesitated. But she could do the invalid no good by staying. So she
assented. Bellairs helped her to the bank and placed her in the smart
red saddle. He motioned the boys to keep well in the rear, and they
started at a quick, tripping walk. As they went, a white face appeared
at a cabin window, staring after them, the face of Clarice, who had with
difficulty lifted her throbbing head from the pillow. She watched the
donkeys diminishing till they were black shadows moving along against
the sky, then she began to cry weakly, but only because she was too ill
to be with them. Her gift of prophecy failed her at this critical
juncture of her life, and she had no sense of a coming disaster, as she
lay back on her berth, and gave herself up once more to pain.

That evening Lord Braydon asked Bellairs to dine on the dahabeeyah, and
he accepted the invitation. Clarice was still in durance, having
entirely failed to pass her headache on to Lady Betty. After dinner Lord
Braydon went into the saloon to write a letter to England, and Lady
Betty and Bellairs had the deck to themselves. He was resolved to put
his fate to the touch; for, during the donkey ride, he had discovered
the change in Betty which he had so eagerly desired, the change from
warm friendship to a d