his voice. "And there's our inn, the Inn of
Drouva."

Rosamund pulled up her horse. She did not say a word. She just looked,
while her horse lowered his head and sniffed the air in through his
twitching nostrils. Then he sent forth a quivering neigh, his welcome to
the Inn of Drouva. The view was immense, but Rosamund was not looking
at it. A small dark object not far off in the foreground of this great
picture held her eyes. For the moment she saw little or nothing else.

She saw a dark, peaked tent pitched in the middle of the plateau. Smoke
from a fire curled up behind it. Two or three figures moved near it.
Beyond, Nicholas was unloading the mules.

She dropped the cord by which she had been guiding her horse and slipped
down to the ground. Her legs were rather stiff from riding. She held on
to the saddle for a moment.

"A camp?" she said at last.

Dion was beside her.

"An awfully rough one."

"How jolly!"

She said the words almost solemnly.

"Dion, you are a brick!" she added, after a pause. "I've never stayed in
camp before. A real brick! But you always are."

"Aren't you coming into the camp?"

She put her hand on his arm and kept him back.

"No--wait! What did you mean by shaking your head when I asked you if
the secret was up here?"

"This isn't the real secret. It wasn't because of this that I asked you
suddenly on the Acropolis to say 'farewell' to the Parthenon."

"There's another secret?"

"There's another reason, the real reason, why I hurried you to Olympia.
But I'm going to let you find it out for yourself. I shan't tell you
anything."

"But how shall I know when----?"

"You will know."

"To-day?"

"Don't you think we might stay on our hill-top till to-morrow?"

"Yes, all right. It's glorious here; I won't be impatient. But how could
you manage to get the tent here before we came?"

"We've been two nights on the way, Patras and Pyrgos. That gave plenty
of time to the magician to work the spell. Come along."

This time she did not hold him back. Her eagerness was as great as his.
Certainly it was a very ordinary camp, scarcely, in fact, a camp at all.
The tent was small and of the roughest kind, but there were two neat
little camp-beds within it, with their toes planted on the short dry
grass. In the iron washhand stand were a shining white basin and a jug
filled with clear water. There was a cake of remarkable pink soap with a
strange and piercing scent; there was a "toot