ed. "I guess I must have wandered all round Robin
Hood's Barn, when, just as I was ready to give up boat, the stars come out
through a lot of clouds, and showed me the roof of the church. I steered
by that, and here I am."

"I think we must be grateful, and not scold him," said Angela.

"I did my best, anyhow," Billy persisted, "and I brought this lantern out
of the auto. The worst is, I don't know how her lights'll work, for
thinkin' to be at the hotel before dark, I didn't bring no water."

Nick stifled a word or two he would have liked to say, reflecting that
perhaps he was as much as to blame as Billy. He ought to have left nothing
to chance where Angela's comfort and safety were concerned.

They got water, though finding it meant further delay, and after all, the
acetylene lamps obstinately refused to shine. It was the first time they
had been used since Nick bought the car, and he abused himself roundly for
not having tested their temper. Something was wrong, something which
neither his knowledge nor Billy's could set right; and after tinkering for
half an hour, they started with no other light than that of the lantern
which Billy proposed to hold while Hilliard drove.

By this time Angela was thankful for the cloak she had left in the car. It
was nearly twelve; and the eight miles which the Bright Angel would gaily
have gobbled up in the same number of minutes had she been able to use her
eyes, took an hour to negotiate. Like a wounded lioness the car crawled
along the dark road, illumined only by a fitful spot of yellow light; and
a deep-toned clock somewhere was striking one as she drew up before the
door of the hotel.

Most of the windows had gone to sleep, but a few near the front entrance
were twinkling wakefully, and the door flew open in response to the call
of the motor. A servant of the hotel came out, but behind the liveried man
appeared the tall figure of John Falconer, with a woman at his side.

"We've been anxious about you," Falconer said, coming forward.

That "we" was suggestive; and Angela's fancy sprang to a happy ending for
the marred romance. As she entered the hall, dazzled by the lights, her
first glance was for the woman who stood beside Falconer, smiling though a
little shy. It did not need Falconer's introduction to tell that this was
Mademoiselle Dobieski; and if the singer had lost her youth in Siberia,
Paso Robles, or the magic medicine of love, had given it back. Her pale
face,