Her arm crept round his neck, but she did not lift her head. He clasped her more closely and went on very softly. "I love you enough to think of your happiness first, my darling. You're not happy now. I know that all right. But you will be--I swear you shall be--if you will marry me. You like me just a bit, don't you? And you wouldn't be afraid to trust yourself to me?" "No," murmured Toby, with an effort. "I wouldn't be--afraid." "Then you'll give me my chance?" he urged gently. "You'll put your dear little hand into mine and trust me? Will you darling? Will you?" But Toby was silent. "Won't you?" he said in a whisper. Her arm tightened about his neck. She was breathing quickly, nervously. From across the water came the sounds of laughter and cheering, the softened strains of the band that played on the deck of _The Blue Moon_. Close at hand was only the low wash of the waves as they lapped against the cliff. They floated quite alone over the dark depths, rising and falling with the slow heave of the tide, but making no headway. "Won't you?" Bunny said again, after a long silence. And suddenly Toby raised her head and spoke. "I will do--whatever you wish," she said. There was a slight break in her voice, but it held no indecision. Her eyes looked straight into his in the starlight. He saw them shining and knew that they were big with tears. But she did not flinch from his look or start as his lips came to hers. She slipped her other arm about his neck and clasped him close. "You'll be good to me, Bunny?" she said in a whisper. And he answered her deeply, his lips against her own. "I will be good to you, my darling, so help me, God!" CHAPTER VIII THE MAGICIAN'S WAND "I can't think where I have seen that girl before," said Sheila thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the white rail, her soft eyes fixed upon the jewelled bay. "She has an arresting face." "You have never seen her," said Saltash carelessly, flicking cigarette-ash overboard. "She has the sort of face that the old Italians worshipped and some of the moderns too. You have seen it in their pictures." Sheila's brows were drawn. "I have seen her--somehow--dressed as a boy," she said. "Could it have been a picture?" "Yes. One of Spentoli's. I've got a print somewhere. It's called, 'The Victim'--a lad with a face like Larpent's daughter, fighting a leopard." Saltash spoke with easy conviction, his restless eyes flashing to and fro, often glancing but never resting upon the girl beside him. "That's what you're thinking of. It's an unsatisfactory sort of picture. One wonders which is 'The Victim.' But that is Spentoli all over. He always leaves one wondering." "I know the thing you mean." Sheila nodded meditatively. "Yes, she is--rather like that. The boy was 'The Victim' of course." She turned towards him suddenly with the words. "You can't possibly doubt that. The brute's teeth are almost in his throat. I think it's a horrible picture myself."