“Not all,” she thought, as she moved from the girl as Egerton reached the yacht; “just enough. I wonder if I should have told her this isn’t Bermuda! I don’t see what good it would have done. Whatever it is, we can’t get away from it or him. There’s something queer, and Beryl’s the key to it. But I can’t do anything till I find out a little more. I wonder”--looking at the pale, indifferent face of her charge--“if she knows more than she pretends. All this may be clear as daylight to her, for all I know.” For sullen reserve was written on the handsome, obstinate face, and Beryl had always been odd enough. “So,” said Egerton lightly, as he joined the governess, “you have been making friends with your pupil. She is a queer mortal.” Andria, looking at him, could hardly repress a start. She saw now what had been familiar to her in this man’s face. He was as like Beryl Corselas as middle age can be like youth, except about the mouth. Where the girl’s was sullen and timid, his was clear-cut, decisive. But the difference in the eyes was only in color; his were all but black; hers uncanny, tawny gold, like old wine; the shape of the eye-socket was exactly similar in both faces. A queer compunction came over Andria. Perhaps the man was Beryl’s father! That would explain almost everything--except that senseless lie about Bermuda. “We have made friends, yes,” she said slowly. “Miss Corselas tells me we are to stay here?” He nodded, and watched her as she looked all round the tree-covered hills, where no houses were to be seen. “You don’t see anywhere to live? My house is up there, a short distance from the shore,” said Egerton, pointing directly in front of him. “I have just been there to see that the servants were prepared; we are going on shore to breakfast. Please don’t turn pale, we will have some coffee before we go.” As in a dream, Andria Holbeach--who had so short a time since been Andria Erle in a very different place, but with no better right--found herself being put on shore like cargo. There seemed no need for such haste, and she saw with wonder how quickly the sailors were getting out of the boats not only her own and Beryl’s boxes, but packing-cases of stores. But she had little time to watch them. The instant Mr. Egerton set foot on the firm, white sand, he led the way up a narrow path that could not be seen from the yacht. “After me, please, Miss Holbeach,” he said, with a total change of manner. “And look out for the llanos.” What llanos were she did not know, but she soon saw. Great ropes of some vine were thick across the neglected path, a very trap for unwary feet. Sharp edges of uneven rock cut her boots as she hurried after Egerton. The man, for his age, was getting over the ground marvelously.