“Bermuda is a big place,” he said, with a slow smile. “You won’t see many people, and I shall come back as soon as I can----” He turned suddenly to Andria, who sat pale and motionless, certain that his coming back would be a long time in arriving. “My leaving you is unavoidable,” he said, as if he knew her thoughts, “and also for the best. You will learn to know each other better without a third person. You may go about as you like, but I may as well tell you that most of the country behind the house is impenetrable scrub, but quite safe if you care to try it.” And it seemed as if his harsh laugh broke out against his will, so quickly did he check it. “The only things I warn you not to do,” he went on, “are to go out at night, and to go up and down to the shore by that short cut we used this morning. You might easily hurt yourselves there; slip on the rocks, trip on the vines; a hundred things. And Salome will show you a better road when you wish to bathe or sit by the sea. But above everything”--and he lifted his hand impressively, and Andria stared as if she were fascinated where she sat--“do not stay out after sundown, and never, never stir one step outside after dark.” There was something in his voice that carried warning and conviction. “If you take my advice,” he continued, a shade less earnestly, “you will not even walk on the upper verandas after nightfall. The lower one you must never think of but by daylight. The air is health itself in the day, but at night it gives fever. You understand?” “Quite,” said Andria, whiter than a sheet of paper. “Quite.” “Then I will bid you good-by. It will be no time before you see me again. The days slip by here, you will find.” He opened the door for them to leave the room, and shook hands with studied courtesy as they passed. The governess never looked at him; she was quivering with rage. Beryl was so like him that she might easily be his daughter, and he was leaving her here with a woman of whom he knew less than nothing, whom he had chosen because she had absolutely no qualifications. And leaving her, too, in a place he owned was fever-haunted. If it had been in Andria’s power she would have knocked him down, and taken Beryl at a run to the boat. But, even if she did this, it would avail her nothing. Beryl was tired out, and one of the colored women showed her to her room. Andria remained in the dining-room, absorbed in her reflections. Suddenly she heard the sound of voices on the veranda without. She went to the window, and, screened by the jalousy, saw Egerton and Salome. “So you haven’t seen anything of him lately?” Egerton was saying. “No,” answered Salome; “not a hoof of him been round here since summer. Dey won’t be no more accidents dis time. He’s gone, and--dey’s gone, too.” “Well! that’s good news,” he said slowly; and why did she think there was disappointment in his voice? “But don’t let those two ladies go out after dark, all the same! There’s fever; remember that!”