On the ground beside Beryl, playing with her hand, was a small cat--all marked with curious black rings on its yellow-white coat. But it was no cat. Its face was square, its eyes wild, as it stopped its play at the sight of a second person. Beryl, her own strange eyes intent and masterful, began to stroke it with soft, strong fingers. “Pussy, pussy--little, little cat!” she whispered in the thing’s small ear; and as if it knew her it lay on its back and patted her with velvet paws. What she had seen in the night came back to the governess. Had it been a full-grown thing like this that had smelled her out on the upper veranda? Trembling, she stepped to the girl’s side. “Beryl, put it down! Come home,” she begged, for orders, when the girl’s face was absent and obstinate, were useless. “It may have its mother somewhere, you don’t know! Come home.” “She wouldn’t hurt me!” said Beryl, and for a moment those strange, yellow eyes met Andria’s, not so unlike the eyes of the queer, wild kitten. “No, but she might me,” said Andria quietly, as a forlorn hope. Beryl turned pale. “Oh, Andria, forgive me!” she cried. “I forgot. There, little cat, run home! Or shall I take it with us and feed it?” “No, no! Oh, come away!” with a wild horror she thought of being followed up the path by a prowling thing like she had seen the night before. Almost she stamped her foot as Beryl lingered, kissing her new-found toy. Instead of scratching, it purred and rubbed its head against her, and Andria knew that if she had touched it the thing would have clawed her eyes out. Her heartbeats, which had shaken her from breathlessness, shook her now with terror. Who could tell what moment death might not be on them? But Beryl, putting down the kitten very gently, slipped her arm through Andria’s with quick compunction. “Come along,” she said sweetly. “I’d forgotten this was a bad place and we weren’t to come here. Run home, little cat! See, Andria, it will follow us!” “Yes,” said Andria, with stiff lips. “It won’t come far, I fancy.” She pushed Beryl in front of her so that if more than the kitten should follow the girl would have a chance to run, and found herself glancing every which way just as Egerton had done the morning before. To her despair Beryl turned suddenly off the path. “Look!” she cried, “here’s the kitten again! It’s caught up with us. And here’s the dearest little pond, Andria!” She did not believe for one second in that fairy-tale of the kitten’s mother. “See it--all white sand, and so clear.” Andria was utterly furious. “Beryl, please come! I’m so hungry,” she said. “I believe you want me to get fever.” “How can you!” said Beryl. “You poor dear, I’ll come now.”