She dragged him off as she spoke, and Beryl turned to Andria. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Look!” said Andria, and bent down. The girl drew back with a cry. “You got that, to save me!” “I got it, anyhow,” grimly. “I’ll show him that and the broken window in his room where the man went out. I dare him to leave us here after that. I wonder what brought him back so soon?” “He could have been here before. It’s only six days to England. Andria, do you think he’s come to take us away?” “What else?” “I don’t know,” said Beryl, very low. “But I think he hates me worse than Mother Felicitas did. Listen; don’t tell him those jaguars are tame--don’t tell him I play with the kittens. Let him think we’re afraid.” “I am afraid. There’s no thinking about it.” “Tell him about the crazy man, make more of that, for that’s really the root of all,” Beryl persisted, with more truth than she knew. “Why don’t you want him to know the beasts aren’t really dangerous?” “They are,” coolly, “as far as he is concerned. Andria, are you going to meet him like that, all torn and bloody?” looking at the other woman’s flimsy muslin gown, whose real lace was in shreds. “It won’t hurt him to see it, I had to feel it,” Andria answered dully. “Beryl, did you notice something last night? When that dreadful, wizened creature came jabbering into our room last night, it wasn’t you he sprang at, it was I! If he had made for you I couldn’t have done anything.” “I saw,” but to Andria’s surprise she broke into a passion of tears. “Oh, Andria,” she sobbed, “what’s wrong with me that all strange things fear me? Am I half a beast, or crazy, like that dumb, jabbering man?” But Andria never answered. For once she let the girl she loved cry to her in vain. She was on her feet, breathless, listening with every nerve. Did every one who came to this dreadful house lose their senses? or did she in very truth hear a voice she had never thought to hear this side of the grave? Frantic, she hushed the girl who sobbed beside her. “Be quiet, listen!” her hand like a vise on Beryl’s shoulder. “There’s some one else there with Mr. Egerton.” A man’s voice, sweet and drawling, came up the stairs from the entrance-hall. “By George! You do yourself well in your country retreat. The man must have been crazy to sell it to you for such a song!” “Perhaps he was,” the answer was dry and significant. “My dear boy,” Egerton said in his ordinary tone, “did you expect me to keep my ward in a tent?” Andria staggered back against Beryl, whose tears had dried on her cheeks. “I’m faint,” she muttered, “ill. Tell them they can’t see me. I’m going to bed.” The strength gone from her muscles, her feet barely carrying her, she wrenched herself from Beryl’s hold and crept, more than walked, to her room. That was Egerton down-stairs, and with him was--Raimond Erle! Why was he here? What had brought him?