She turned sharply and burst through a screen of bushes, to find herself standing by the clear pool she had seen one morning. The moon shone down as bright as day, after the dreadful darkness of the woods the clear sheet of water looked like home; and then she screamed, a long, wailing shriek that had turned Heriot cold. At her side, almost touching her, was the apelike thing that had bitten Andria to the bone. The next instant its long claws of fingers were on hers. In utter despair she shut her eyes and waited for the horror that was coming. Would the thing tear her limb from limb? But except for that hand on hers it was not touching her, and as she stood, sick and stony with fear, a hoarse voice spoke to her. “Dearest of my soul,” it said in Spanish; “dearest of my soul.” With a cry of astonishment she opened her eyes. The man was not dumb, then, nor utterly dangerous! For he was down on his knees by her, kissing the hem of her garment. The soft language she had learned by stealth in the convent came back to her like a flash. “Who are you?” she cried. “What do you want? Why do you frighten us so?” “You have come home; come back to me!” The voice was the voice of an old man, the kneeling figure pitifully thin and ragged. “I am the old man who loves you--don’t you remember me? It was I gave you that ring!” He touched the green beryl on her finger pleadingly. She stared at him; yet she dared not say she had found the ring. “You frightened me, you hurt my governess last night,” she cried angrily. “Go away and let me alone!” “I did not know you liked her. I thought she was his servant,” the old man whimpered. He began to beg her pardon a hundred times. “I to frighten you, I that love you!” he cried. “I will never touch a hair of any one that belongs to you. I’ll never leave you again.” “You must go away--and never come back,” cried Beryl, stamping her foot, seeing no meaning in the words Andria would have understood too well. The thing crouched at her feet. “Little dearest, I will go,” said the broken old voice, and tears of pity came to Beryl’s eyes. “But if he comes,” it was fierce again, “call me and I will send him away. He shall never steal you again.” “Beryl! Where are you?” The sudden shout was stern and yet anxious. “Answer me.” Heriot’s voice. What should she do? She looked at the crazy face beside her, in an instant all the humanity had been wiped off it as the man scrambled to his feet. “I will call my cats,” he whispered, with the leering grin that had terrified Andria. “They will claw him.” “No!” she said hastily. She stooped and put her hand on those bent, repulsive shoulders. “No. Listen--this man who’s coming is my friend, look at him well. When I call you, you and your cats can claw--but never him nor my governess. If you hurt them I’ll never let you see me again.” He winced pitifully.