of any great scheme of eternal punishment for the heathen in his blindness who had been naked all his life without knowing it. He knew that the heathen in his blindness had curiosity enough at his command to inquire of the missionaries if the white beachcomber and his bottle of square-face represented the product of centuries of Christianity, and if they did not, why the missionaries did not evangelize the beachcomber and his bottle off the face of the earth. Phyllis, being well aware of George Holland’s views, was not shocked at the sound of his laughter at the true story of Mr. Courtland’s dynamite outrage at New Guinea; but all the same, she was glad that she was not going to marry him. He had not, however, been altogether uninteresting in her eyes while sitting beside her, and that was something to record in his favor. She drove home early, and running upstairs found herself face to face with Ella Linton. CHAPTER XX. I HAVE HEARD THE PASSIONATE GALLOP OF THOSE FIERY-FOOTED STEEDS. Ella was standing waiting for her outside the open door of a drawing room. She was wearing a lovely evening dress with a corsage of white lace covered with diamonds and sapphires. Her hair--it was of the darkest brown and was very plentiful--was also glittering with gems under the light that flowed through the open door. The same light showed Phyllis how deathly white Ella’s face and neck were--how tumultuously her bosom was heaving. She had one hand pressed to her side, and the other on the handle of the door when Phyllis met her; and in that attitude, even though the expanse of white flesh, with its gracious curves that forced out her bodice, had no roseate tint upon it, she looked lovely--intoxicating to the eyes of men. Phyllis was certainly surprised. The hour was scarcely eleven, but Ella had given no notice of her intention to pay a visit to her friend that night. When the girl raised her hands with a laugh of admiration, of pleasure, Ella grasped her hands with both of her own and drew her into the drawing room without a word. Then with a cry,--a laugh and a cry mingled,--she literally flung herself into the girl’s arms and kissed her convulsively a dozen times, on the throat, on the neck, on the shoulder whereon her head lay. “My darling, my darling!” she cried,--and now and again her voice was broken with a sob,--“my darling Phyllis! I have come to you--I want to be with you--to be near you--to keep my arms about you, so tightly that no one can pluck us asunder. Oh, you don’t know what men are--they would pluck us asunder if they could; but they can’t now. With you I am safe--that is why I have come to you, my Phyllis. I want to be safe--indeed I do!” She had now raised her head from Phyllis’ shoulder, but was still holding her tightly--a hand on each of her arms, and her face within an inch of the girl’s face. Phyllis kissed her softly on each cheek. “My poor dear!” she said, “what can have happened to you?”