Thanks to a punctured tire, Marston found a large dust-coated car standing at the roadside when he had covered only half of the journey. It was drawn up near a road-house that sat back of a rough stone wall, and was abandoned save for the chauffeur, who labored over his task of repair. But Marston stopped and ran up the stone stairs to the small terrace, where, between rose bushes that crowded the time-stained facade of the modest caravansery, were set two or three small tables under a trellis; and, at one of the tables, he recognized Mrs. Horton. Mrs. Horton rose with a little gasp of delight to welcome him, and recognized how his eyes were ranging in search for an even more important personage while he greeted her. Off beyond the road, with its low guarding wall of stone, the mountainside fell away precipitously to the sea, stretching out below in a limitless expanse of the bluest blue that our eyes can endure. The slopes were thickly wooded. "We blew out a tire," explained Mrs. Horton, "and Duska is exploring somewhere over the wall there. I was content to sit here and wait--but you are younger," she added with a smile. "I won't keep you here." From inside the tavern came the tinkle of guitars, from everywhere in the clear crystalline air hung the perfume of roses. Marston, with quick apologies, hastened across the road, vaulted the wall, and began his search. It was a brief one, for, turning into a clearing, he saw her below him on a ledge. She stood as straight and slim and gracefully erect as the lancelike young trees. He made his way swiftly down the slope, and she had not turned nor heard his approach. He went straight to her, and took her in his arms. The girl wheeled with a little cry of recognition and delight; then, after a moment, she held him off at arms' length, and looked at him. Her eyes were deep, and needed no words. About them was all the world and all the beauty of it. Finally, she laughed with the old, happy laugh. "Once," she said very slowly, "you quoted poetry to me--a verse about the young queen's crowning. Do you remember?" He nodded. "But that doesn't apply now," he assured her. "You are going to crown me with an undeserved and unspeakable crown." "Quote it to me now," she commanded, with reinstated autocracy. For a moment, the man looked into her face as the sun struck down on its delicate color, under the softness of hat and filmy automobile veil; then, clasping her very close, he whispered the lines: "Beautiful, bold and browned, Bright-eyed out of the battle, The young queen rode to be crowned." "Do you remember some other lines in the same verse?" she questioned, in a voice that made his throbbing pulses bound faster; but, before he could answer, she went on: "'Then the young queen answered swift, "We hold it crown of our crowning, to take our crown for a gift."'" They turned together, and started up the slope. * * * * *