Miss Ottley was gazing over the desert. "You must know you are behaving like a child," she cuttingly remarked. I shook my head at the Captain. "That means you are keeping a lady waiting," I observed. He smiled wrily in spite of himself. "Scottish, are you not?" he asked. "From Aberdeen." He climbed on the mule's back. "I'm thinking Dr. Pinsent would like to be alone," he said. Miss Ottley nodded and they rode off together. I picked up my swag and trudged after them. It was dry work. About twenty minutes later Miss Ottley rode back alone. She did not beat about the bush at all. "I want you to put your things on my donkey," she said; and slipping afoot, she stood in my path. "Not to-day," said I. "But I'm in trouble, I need your help," she muttered. "With such a cavalier as Frankfort Weldon?" I inquired. She coloured. "And Dr. Belleville. Old friends both, I am led to fancy." She bit her lips. "And both of them in love with you," I went on bluntly. "Dr. Pinsent," said Miss Ottley, "it is my opinion that my father is not quite right in his mind." "Dr. Belleville is a F. R. C. S.," said I. "I am afraid of him--my own father," she said, in a tragic tone. "I have a feeling that he hates me, that he wants to--to destroy me." "Captain Weldon would lay down his life for you, I think," said I. She put a hand on my breast and looked me straight in the eye. "I could not tell this to Dr. Belleville, nor to the other," she half whispered. I thrilled all over. "All right," I said, cheerily. "Just stand aside till I load your little beastie, will you?" Her whole face lighted up. "Ah! I knew you would not desert me," she said. But we did not speak again all the way to the Hill of Rakh. We were too busy thinking; the two of us. When we arrived she flitted off, still silent. Captain Weldon came to me. "I want you to share my tent," said he. "I have a tub for you in waiting, and some fresh linen laid out, if you'll honour me by wearing it." "You are a brick," I replied, and took his arm. But at the door of the biggest tent in the whole camp to which he brought me I paused in wonder. It was a sort of lady's bower within. The floor was laid with rugs, and the sloped canvas walls were hung with silken frills; and women's photographs littered the fold-up dressing-table. They were all of the same face, though, those latter; the face of Miss Ottley. "Sybarite!" I cried. He winced, then squared his shoulders. "Well--perhaps so," he said with a smile. "But your gallery has only one goddess," I commented, pointing to a picture. He gave a shame-faced little laugh. "You see, Doctor, I have the happiness to be engaged to marry Miss Ottley," he explained. Then he left me to my tub. Chapter VIII Ottley Shows His Hand