"I did not come from Dorby. Nor from any of those villages. Still, I have had a long walk. I have been on my feet nearly three hours." As she offered no further explanation Ruxton urged her. "Will you not explain--more?" "Is it needed?" The woman faced round, and her Eastern eyes were smiling frankly into his. Ruxton had no alternative. He desired none. The situation had suddenly gripped him. He was caught in its toils, and delighted that it was so. This woman's beauty, her frank unconventionality, were wholly charming. He asked nothing better than that she should satisfy her whim, and sit there, beside him, talking--talking of what she pleased so long as he listened to the rich music in her voice, and could watch the play of her beautiful, mobile features. "No," he said deliberately. "There is no need." Then he made a comprehensive gesture with one hand. "The night is beautiful, it is a night of romance and adventure. Let us forget there are such things as conventionality, and just--talk. Let us talk as this silver night prompts. Let us try and forget that painful thought which daylight brings us all. As you say, the night is the time of truth, while daylight demands the subterfuge which conceals it." But the woman did not respond to his invitation. A little pucker of sudden distress marred her brows. "Conventionality. I had forgotten," she said. Then her manner became suddenly earnest. She leant slightly forward, and her shining eyes warned Ruxton of the genuineness of their appeal. "Yes, I had truly forgotten," she went on. "Will you--will you forget for the moment there is the difference of sex between us? Will you forget that I am a woman who has wilfully thrust her presence upon a man, a stranger, and laid herself open to a dreadful interpretation of her actions? Will you simply regard me as some one who is striving to unravel those tangled skeins, which, just now, seem to be enveloping a helpless humanity, and, in her effort, has sought out the only man whom she feels can help her--Mr. Ruxton Farlow, the man who will one day rise to be a great ruler in his country?" "You sought me out?" enquired Ruxton, ignoring the tribute so frankly spoken. "That is why I have been on my feet for three hours. Will you do as I have asked?" The charm of this beautiful creature was greater than the man knew. The situation, as she put it, was wholly impossible. Yet her fascination was such that he was impelled to hold out his hand. "For the time, at least, we are comrades in a common cause," he said, smiling. "My hand on it." The woman laid a white-gloved hand in his, and the thought in the man's mind was regret at the necessity for gloves. Ruxton stretched himself out on the heather again. This time he was on his side, supporting his head upon his hand and facing her. The moon was shining full down upon her uncovered hair, and illuminating the perfect features which held the man's gaze.