As he stood staring down at it, a reaction against his tinge of panic moved Aylmer to laughter. He began to giggle in little bubbling gasps of mirth which were near relations of hysteria. Matters had gone so quickly that his sense of proportion had been displaced. First perfect equanimity, then sudden and unfounded apprehension, now recoil. One short minute had made ample room for all these among his emotions. He found laughter the only balm to his self-respect, for he was shivering with a Briton's uneasy sense of having been guilty of melodrama. His introspection was so intent that he failed to observe the return of the lady in white till her horse spurned the sand upon his riding boots. Then he wheeled alertly and looked up in her face. Her veil had dropped. She was clasping the child to her with the hand in which she gripped the reins. The other she held out to him. "You saved the boy!" she said, in a quick, panting whisper. "You saved him!" [Illustration: _"You saved the boy!" she said, in a quick, panting whisper_] Aylmer took the proffered hand, lifted his hat, smiled, and recognized the lady of the pier. He hesitated a moment. He shrugged his shoulders. "No," he deprecated, and pointed to the other spear-man who was already wheeling to inspect his trophy. "Your thanks are due to our friend Despard, if anywhere." "No!" she contradicted vehemently. "Did I not see it? You were sacrificing yourself, doing it deliberately. And I shall never forget it--never!" He smiled again. He looked at the child who sat silent on the saddle-bow, staring down at him. "Still running away?" queried Aylmer, pleasantly. "Whither, this time? And what was the terrible hurry?" A guilty grin puckered the little man's lips. "I thought I knowed you; you're the man of--of yesterday," he shrilled. "I was running from Selim. He wanted me to take siesta, but I did wish to be in the hunt." Aylmer nodded. "The usual trouble," he said. "We all want to be in--or, at any rate, to see--the hunt. And we never pay any attention to Selims, worse luck. You'll learn more by experience, sonny." The child made a little gesture of protest. "That's not my name," he answered solemnly. "Mother calls me Jackanapes, or Jack. But I'm John, really, just John." "Just John," assented Aylmer. "Just John what?" "John Aylmer," said the boy and stared in surprise at his new friend's startled visage. But the other John Aylmer was not looking at his namesake. He was looking at the girl who held him. Her eyes answered the glance gravely, sternly, even defiantly, and in silence. "You?" cried Aylmer. "You are--?" She hesitated. "John's nurse," she said, looking him steadily in the face. CHAPTER III THE SHADOW OF A NAME For a moment there was silence between the two. Aylmer's fingers unconsciously wound and unwound a tiny lock of hair in the horse's mane. His eyes travelled over the woman's face and figure appraisingly; his brows contracted into a frown of puzzlement.