She nodded sympathetically: “I know. You feel like a Mergued Pagan from Lake Baïkal when all the lamps are lighted in the Mosque;—like a camel driver with his jade and gold when he enters Yarkand at sunrise.” “Probably I feel like that,” said Cleves, laughing outright. “I take your word, dear, anyway.” But he took more; he picked up her soft hand where it still rested on his, pressed it, and instantly reddened because he had done it. And Tressa’s bright flush responded so quickly that neither of them understood, and both misunderstood. The girl rose with heightened colour, not knowing why she stood up or what she meant to do. And Cleves, misinterpreting her emotion as a silent rebuke to the invasion of that convention tacitly accepted between them, stood up, too, and began to speak carelessly of commonplace things. She made the effort to reply, scarcely knowing what she was saying, so violently had his caress disturbed her heart,—and she was still speaking when their telephone rang. Cleves went; listened, then, still listening, summoned Tressa to his side with a gesture. “It’s Selden,” he said in a low voice. “He says he has the Yezidee Arrak Sou-Sou under observation, and that he needs you desperately. Will you help us?” “I’ll go, of course,” she replied, turning quite pale. Cleves nodded, still listening. After a while: “All right. We’ll be there. Good-bye,” he said sharply; and hung up. Then he turned and looked at his wife. “I wish to God,” he muttered, “that this business were ended. I—I can’t bear to have you go.” “I am not afraid.... Where is it?” “I never heard of the place before. We’re to meet Selden at ‘Fool’s Acre.’” “Where is it, Victor?” “I don’t know. Selden says there are no roads,—not even a spotted trail. It’s a wilderness left practically blank by the Geological Survey. Only the contours are marked, and Selden tells me that the altitudes are erroneous and the unnamed lakes and water courses are all wrong. He says it is his absolute conviction that the Geological Survey never penetrated this wilderness at all, but merely skirted it and guessed at what lay inside, because the map he has from Washington is utterly misleading, and the entire region is left blank except for a few vague blue lines and spots indicating water, and a few heights marked ‘1800.’” He turned and began to pace the sitting-room, frowning, perplexed, undecided. “Selden tells me,” he said, “that the Yezidee, Arrak Sou-Sou, is in there and very busy doing something or other. He says that he can do nothing without you, and will explain why when we meet him.” “Yes, Victor.” Cleves turned on his heel and came over to where his wife stood beside the sunny window. “I hate to ask you to go. I know that was the understanding. But this incessant danger—your constant peril——” “That does not count when I think of my country’s peril,” she said in a quiet voice. “When are we to start? And what shall I pack in my trunk?”