The girl drew a long, worried breath. "I believe I should go mad if I stayed here much longer," she said, to herself. She drew Caroline down beside her behind the arbor. "Listen to me, Mary Queen of Scots," she murmured, very low, with anxious glances all about her. "I don't know who you are nor where you come from, but I believe you will help me--I believe you're sorry for me. You know how badly Joan of Arc's friends felt when she was in prison? I'm sure you do. Well I have a--a dear friend who would die for me, if it would help me. He has no idea where I am. He thinks I don't want to see him. He thinks--he must think--I'm no longer his--his--his friend. If I could only get to him, I should be safe." "Why don't you write to him?" Caroline suggested. The girl laughed bitterly. "If _you_ had prisoners in _your_ fortress, and they wrote letters to their friends to come and get them out, would _you_ mail the letters?" she demanded. "I s'pose not," said Caroline gravely. Joan of Arc gulped. "My letters never went," she said. "Now listen: I must go up to my room and get some money--I can't do anything without money. Will you wait here till I come back and not let anyone see you if you can help it? And if they do, will you say that you slipped in at the gate with a party that came in an automobile? One was here lately. Ask if you mayn't stay and see the flowers. And then I will meet you." She looked hard in Caroline's eyes. "You're only playing," she said, suddenly. "You aren't--you aren't--What is your real name, dear?" Caroline scowled. "You better hurry up," she said, "or that gardener'll catch us. You're just like Marie Antoinette," she added irritably. "You think nobody can be anything but only yourself!" Without a word the girl turned and left her, half running. Caroline heard her sobs. At the same moment she caught the crunch of footsteps on the stone path that led to the arbor and crouched low behind it. Two men, talking idly, entered the spot of shade and sank down on the rustic bench. "Look here, Ferris," said one voice, "is she really dippy--that one?" "What do you mean?" This was a deeper voice, attached evidently to blue serge legs, for the speaker leaned to Caroline's eye level to scratch a match on one of them. "Oh, I mean what I say." A gray striped coat sleeve poked through the lattice work, as the first speaker leaned hard on it. "If she is, then I am, that's all. It looks queer to me." The blue legs crossed themselves tightly under the seat. "Look here yourself, Riggs," said the second voice. "If you're curious in this matter, I advise you to ask the doctor. He's boss here, not I--thank God! I obey orders and draw my forty per, as per contract. The same to you, only it's hardly forty, I suppose." "No, it's not," grunted Graycoat. "Not by a good sight. I see myself asking the old man. I only asked your private opinion, Ferris,--you needn't get sore about it."