"Forgive me!" he pleaded. "And now see here, little pagan, let us make
a compact. Let us keep our ideals; don't let anything take them from us.
Is it a go?"

He stretched his hand out, and the small, brown one lay frankly in it.

"And we'll come here and--and worship before that fiend, just you and I?
And we won't ever tell?"

Priscilla nodded.

"And now will you dance once more, just once?"

The girl bounded from the rock, and before the bow struck the strings she
was poised and ready. Then it was on again, that strange, wild game. The
notes rang clear and true, and as true tripped the twinkling feet. With
head bent and eyes riveted on the graceful form, Travers urged her on by
word and laugh, and he did not heed a shadow which fell across the
sunlighted, open space, until Priscilla stopped short, and a deep voice
trembling with emotion roared one word:

"You!"

There stood Nathaniel Glenn, his face twitching with anger and something
akin to fear. How much he had heard no one could tell, but he had heard
and seen enough to arouse alarm and suspicion. In his hand was a long
lash whip, and, as Priscilla did not move, he raised it aloft and sent it
snapping around the rigid figure.