crimson, in her hand.

"Wildenai's necklace!" she breathed, and hid her face.

There came the sound of a step outside. The manzanita branches were
pushed impatiently aside and he stood before her.

The journey across the channel from Los Angeles had seemed twice as long
as when he made it a few weeks before, and he had hurried all the way
from the hotel straight to the little cavern. But now that he had found
her again, there seemed to be plenty of time for everything, and he
stood quite silent looking down at her. He was glad he had found her
there, glad, in a curious, unreasoning way, for the quiet of the late
afternoon, for the faint fragrance of the Mariposa lilies blooming just
beyond the ledge. Yet he let her know nothing of this in what he said.

"So here you are, after all! I thought I should find you here."

She had not heard him come and was startled into a cry.

"You!" she gasped, and lifted eyes in which the telltale signs of tears
were still quite evident, so evident that, with a woman's instinct to
hide them, she caught up the necklace and held it toward him.

"See what I've found!" she exclaimed.

But he paid no heed. Instead, manlike, he proceeded, quite
unconsciously, to say the one thing that could hurt her most.

"I looked for you at the hotel first, then I came on up here. I knew you