At half-past two she started out, Carmen giving her explicit directions, which she could not mistake, because, after passing through the bamboos, the way was straight as far as that stretch of disused pasture land of which mention had been made.

“You’ll be in shade of the orange-trees till you come to a big gate in a fence,” Carmen explained.  “Shut it after you, please, because dogs might stray into the garden if you left it open.  No cattle graze on that part of the ranch any more.  They’re going to irrigate there and to plant alfalfa, the soil’s likely to be so good.  But I’ve been weak enough to let gipsies camp on the place once or twice, and there might be some there now, with their dogs and horses, for all I know.  As you go out of the gate you’ll see a kind of track worn in the grass; and all you’ve got to do is to follow it for about three quarters of a mile, till you come to a new road that’s just been finished.  When the rest of it’s made right, motors won’t have any trouble between Nick’s ranch and mine.”

Angela said that she understood her instructions perfectly, and took the green-lined parasol which her hostess had found for her.  Its outer covering was scarlet, and it was rather big and heavy.  Angela made up her mind that she would not use it except for the hottest part of the walk, going across the disused pasture land.

“You’ll really be able to come on about five?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, I shall be a different woman by that time.”  The contralto voice dropped oddly and suddenly with these words:  an effect of the headache, of course.  And the pallor of the dark face was almost ghastly.  Angela thought that her hostess looked very ill.  “You may expect me,” Carmen finished.

“I know Mr. Hilliard would be disappointed if you didn’t come.  Good-bye till five, then.”

“Good-bye.”

Angela turned away; and Mrs. Gaylor, who had brought her guest as far as the beginning of the bamboo grove; stood watching the white figure flit farther and farther away, among the intricate green pillars of the temple.  Then, when the elusive form became ghostlike in the distance, Carmen went back to the house.  She walked slowly and with dignified composure while it was possible that she might be seen by some servant.  But once in her room, with the door locked, she tottered to the bedside and flung herself down on her knees.

“O God—­O God!” she gasped, her face hidden.

Then, lifting her eyes, with a look of horror, she whispered, “No, not God—­devil.  He’s the only one I can ever pray to now.”

Her eyes, glazed and staring, saw again the white figure passing from sunshine into shadow.  So it had been in Madame Vestris’s crystal.  How soon would the dark cloud blot it out of sight now—­and forever?