“So,” sighed the wind of the Okeechobee, “he still follows!”

“Yes,” said Diane, shuddering at the howl of a cat owl, “he has dared even that!”

“Brave and resolute to plunge into the wilds with a music-machine!  Would he, think you, dare all this for the sake of—­spying?”

“I—­I do not know.  I have wondered greatly.  Still he has dared much for it before.”

“He asked you to remember—­his love—­”

“I—­I dare not think of it.  For every admission he made that night by the marsh tallied with the terrible tale of Ronador.  I had thought he followed and watched by night for another reason.”

“What reason?”

“I—­do not know.  A finer, holier reason—­”

The wind fluttered and fell, and rose again with a plaintive sigh.

“You know, but you will not tell!”

“It—­it may be so.  He is false—­he is false!” cried the voice of the girl’s sore heart; “a false sentry and a false protector.  I can not bear it.  Philip!  Philip!  It was Themar’s knife—­and the bullet was his—­and all that seemed fine and noble was black and false!”

“You will not trust him as he begged!”

“I can not.  For he will not tell me the reason for all these things!”

“You will wed Prince Ronador?”

“Yes.  It is the one way out.”

“Why?”

“He is a gallant lover and the victim of much that is vile and unfair.”

“Yes—­he has said so.”

“He has suffered much through me.”

“Yes.”

“And he is honorable and devoted.”

“It may be.”

“He told me all, though he found it difficult.”

“He was not bound by a pledge.”

“No.”

“Well, there is wisdom, the wisdom of the world, in your choice.  Flashing jewels, robes of state, maids of honor—­”

“These things,” spurned Diane with beautiful insolence, “I may buy with gold.”

“Ah!” crooned the wind, “but the vassalage of this elfin nation that plays at empire, the romance and adventure of an imperial court!  And when the mad King dies and the Prince Regent, then Ronador will be king—­”

“I have thought of it all.  I can not go back to the old shallow life with Aunt Agatha.  No!  No!  And I am very lonely.  If in the days to come wind and moon and the call of the wilderness stir my gypsy blood to rebellion—­if I am ever to forget—­”

“What must you forget?”

“It was foolish to speak so.  I do not know.  Then when the call of the wildwood comes I must have crowded days and fevered gayety to hush it.  And surely this will come to me in the court of Ronador.”

The wild moon drifted behind a cloud, the sea darkened, something huge and shadowy lumbered down to the water and splashed heavily away, the cat owl hooted.  A mist drooped trailing fingers over the water as the wind died away.

A profoundly dreary setting for a dream of empire!