There was a cheerful sound of flapping canvas and vanishing glimpses of a woodland shot with sun-gold, of a camp fire and a pair of dogs romping boisterously.  Moreover, though his bed was barely an inch from the ground to which it was staked over a couple of poles, it was exceedingly springy and comfortable.  Not yet thoroughly awake, Philip put out an exploring hand.

“Flexible willow shoots!” said he drowsily, “and a rush mat!  Oberon had nothing on me.  Hello!” A dog romped joyfully through the flapping canvas and barked.  Philip’s dream boat docked with a painful thud of memory.  Wincing painfully he sat up.

“Easy, old top!” he advised ruefully, as the dog bounded against him.  “It would seem that we’re an invalid with an infernal bump on the back of our head and a bandaged shoulder.”  He peered curiously through the tent flap and whistled softly.  “By George, Nero,” he added under his breath, “we’re in the camp of my beautiful gypsy lady!”

There was a bucket of water by the tent flap.  Philip painfully made a meager toilet, glanced doubtfully at the coarse cotton garment which by one of the mystifying events of the previous night had replaced the silk shirt he had worn from Sherrill’s, and emerged from the tent.

It was early morning.  A fresh fire was crackling merrily about a pot of coffee.  Beyond through the trees a river of swollen amber laughed in the morning sunlight under a cloudless sky.  The ridge of a distant woodland was deeply golden, the rolling meadow lands of clover beyond the river bright with iridescent dew.  But the storm had left its trail of broken rush and grasses and the heavy boughs of the woodland dripped forgotten rain.

A girl presently emerged from the trees by the river and swung lightly up the forest path, her scarlet sweater a vivid patch in the lesser life and color all about her.

[Illustration:  Diane swung lightly up the forest path.]

“Surely,” she exclaimed, meeting Philip’s glance with one of frank and very pleasant concern, “surely you must be very weak!  Why not stay in bed and let Johnny bring your breakfast to you?”

“Lord, no!” protested Philip, reddening.  “I feel ever so much better than I look.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Diane, smiling.  “You lost a lot of blood and bumped your head dreadfully on a jagged rock.  Would you mind,” her wonderful black eyes met his in a glance of frank inquiry, “would you mind—­explaining?  There was so much excitement and storm last night that we haven’t the slightest notion what happened.”

“Neither have I!” exclaimed Philip ruefully.

The girl’s eyes widened.

“How very singular!” she said.

“It is indeed!” admitted Philip.

“You must be an exceedingly hapless young man!” she commented with serious disapproval.  “I imagine your life must be a monotonous round of disaster and excitement!”