The Lighted Match

n to the city, and the road had begun to slip away

quired, "where i

u loaned it to Mr. Bristo

ent spread across the visage of Mr. McGuire, hinting of some enterprise

of disguises even had his assertion that he would not masquerade been made only to deceive. Perhaps, thought the American, Colonel Von Ritz was becoming an obsession with him, merely because he stood for Galavia and the threat of royalty's mandate. He was convinced of this later in the day, when he once more fancied that a disappearing pair of broad shoulders belonged to the

y marching doom. Outwardly Cara set a pace for vivacious and care-free enjoyment that left Mrs. Porter-Woodleigh, the "semi-professional light-hearted lady," as O'Barreton named her, "to trail along in the ruck."

me unprefaced by development. To-morrow she must take up her journey and her duty: her holiday would be at its end. It was all the greater reason why this evening should be memorable. He should think of

fted its pattern of color, three men stood by the doo

ief, in brown fleshings, with cuffs upon his ankles, gaudy

ere cloak which dropped domino-like to his ankles. Shaggy brows ran in an unbroken line from temple to temple, masking his eyes, while a fierce mustache and beard obliterated the conto

of his coat, there was no break in the black and white scheme of his evening clothes. Von Ritz had told the truth. He was not disguised. He stood, his arms folded on his breast, towering abo

he declaimed, in a disguised voice; then scowled about him villainously, remembering that

his head. "Allahu Akbar!" h

and zigzag course across the crowded floor. Th

some wild thing, erect, poised from the waist, rhythmic in motion. Her walk was like the scansion of g

er hair fell from her forehead and temples, dropping over her shoulders in two ribbon bound braids. A tall, gray-cowled monk, whose military bearing gave the lie to his cassock, a Spanish grandee, and a fool in motley saw her at the

ispered the camel-driver as he drew

lly altered voice, from which, howev

the tip of one ear which showed under its masking of brown hair-an ear tha

sy maiden within

y maiden who sho

night had n

wind had no

amenc

its silencing came the monk, th

sh girl. There were Comanches, Samurai, policemen, Zulus and courtiers, who, s

gipsy maiden from Andalusia into the deserted library, where

His voice was freighted with appeal. Her face, no

asked, "h

mirthless laugh, she spread both hands toward the blaze. "I'm looking ahead-I can see it all there in

for her, but with a shake

in a leather chair?" she demanded. "It'

tween her clasped hands, sat looking into the dying blaze.

the gipsies of the desert, sit in chairs." He swayed slightly toward her, lowering his voice to a whisper. As the soft touch of her shoulder brushed him and electrified him, his cashmere-draped arms

with me while there is time. Let us follow out our destinies where gipsy blood calls us; in the desert, the jungle, wherever you say. Let your fancy be our gu

ittleness of a prison, with none of the breadth of an empire. I see the sacrifice of all I lo

ent, and he

a mosque, and the long booths of the bazaars. I smell the scent of the perfume-seller's stall, the heavy sweetness of attar of roses.... I hear the tinkle of camel bells..

, you know!" she cried, in a piteous voice. "And you love me, yet you tempt me to break my

ributaries of the heart. Some day you must come to me. That much is immutably written. For God's sake come now while the

e gazed at him

n a frightened voice. "I kno

he said: "I ask your forgiveness if I've made it harder-an

tz will find me," she objected helplessl

the moon is brilliant. It is the last real moo

get my face properly composed-and if you make love to me, I can't. B

is cashmere cloak and gripped them tightly in both hands as sh

se do," sh

make love to you," he asserted, "

dow of the wall, instructing him explicitly in his duties. McGuire was to wait with the machine ready upon call. The lamps were not to be lighted. When Benton came, the chauffeur was to run the car to the point where a lady should enter it. He was at that point to leave, without words. It had been impressed on McGuire that utter silence was imperative. The ch

he gravel. On a muddied spot he found the easily recognizable tread of his tires. The car had been there. For the sake of speed he ran to the garage near by and took a swift look at the runabout. It was waiting, and, thank

uld meet Cara, he noticed a man hurrying toward him, on foot, and

ad," he called. "Tell me abou

ed at his employer out of large, wild eyes. "Am I dippy? My God! Am I dippy?"

e. Get in, damn yo

lared McGuire. "I

razier than hell. I waited at the place you said. You-or your ghost-came and took his seat, and waved his hand. I started the car for the bridge. He

n Benton, scanning the road, empty in the moonlight, grasped

ted. "Good God,

you, sir. The lady's in that other car-with that other edition of

emed to rise from the ground and shiver before it settled again. Then it shot fo

driven by a maniac with a scarf blowing back

he austere proclaiming of his garb, was studying the frivolous gamboling of a school of fou

his to the gentleman masqueradin

wled the monk.

it. His brows contracted in astonished mystifica

crawl

will find ready in the garage. My orderly will be there to act as your chauffeur. Follow the main road to the second village. Turn there to the right, and drive to the small bay, whe