"My dog," she explained. "But he doesn't talk French, so I don't suppose he will follow you."
He received the information with a smile. "But I speak English, mademoiselle," he protested for the second time.
"Ah yes, you do—after a fashion," admitted Chris. "But I don't suppose
Cinders would understand it. It's not very English English."
He raised his shoulders in a gesture that was purely French. "La belle dame sans merci!" he murmured ruefully. "Bien! I will do my possible."
"Splendid!" laughed Chris. "No one could do more."
She watched him go with eyes that sparkled with merriment. The trim, slight figure was quite good to look upon. He went bounding over the rocks with the sure-footed grace of a chamois.
"I wonder who he really is," said Chris, "and where he comes from."
CHAPTER II
DESTINY
Over the rocks went the stranger with the careless speed of youth, humming to himself in a soft tenor, his brown face turned to the sun. The pleasant smile was still upon it. He had the look of one in whose eyes all things are good.