"I looked at her in silence. She sat very quietly, her hands clasped above her knee, her curly hair glittering to her girdle. A long robe, almost silvery in the twilight, clung to her young figure; her bare feet were thrust deep into a pair of shimmering Eastern slippers.
"'When you fled,' she sighed, 'I was asleep and there was no time to lose. I barely had a moment to go to Bombay, to find papa, and return in time to join you. This is an East-Indian costume.'
"Still I was silent.
"'Are you shocked?' she asked, simply.
"'No,' I replied, in a dull voice, 'I'm past that.'
"'You are very rude,' she said, with the tears starting to her eyes.
"'I do not mean to be. I only wish to go away—away somewhere and find out what my name is.'
"'Your name is Harold Kensett.'
"'Are you sure?' I asked, eagerly.
"'Yes—what troubles you?'