“No, no, my child!” she was saying to June, “Put up your purse. No money ever is passed in this room. This place is sacred to loyalty and friendship, beauty and truth.”
A moment later the two girls found themselves once again in the bright sunshine of a winter’s day.
“That,” said Florence, “is the strangest one of them all. Or is she one of them at all?”
“No,” said June, “she is not one of them.” She was thinking of Madame Zaran, of the voodoo priestess and all the rest. “She—” she hesitated, “she is the spirit of truth. All she said is true. But how—” her face was filled with sudden dismay. “How are we to find this large island?”
“Perhaps,” said Florence with a broad smile, “we shall not be obliged to find the island. It may find us, or at least your father may.”
CHAPTER XXIII
STRANGE TREASURE
“Vivian! Look down there!” Jeanne’s lips were drawn into a tight line as she pointed to a spot on the smooth frozen surface of the little lost lake.
It was the day following the storm. All was clear, bright and silent now. They had climbed the ridge, those two. Then they had gone slipping and sliding down the other side.
As Vivian heard Jeanne’s words, she gave her a quick look of sudden surprise. “Why—what——”
“Don’t ask me!” Jeanne exclaimed in a low, tense tone. “I can’t tell you. I mustn’t! Just look!”