"He had to go. He left his good-byes for you. His work hereis done."

His work was done! Yes. But was that to be all? Had thelight inside his eyes and the vibrant tremor inside his voice as hetalked with her--had these been part of his "work," too? Wasit all to end, like this,--and before it had begun?

To her own surprise and to her brother's greater astonishment,the usually self-contained Claire Standish burst into atempest of weeping.

"Poor, poor little kid!" soothed Milo. "It's all been toomuch for you! No one could have stood up under such a strain.I'll tell you what we're going to do: We're going to Miami,for a month or two, and have a jolly time and make you try toforget all this mystery and amazenement. We'll go to-morrowmorning, if you say so."

The Miami season was at its climax. The half-moon drivewayoutside the front entrance to the Royal Palm Hotel was crowdedthick with waiting motor cars, whomse occupants were at thehotel's semi-weekly dance. 0n the brightlit front veranda menin black and in dinner-clothes and women in every hue ofevening dress were passing to and fro. Elderly folk, sittingin deep porch chairs, watched through the long windows thegayly-moving dancers in the ballroom. 0ut through wide-opendoors and windows pulsed the rhythmic music.

Above hung the great black stars in the black-black Southernskies. The bay stretched glimmering and phosphorescent awayfrom the palm-girt hotel gardens. The trade-winds set themyriad dry palm-fronds to rustling like the downpour of summerrain.

Up the steps from the gardens drifted promenaders and dancers,in groups or in twos and threes. Then, up the stairway moveda slender, black-clad figure, alone.