“Then—­none of your fortune,—­nothing she told you has ever come true?”

Once more Anthea hesitated, this time so long that Bellew turned from his moon-gazing to look at her.

“I mean,” he went on, “has none of it ever come true,—­about this Man with the Tiger-Mark, for instance?”

“No,—­oh no!” answered Anthea, rather hastily, and laughed again.  “Old Nannie has seen him in her dreams—­everywhere,—­in India, and Africa, and China; in hot countries, and cold countries—­oh!  Nannie has seen him everywhere, but I have seen him—­nowhere, and, of course, I never shall.”

“Ah!” said Bellew, “and she reads him always in your fortune, does she?”

“And I listen very patiently,” Anthea nodded, “because it pleases her so much, and it is all so very harmless, after all, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered Bellew, “and very wonderful!”

“Wonderful?—­poor old Nannie’s fancies!—­What do you mean by wonderful?”

“Upon my word, I hardly know,” said Bellew, shaking his head, “but ‘there are more things in heaven, and earth,’ etc., you know, and this is one of them.”

“Really!—­now you grow mysterious, Mr. Bellew.”

“Like the night!” he answered, turning to aid her across the impertinent brook that chuckled at them, and laughed after them, as only such a very impertinent brook possibly could.

So, betimes, they reached the stile, and crossed it, this time without mishap, despite the lurking nail and, all too soon for Bellew, had traversed the orchard, and were come to the garden where the roses all hung so still upon their stems that they might have been asleep, and filling the air with the perfume of their dreams.

And here they paused, perhaps because of the witchery of the moon, perhaps to listen to the voice of the nightingale who sang on more gloriously than ever.  Yet, though they stood so close together, their glances seldom met, and they were very silent.  But at last, as though making up her mind, Anthea spoke: 

“What did you mean when you said Old Nannie’s dreams were so wonderful?” she asked.

“I’ll show you!” he answered, and, while he spoke, slipped off his coat, and drawing up his shirt-sleeve, held out a muscular, white arm towards her.  He held it out in the full radiance of the moon, and thus, looking down at it, her eyes grew suddenly wide, and her breath caught strangely as surprise gave place to something else; for there, plain to be seen upon the white flesh, were three long scars that wound up from elbow to shoulder.  And so, for a while, they stood thus, she looking at his arm, and he at her.

“Why—­” said she at last, finding voice in a little gasp,—­“why then—­”

“I am the Man with the Tiger Mark!” he said, smiling his slow, placid smile.  Now, as his eyes looked down into hers, she flushed sudden, and hot, and her glance wavered, and fell beneath his.

“Oh!” she cried, and, with the word, turned about, and fled from him into the house.