novelist’s acquaintance with the country into which they would go, and his experience in woodcraft—­gained upon many like expeditions in the lonely wilds he loved—­would make a guide unnecessary.  It would be a new experience for Aaron King; and, as the novelist talked, he found himself eager as a schoolboy for the trip; while the distant mountains, themselves, seemed to call him—­inviting him to learn the secret of their calm strength and the spirit of their lofty peace.  The following day, they would spend in town; purchasing an outfit of the necessary equipment and supplies, securing a burro, and attending to numerous odds and ends of business preparatory to their indefinite absence.

It so happened, the next day, that Yee Kee,—­who was to care for the place during their weeks of absence had matters of importance to himself, that demanded his attention in town.  When his masters informed him that they would not be home for lunch, he took advantage of the opportunity and asked for the day.

Thus it came about that Conrad Lagrange—­in the spirit of a boy bent upon some secret adventure—­stole out into the rose garden, that morning, to leave the promised letter and key at the little gate in the corner of the Ragged Robin hedge.

Chapter XIII

Myra Willard’s Challenge

Since her meeting with Conrad Lagrange in the rose garden, Sibyl Andres had looked, every day, for that promised letter.  She found it early in the afternoon.  It was a quaint letter—­written in the spirit of their meeting—­telling her the probable time of her neighbor’s return; warning her, in fear of some fanciful horror, to beware of the picture on the easel; and wishing her joy of the adventure.  With the note, was a key.

A few minutes later, the girl unlocked the door of the studio, and entered the building that had once been so familiar to her, but was now, in its interior, so transformed.  Slowly, she pushed the door to, behind her.  As though half frightened at her own daring, she stood quite still, looking about.  In the atmosphere of that somewhat richly furnished apartment; poised timidly as if for ready flight; she seemed, indeed, the spirit that the novelist—­in playful fancy—­insisted that she was.  Her cheeks were glowing with color; her eyes were bright with the excitement of her innocent adventure, and with her genuine admiration and appreciation of the beautiful room.

Presently,—­growing bolder,—­she began moving about the studio—­light-footed and graceful as a wild thing from her own mountain home, and, indeed, with much the air of a gentle creature of the woods that had strayed into the haunts of men.  Intensely interested in the things she found, she gradually forgot her timidity, and gave herself to the enjoyment of her surroundings, with the freedom and abandon of a child.  From picture to picture, she went, with wide, eager eyes.  She turned over