On the edge of the road where Hamil sat his horse was an old pump—­the last indication of civilisation.  He dismounted and tried it, filling his cup with clear sparkling water, neither hot nor cold, and walking through the sand offered it to Shiela Cardross.

“Osceola’s font,” she nodded, returning from her abstraction; “thank you, I am thirsty.”  And she drained the cup at her leisure, pausing at moments to look into the west as though the wilderness had already laid its spell upon her.

Then she looked down at Hamil beside her, handing him the cup.

“In-nah-cahpoor?” she asked softly; and as he looked up puzzled and smiling:  “I asked you, in Seminole, what is the price I have to pay for your cup of water?”

“A little love,” he said quietly—­“a very little, Shiela.”

“I see!—­like this water, neither warm nor cold:  nac-ey-tai?—­what do you call it?—­oh, yes, sisterly affection.”  She looked down at him with a forced smile. “Uncah” she said, “which in Seminole means ‘yes’ to your demand....  You don’t mind if I relapse into the lake dialect occasionally—­do you?—­especially when I’m afraid to say it in English.”  And, gaining confidence, she smiled at him, the faintest hint of tenderness in her eyes.  “Neither warm nor cold—­Haiee-Kasapi!—­like this Indian well, Mr. Hamil; but, like it, very faithful—­even when in the arid days to come you turn to drink from sweeter springs.”

“Shiela!”

“Oh, no—­no!” she breathed, releasing her hands; “you interrupt me; I was thinking ist-ahmah-mahhen—­which way we must go.  Listen; we leave the road yonder where Gray’s green butterfly net is bobbing above the dead grass:  in-e-gitskah?—­can’t you see it?  And there are dad and Stent riding in line with that outpost pine—­ho-paiee!  Mount, my cavalier.  And”—­in a lower voice—­“perhaps you also may hear that voice in the wilderness which cried once to the unwise.”

As they rode girth-high through the grass the first enchanting glade opened before them, flanked by palmettos and pines.  Gray was galloping about in the woods among swarms of yellow and brown butterflies, swishing his net like a polo mallet, and drawing bridle every now and then to examine some specimen and drop it into the cyanide jar which bulged from his pocket.

“I got a lot of those dog’s-head fellows!” he called out to Shiela as she came past with Hamil.  “You remember that the white ants got at my other specimens before I could mount them.”

“I remember,” said Shiela; “don’t ride too hard in the sun, dear.”  But Gray saw something ahead and shook out his bridle, and soon left them in the rear once more, riding through endless glades of green where there was no sound except the creak of leather and the continuous popping of those small pods on the seeds of which quail feed.

“I thought there were no end of gorgeous flowers in the semi-tropics,” he said, “but there’s almost nothing here except green.”