Who am I to blame? Come, I will
make on end for you. You need not
choose; leave It to destiny to me.
There is only one thing I nsk. Before
I go south I must say good-by to you.
You will come? It is the only answer
1 shall need."
A Jewish woman laden with flow
ers came round the corner of the
mosque, singing a monotonous Arab
song. Colonel Destlnn bowed.
"Au revoir, Madame Arnaud."
She turned from him with a little
strained smile about ber white lips.
"Au revoir, Colonel Destlnn.".
The flower-seller came up to her, of
fering her a sprig of Jasmine, and she
accepted and paid for it with a me
chanical self-possession. Convention
had lent her the strength to appear in
different. Yet ber hand trembled. The
woman looked up Into her face with a
bold smile.
"Let madame keep the flower ever
with her," she said. "It carries a bless
ing to a pure heart."
Sylvia Arnaud nodded nnd passed
on.
CHAPTER XII.
The Choice.
Sylvia Arnaud sat at her small writ
ing table beneath the lamp, and before
putting her signature to the completed
letter before her reread Mrs. Farqu
har's concluding sentences. "You will
be pleased to hear that Richard has
settled down at last," Mrs. Farquhar
had written In ber sprawling, reckless
band. "He has taken a ranch in Aus
tralia and is doing very well. I have
even hopes that some day soon I shall
have news from him of the sort dear to
every woman's heart though heaveu
knows why. He asked me in his last
letter to be remembered to you."
Sylvia Arnaud sighed and picked up
her pen.
