"I'm going back to England at once. To-night! Help me to get off, please," she said.

With blank amazement Cameron stared at her.

"What's got hold of you now?" he managed to ask.

"I'm going home," she said, "at once."

"But I thought you were staying here until Sir George came out?"

"Well, I've changed my mind," she snapped. "And I'm going back, even if you aren't."

All Pansy wanted now was to get to the one other man she loved, her father. To get to him as quickly as possible with her bruised and wounded heart.

"Of course I'll come with you, old girl," Cameron said, a trifle helplessly. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you in the lurch. But you have a way of springing surprises on people. I'll send along and tell the captain to get steam up."

"Yes, do, Bob, please," she said gratefully. "And ask Miss Grainger to see about the packing. And find out where Jenkins is, and send him along to the stables. I--I'm past doing anything."

Cameron scanned the girl quickly, suddenly aware that something more than a whim was at the bottom of her hurried departure.

"What is it, Pansy?" he asked.

"Nothing," she answered bravely. "But I get moods when I just feel I must see my old dad."

She turned away quickly to avoid any further questions, leaving Cameron staring at her receding back.

CHAPTER XIX

The next morning Le Breton set about his scheme for trapping Pansy.

The task appeared easy. He would get one of his men to note when she left the hotel and mark which route she took. There were not many roads in the place, and it would not be difficult to guess where she was going. He and his men would follow, and waylay and capture her at some lonely spot. They would take her across the island to a little port on the far side, where his yacht would be waiting. Once he had her safely on board, he would start for Africa.

As he sat at breakfast, savage and brooding, craving for the girl who had flouted him, one of his servants entered.

"Well?" he asked, glaring at the man.

The Arab made a deep obeisance.

"Your Highness, the English lady has gone."

"Gone!" the Sultan repeated in an incredulous tone. "Gone! Where?"

"She left the island last night, in her yacht, about two hours after she was here."

Like one thunderstruck, Le Breton stared at the Arab. This unexpected move of Pansy's had upset his calculations altogether.

Without a word he rose from the table. There and then he went over to the hotel to see the manager, his only idea to find out where the girl had gone. He could not believe that she had escaped him; yet the mere thought that she might have done so filled him with a seething pa.s.sion.

By the time he reached the hotel he had recovered himself in some degree, sufficiently to inquire in a normal tone for the manager.

He was taken to the latter's office.

"You had an English lady staying here, a Miss Langham," Le Breton said the moment he was ushered in. "I wanted to see her rather particularly, but I hear she has left. Can you tell me where she's gone?"

On seeing who the visitor was, the manager was anxious to give all possible a.s.sistance, but he knew little more about Pansy than Le Breton did.

"She left rather hurriedly," he said; "and, as far as I could gather, she was going back to England."

"Do you know her address there?" Le Breton asked.

"No, I don't," the manager said regretfully. "Miss Langham did not talk much about herself."

This was all Le Breton was able to learn. But he knew one thing--that the girl his fierce heart hungered for had escaped him.

That morning his black horse had a hard time, for Le Breton rode like a madman in a vain endeavour to get away from the whirl of wild love and thwarted hopes that raged within him--the Sultan Casim Ammeh for the first time deprived of the woman he wanted; wanted as he had never wanted any other.

He went to the rose-wreathed summer-house where Pansy had been pleased to linger with him; to the orange groves at Telde where they had breakfasted together. Night found him in the hotel gardens, near the fountain where they had met and plighted their troth.

His hands clenched at the thought of all she had promised there.

Phantom-like, she haunted him. Her ghost was in his arms, kissing and teasing him, a recollection that was torture. The one real love of his life had proved but Dead Sea fruit.

He would have given his kingdom, all his riches, to have Pansy back in his arms as he had had her that night, unresisting, watching him with eyes full of love, wanting him as much as he had wanted her. The one woman who had ever scorned him!

CHAPTER XX

In his study Sir George Barclay sat alone. Sixteen years had pa.s.sed since, in far-away Gambia, he had had to condemn to death the marauding Arab chief. In a few weeks' time he would be returning to the country, not in any minor capacity, but as its Governor.

Although his thoughts just then were in Gambia, the incident of the shooting of the Sultan Casim Ammeh had long since gone from his mind.

And he never gave a thought nowadays to the boy who, unavailingly, had come to the Arab chief's rescue. But he still carried the mark of the youngster's sword upon his cheek.

The pa.s.sing years had changed Barclay very little. His hair was grey, his face thinner, and a studious look now lurked in the grey eyes where tragedy had once been. For, in his profession, Barclay had found some of the forgetfulness he had set out in search of.

As he sat at his desk the door opened suddenly. The manner of opening told him that the daughter he imagined to be a thousand or more miles away was home again. For no one, save this cherished legacy from his lost love, would enter his study with such lack of ceremony.

He looked round quickly, as a slim girl in ermine and purple velvet entered.

"Why, Pansy, my darling, I thought you were in Grand Canary," he said, rising quickly to greet her.

"So I was, father, five days ago. And then ... and then----!"

She paused, and laughing in a rather forced manner, kissed him affectionately.

"Father, will you take me out to Gambia with you?" she finished.