"A vagabond angel--"

"Or an angel vagabond. I haven't disappointed you?"

He laughed softly, but made no reply. Of a truth, she had not.

"I was just thinking what a pity it was that during all these years your gifts have been so prodigally wasted. You have, I think, the greatest gift of all."

"And what is that?"

"The talent for living."

"Have I? Then I've learned it to-day. I _have_ lived to-day, John,"

she whispered. "I _have_ lived every hour of it." She watched the yellow rope of smoke which rose from the damp log. "The talent for living!" she mused. "I never thought of that."

"Yes, it's a talent, a fine art; but you've got to have your root in the soil, Hermia--unless you're an orchid."

"That's it, I know. But I'm not an orchid any longer."

Markham rose and knocked his pipe out.

"No," he smiled, "you're a night-blooming cereus--and so am I. You must remember that in this world the darkness was made for sleep, dawn for waking. The birds know that. So does Cleofonte. Therefore, you, too, child, shall sleep--and at once."

He raised the tarpaulin, sc.r.a.ped the ground free of twigs and stones, and then laid it back carefully, fetching his overcoat for a pillow.

"_Voil?_, Mademoiselle, your sheets have been airing all day.

I hope you fill find the mattress to your liking."

"But--where will you sleep?"

"Here; nearby--in Cleofonte's blanket."

She drew her long coat around her.

"You're a masterful person," she laughed. "What would happen if I refused to obey?"

"An immovable object would encounter an irresistible force."

She smiled and stretched herself out. He bent forward and laid the loose end of the cover over her.

"Good night, child. As a reward of obedience, you shall dream of a porcelain bath tub and a tooth brush."

She smiled, and, fishing in the pocket of her coat, drew out a small object wrapped in paper.

"It's the only thing I've saved from the wreck of my respectability--but the porcelain bath tub! Don't temp me."

He turned away and picked up Fabiani's blanket.

"Good night, Hermia," he said.

"Good night."

"Pleasant dreams."

"And you--good night."

"Good night."

CHAPTER XV

DANGER

It seemed to Hermia that she had hardly closed her eyes before she opened them again and found herself broadly awake. A blue light was filtering softly through the tops of the trees and the birds were already calling. She pushed her cover away and sat up, all her senses acutely alive. The fire was out, but the air was not chill. She glanced at Markham's rec.u.mbent figure, at Cleofonte and Luigi, and then stealthily arose. Toma.s.so, the bear, who of all the vagabond company had alone kept vigil, eyed her whimsically from his small eyes and moved uneasily in his chains.

On tiptoe she made her way to the stream, one of the dogs following her, but she patted him on the head and sent him back to the wagon. As she reached the depths of the forest she relaxed her vigilance and went rapidly down the stream, finding at last at some distance a quiet pool in the deep shadows. Here was her porcelain tub. She quickly undressed and bathed, her teeth chattering with the cold, but before the caravaners were awake was back in camp, gathering wood for the fire.

Her activities, furtive as they were, awakened Markham, who sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"h.e.l.lo!" he said. "Haven't you been asleep?"

For reply she pointed silently through the tree trunks to the rosy East.

He got to his feet, shaking himself, rubbed his eyes sleepily, and took from her hand the dead branch which she was dragging to the fire.

Between them they awoke Cleofonte, who lumbered to his feet and stared about with bleary eyes.

"_Bon giorno, Signora--Signor_. I have slept--oh, what sleep! Luigi!

Up with you. _Dio_! It is already day."

Immediately the camp was in commotion. The Signora descended from the wagon, and with Hermia's help prepared the breakfast while Stella held the baby. By sunrise the gray horse was. .h.i.tched to the shafts of the wagon, the bear hitched to its tail and the travelers were on their way--the contents of one's valise is on one's back in Vagabondia.

Cleofonte had invited Hermia to sit with him upon the seat of the wagon, but she had refused and taken her place by Markham's side behind Clarissa, who, quite peacefully, followed in the trail of Toma.s.so, the bear.

In this order the procession moved forward into the golden wake of the morning. Hermia was in a high humor--joyous, sparkling, satirical by turns. If yesterday she had found a talent for living, to-day it seemed the genius for joy had gotten into her veins. Her mood was infectious, and Markham found himself carried along on its tide, aware that she was drawing him by imperceptible inches from his sh.e.l.l, accepting his aphorisms in one moment that she might the more readily pick them to pieces in the next. He couldn't understand her, of course. She hadn't intended that he should, and this made the game so much the more interesting for them both. He didn't mind her tearing his dignity to taters--and this she did with a thoroughness which surprised him, but he discarded the rags of it with an excellent grace, meeting her humor with a gayety which left nothing to be desired.

"O Philidor!" she cried. "What a delusion you are!"

"Me? Why?"

"Your gravity, your dignity, your wise saws and maxims--your hatred of women."

"Oh, I say."

"All pose!" she continued gaily. "Politic but ineffective. You love us all madly, I know. _Do_ they make love to you, Philidor?"

"Who?"

"Your beautiful sitters."

"No," he growled. "That's not what they're in the studio for."