She drew a short, quick breath, and shook her pretty head.

"Everybody's been talking about the Princess Zimbamzim this winter. So I had her there.... She--she is uncanny--positively terrifying. A dozen women were scared almost ill when they came out of her curtained corner.

"And--and then she demanded me.... I had no belief in such things.... I went into that curtained corner, never for one moment dreaming that what she might say would matter anything to me.... In ten minutes she had me scared and trembling like a leaf.... I didn't want to stay; I wanted to go. I--couldn't, somehow. My limbs were stiff--I couldn't control them--I couldn't get up! All my will power--was--was paralysed!"

The girl's colour had fled; she looked at Green with wide eyes dark with the memory of fear.

"She told me to come to her for an hour's crystal gazing the following afternoon. I--I didn't _want_ to go. But I couldn't seem to keep away.

"Then a terrible thing happened. I--I looked into that crystal and I saw there--saw with my own eyes--_myself_ being married to a--a perfectly strange man! I saw myself as clearly as in a looking gla.s.s;--but I could see only his back. He--he wore an overcoat--like that one I gave to you to send back. Think of it! Married to a man who was wearing an _overcoat_!

"And there was a clergyman who looked sleepy, and--and two strangers as witnesses--and there was I--_I!_--getting married to this man.... And the terrible thing about it was that I looked at him as though I--I l-loved him----"

Her emotions overcame her for a moment, but she swallowed desperately, lifted her head, and forced herself to continue:

"Then the Princess Zimbamzim began to laugh, very horridly: and I asked her, furiously, who that man was. And she said: 'His name seems to be George Z. Green; he is a banker and broker; and he lives at 1008-1/2 Fifth Avenue.'

"'Am _I_ marrying him?' I cried. 'Am _I_ marrying a strange broker who wears an overcoat at the ceremony?'

"And she laughed her horrid laugh again and said: 'You certainly are, Miss Wiltz. You can not escape it. It is your destiny.'

"'When am I to do it?' I demanded, trembling with fright and indignation. And she told me that it was certain to occur within either three months or three days.... And--can you imagine my n-natural feelings of horror--and repugnance? Can you not now understand the panic that seized me--when there, all the time in the crystal, I could actually see myself doing what that dreadful woman prophesied?"

"I don't blame you for running," he said, stunned.

"I do not blame myself. I ran. I fled, distracted, from that terrible house! I left word for my maid to pack and follow me to Ormond. I caught the first train I could catch. For the next three months I propose to continue my flight if--if necessary. And I fear it will be necessary."

"Finding his overcoat in your stateroom must have been a dreadful shock to you," he said, pityingly.

"Imagine! But when, not an hour ago, I saw his name on the register at the Hotel Royal Orchid--_directly under my name!_--can you--oh, can you imagine my utter terror?"

Her voice broke and she leaned up against the side of the car, so white, so quivering, so utterly demoralised by fear, that, alarmed, he took her trembling hands firmly in his.

"You mustn't give way," he said. "This won't do. You must show courage."

"How can I show courage when I'm f-frightened?"

"You must not be frightened, because--because I am going to stand by you. I am going to stand by you very firmly. I am going to see this matter through."

"Are you? It is so--so kind of you--so good--so generous.... Because it's uncanny enough to frighten even a man. You see we don't know what we're fighting. We're threatened by--by the occult! By unseen f-forces.... _How_ could that man be in St. Augustine?"

He drew a long breath. "I am going to tell you something.... May I?"

She turned in silence to look at him. Something in his eyes disturbed her, and he felt her little, gloved hands tighten spasmodically within his own.

"It isn't anything to frighten you," he said. "It may even relieve you.

Shall I tell you?"

Her lips formed a voiceless word of consent.

"Then I'll tell you.... I know George Z. Green."

"W-what?"

"I know him very well. He is--is an exceedingly--er--nice fellow."

"But I don't care! I'm not going to marry him!... Am I? Do you think I am?"

And she fell a-trembling so violently that, alarmed, he drew her to his shoulder, soothing her like a child, explaining that in the twentieth century no girl was going to marry anybody against her will.

Like a child she cowered against him, her hands tightening within his.

The car swayed and rattled on its clanging trucks; the feeble lamp glimmered.

"If I thought," she said, "that George Z. Green was destined to marry me under such outrageous and humiliating circ.u.mstances, I--I believe I would marry the first decent man I encountered--merely to confound the Princess Zimbamzim--and every wicked crystal-gazer in the world! I--I simply hate them!"

He said: "Then you believe in them."

"How can I help it? Look at me! Look at me here, in full light--asking protection of you!... And I don't care! I--think I am becoming more angry than--than frightened. I think it is your kindness that has given me courage. Somehow, I feel safe with you. I am sure that I can rely on you; can't I?"

"Yes," he said miserably.

"I was very sure I could when I saw you sitting there on the platform before the milk-train came in.... I don't know how it was--I was not afraid to speak to you.... Something about you made me confident.... I said to myself, 'He is _good_! I _know_ it!' And so I spoke to you."

Conscience was tearing him inwardly to shreds, as the fox tore the Spartan. How could he pose as the sort of man she believed him to be, and endure the self-contempt now almost overwhelming him?

"I--I'm not good," he blurted out, miserably.

She turned and looked at him seriously for a moment. Then, for the first time aware of his arm encircling her, and her hands in his, she flushed brightly and freed herself, straightening up in her little wooden chair.

"You need not tell me that," she said. "I _know_ you _are_ good."

"As a m-matter of f-fact," he stammered. "I'm a scoundrel!"

"What?"

"I can't bear to have you know it--b-but I am!"

"_How_ can you say that?--when you've been so perfectly sweet to me?"

she exclaimed.

And after a moment's silence she laughed deliciously.

"Only to look at you is enough," she said, "for a girl to feel absolute confidence in you."

"Do you feel that?"

"I?... Yes.... Yes, I do. I would trust you without hesitation. I have trusted you, have I not? And after all, it is not so strange. You are the sort of man to whom I am accustomed. We are both of the same sort."