that she was ugly? You did not guess what was in my mind?"
"I guessed it later," he answered.
"I think," she continued, smiling, "that even then I knew that Gilbert was as false as I have been—that even then I doubted him."
Her eyes softened suddenly.
"Listen!" she whispered. "A sanguilla, but it sings a different song."
"It is a mountain sanguilla," Lachlan told her, "a brighter, more beautiful bird, and one not often seen."
She listened to the bird, her eyes soft and thoughtful.
"Have you forgotten," she asked him, "the name you gave me—the Lady Sanguilla? Almayne told me. I have never heard you call me that, and I should like to hear it now."
He whispered the name in her ear. She nodded and said no more. A few minutes later she was asleep, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He laid her gently on the moss, looked for a long while at her face with the long silken lashes veiling the closed eyes, brushed the red-gold hair back from the smooth forehead. Then he joined Almayne and O'Sullivan.
It was at deep dusk of the second day after this that Aganuntsi the Conjurer came again.
They had finished the evening meal and were sitting around the little fire in front of Jolie's lean-to.
