bell or miniature gong, and a slip of tafroo fell upon the desk. The first words were in that vocal character which I had mastered, and came from Esmo.
"Hysterical folly," he had said. "Mountain air might be fatal; and clear nights are dangerously cold for more than yourselves."
"What does he mean?" I asked, as I read out a formula more studiously occult than those of the Pharmacopoeia.
"That I am unpardonably silly, and that you must not dream of going back to your vessel. The last words, I suppose, warn you how carefully in such a household you need to guard the secrets of the Starlight."
"Well, and what is this in the stylic writing?"
Eveena glanced over it and coloured painfully, the tears gathering in her eyes.
"That," she said, pointing to the first cipher, "is my mother's signature."
"Then," I said, "it is meant for you, not for me."
"Nay," she answered. "Do you think I could take advantage of your not knowing the character?"—and she read words quite as incomprehensible to me as the writing itself.
"Can a star mislead the blind? I should veil myself in crimson if I have trained a bird to snatch sugar from full hands. Must even your womanhood reverse the clasps of your childhood?"
"It chimes midnight twice," I said—a Martial phrase meaning, 'I am as much in the dark as ever.' "Do not translate it, carissima. I can read in your face that it is unjust—reproachful where you deserve no reproach."
"Nay, when you so wrong my mother I must tell you
