st some meaning from the tangle of words I had overheard, my thoughts
were tumbling over each other so fast that I had forgotten the doubtful
part I had played as an eavesdropper. I had heard a reference made to me
as one who had brought some new complication into the affairs of that
household which heretofore I had regarded as the most spotless and quiet
in the city, but which now I found had some dark and mysterious menace
hanging over its peace. Was I the one, after all, to whom they had
referred? They had spoken of some one else and whispered strange
phrases. It was all a blank puzzle to me.

Perhaps under different circumstances my caution and dislike of all that
is unusual or doubtful would have led me away from the house, planning
never to return. But there is in me a certain loyalty. I do not quickly
cast my lot or my reputation with that of another; when, however, I have
done so, I do not quickly withdraw. Extraordinary as it may seem, I
felt myself already bound to Julianna. Perhaps I already loved her
desperately.

Whatever may have been the case, when I turned back into the room I
looked into her gaze with an expression of solemnity which my emotions
intended as an outward sign of my continued devotion.

I must have presented then a ridiculous, sentimental appearance. She
laughed the moment she saw me.

"You like our balcony," she said. And then, as if she had discovered the
cause of my seriousness, she added, "also our spring moonlight."

I nodded.

"It is an unusual spot for the middle of a metropolis," she went on. "It
is filled with a tangle from which years ago I used to imagine fairies
and gnomes and Arabian marauders might step at any moment."

"Tell me more," said I.

"There was a little basin and fountain there when I was a child. But
when it did not flow, yellow slime collected at the bottom, and when the
water was turned on and trickled from one basin to another, it gave
forth a mournful sound that made one think of deserted villages, and
moss growing on gravestones, and courtyards where there were moonlight
murders."

"You have a keen imagination."

"The keenest!" she exclaimed. "Why not? It has grown up with me. And the
only trouble is that it causes me the greatest restlessness. My fate is
like all others. I am exactly what I would not be. Sometimes I long to
enjoy all the wildest of respectable adventures."

"I should think you would keep that a secret from the Judge. He, above
a