to his feet, The future still
held the moment when someone would enlighten her as to the lowliness of
his caste.

"It is late," he said gravely in English. "Perhaps if you were to ask
at the hotel, someone would interpret the little tale. And now will
you not return, for fear they come in search of you? It is not wise to
wander alone, at night, without a companion. Your dog------?"

Damaris laughed, the echoes binding the silvery sound like a soft
wrapping about the wounds and bruises Time had left upon the ruins.

"Wellington? Oh, he cut his foot badly this morning. And I--I want to
go to the hall built like a tent."

"The great Festal Hall of Totmes III?"

The man made no other comment; it was not for him to offer himself as
dragoman.

"Will you--take me there, if you know the way?"

"Verily would I be thy guide," came the passionate reply, "to guard thy
feet against the stones which will surely be spread upon thy path."

Playing with fire! Yes, indeed!

Side by side they walked, the torch throwing a pool of radiance just
ahead, until Damaris walked blindly into a column and cried aloud from
the hurt of the stone against her shoulder.

It was then that she stretched out her hand for support, and tingled to
her feet when sudden flames seemed to singe her finger-tips as they
rested on the man's arm.

Through the Central Court and the Pylons and into the Hall of Records
they went, until she tripped and crashed to her knees, and, rising,
slipped her hand into the man's and stood for a moment with thudding
heart when, closing fiercely round hers, it seemed to burn her whole
being.

Hand in hand they stood, seeing, by reason of the gloom, vastly little
of the columns which have the strange shape of tent-poles; then walked
warily and still hand in hand in and out of various and dilapidated
chambers.

"I--I don't _want_ to go back, but I think it must be very late,
so------"

They were standing near the chapel with the granite altar as she spoke,
and had turned to retrace their way when she flashed her light upon a
flight of steps.

Strange is the fascination and desolation of steps leading to an empty
dwelling and almost as mysterious as the door ajar in an empty house.

She stood in the little room and swept the light across the walls upon
which are represented the animals and flowers brought from Syria
century upon century ago.

Then the light, which had been growing dimmer and dimmer, went o