his shoulders and returning the golden mask, he bowed and begged her
pardon with unmistakable deference.

"Let a humbled Palmer," he said quietly, "pay his sincerest homage to
the most beautiful woman he has even seen." And as the girl moved
proudly away, the strain of fantastic music which followed her was
subtly deferential.

CHAPTER XXX

THE UNMASKING

At midnight a mellow chime rang somewhere by the cypress pool.
Laughing and jesting, calling to one another, the masked crowd moved
off to the vine-hung villa ahead, gleaming moon-white through the
shrubbery.

Somewhat reluctantly the minstrel followed. It had been his intention
to unmask in some secluded corner whence, presently, he might slip away
to his room, but finding himself jostled and pushed on by a Greek and a
Bedouin who, to do them justice, seemed quite unaware of their
importunities, he surrendered to the press about him and presently
found himself in an unpleasantly conspicuous spot in the great room
which the Sherrills occasionally used as a ballroom.

All about him girls and men were unmasking amid a shower of laughing
raillery. That the Seminole chief with her tunic and beaded sash and
her brilliant turban was very near him, was a pleasant and altogether
accidental mitigation of his mishap. That a Greek and a Bedouin were
just behind him--a fact not in the least accidental--and that a gray
monk was slipping about among the guests whispering to receptive ears,
did not interest him in the least. A string orchestra played softly in
an alcove. The leader's eyes, oddly enough, were upon the ancient
Greek.

Now suddenly a curious hush swept over the room. Uncomfortably aware
that he was a spectacular object of interest by reason of his mask and
that every unmasked eye was full upon him, the minstrel, following the
lines of least resistance, removed the bit of cambric from his eyes.
After all, in the sea of faces before him, there were none familiar.

As the mask dropped--the ancient Greek thoughtfully adjusted his tunic.

Instantly without pause or warning the soft strain of the orchestra
swept dramatically into a powerful melody of measured cadences. It was
the tune Carl had played upon his flute to Jokai of Vienna months
before. The minstrel, mask in hand, stared at the orchestra, blanched
and bit his lip.

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Queen Elizabeth to Jethro, "it's the
immigrant, Jethro, and there he was on the lace sprea