d his wife had liked the design--with no
suspicion of the symbol undergirding it. The man had liked it
all--steers and red-brown stone and all--but the wife had objected. She
had travelled far, and she had seen, on a certain building in Rome, two
lions guarding a ducal entrance.

Now that the house was finished, the architect seldom passed that way.
But when he did he swore at the lions, softly, as he whirred by. He had
done a mighty thing--conceived in steel and stone a house that fitted
the swift life out of which it came, a wind-swept place in which it
stood, and all the stirring, troublous times about it. There it rose
in its spirit of lightness, head up-lifted and nostrils sniffing the
breeze--and in front of it squatted two stone lions from the palmy days
of Rome. He gritted his teeth, and drove his machine hard when he passed
that way.

But to Achilles, standing with bared head, the breeze from the lake
touching his forehead, the lions were of no account. He let them go. The
spirit of the whole possessed him. It was as if a hand had touched him
lightly on the shoulder, in a crowd, staying him. A quick breath escaped
his lips as he replaced his hat and crossed to the red-brown steps. He
mounted them without a glance at the pink monsters on either hand. A
light had come into his face. The child filled it.

The stiff butler eyed him severely, and the great door seemed ready to
close of itself. Only something in the poise of Achilles's head, a look
in his eyes, held the hinge waiting a grudging minute while he spoke.

He lifted his head a little; the look in his eyes deepened. "I am
called--Miss Elizabeth Harris--and her mother--to see," he said, simply.

The door paused a little and swung back an inch. He might be a great
savant... some scholar of parts--an artist. They came for the child--to
examine her--to play for her--to talk with her.... Then there was the
music-roll. It took the blundering grammar and the music-roll to keep
the door open--and then it opened wide and Achilles entered, following
the butler's stateliness up the high, dark hall. Rich hangings were
about them, and massive pictures, bronzes and statues, and curious
carvings. Inside the house the taste of the mistress had prevailed.

At the door of a great, high-ceiled room the butler paused, holding back
the soft drapery with austere hand. "What name--for madame?" he said.

The clear eyes of Achilles met his. "My name is Achilles Alexandrakis,