ing the east was an altar hewn out of the solid rock and studded
thickly with amber, malachite and mother-o'-pearl. It was covered With
the incomprehensible emblems of a bygone creed worked in most exquisite
shell-patterns, but on it,--as though in solemn protest against the
past,--stood a crucifix of ebony and carved ivory, before which burned
steadily a red lamp.

The meaning of the mysterious light was thus explained, but what chiefly
interested Errington was the central object of the place,--a coffin,--of
rather a plain granite sarcophagus which was placed on the floor lying
from north to south. Upon it,--in strange contrast to the sombre
coldness of the stone,--reposed a large wreath of poppies freshly
gathered. The vivid scarlet of the flowers, the gleam of the shining
shells on the walls, the mournful figure of the ivory Christ stretched
on the cross among all those pagan emblems,--the intense silence broken
only by the slow drip, drip of water trickling somewhere behind the
cavern,--and more than these outward things,--his own impressive
conviction that he was with the imperial Dead--imperial because past the
sway of empire--all made a powerful impression on his mind. Overcoming
by degrees his first sensations of awe, he approached the sarcophagus
and examined it. It was solidly closed and mortared all round, so that
it might have been one compact coffin-shaped block of stone so far as
its outward appearance testified. Stooping more closely, however, to
look at the brilliant poppy-wreath, he started back with a slight
exclamation. Cut deeply in the hard granite he read for the second time
that odd name--

THELMA

It belonged to some one dead, then--not to the lovely living woman who
had so lately confronted him in the burning glow of the midnight sun? He
felt dismayed at his unthinking precipitation,--he had, in his fancy,
actually associated _her_, so full of radiant health and beauty, with
what was probably a mouldering corpse in that hermetically sealed
tenement of stone! This idea was unpleasant, and jarred upon his
feelings. Surely she, that golden-haired nymph of the Fjord, had nothing
to do with death! He had evidently found his way into some ancient tomb.
"Thelma" might be the name or title of some long-departed queen or
princess of Norway, yet, if so, how came the crucifix there,--the red
lamp, the flowers?

He lingered, looking curiously about him, as if he fancied the
shell-embroidered