it had begun, lingered in his mind.

The bright-eyed lady was still struggling with the mysteries of Eadhamite
when he perceived the girl he had seen in the theatre again. She was
coming now along the gallery towards him; he saw her first before she saw
him. She was dressed in a faintly luminous grey, her dark hair about her
brows was like a cloud, and as he saw her the cold light from the
circular opening into the ways fell upon her downcast face.

The lady in trouble about the Eadhamite saw the change in his expression,
and grasped her opportunity to escape. "Would you care to know that girl,
Sire?" she asked boldly. "She is Helen Wotton--a niece of Ostrog's. She
knows a great many serious things. She is one of the most serious persons
alive. I am sure you will like her."

In another moment Graham was talking to the girl, and the bright-eyed
lady had fluttered away.

"I remember you quite well," said Graham. "You were in that little room.
When all the people were singing and beating time with their feet. Before
I walked across the Hall."

Her momentary embarrassment passed. She looked up at him, and her face
was steady. "It was wonderful," she said, hesitated, and spoke with a
sudden effort. "All those people would have died for you, Sire. Countless
people did die for you that night."

Her face glowed. She glanced swiftly aside to see that no other heard
her words.