But, at all events, home to the Red Tower I strode, whistling, and in a
very cocksure humor.

The little Helene was going about her house duties silently and distantly
when I came down from my turret room on the forenoon of the morrow. She
did not come forward to be kissed, as had been her wont every morning
ever since I carried her, a little forlorn maid, up to mine own bed that
chill winter's night.

"A good-morrow, Little Playmate!" I bade her, gayly. For my heart was
singing a good tune, well pleased with itself and willing to be at amity
with every one else--counting indeed, as is the wont of brisk hearts, a
gloomy face little less than a personal insult.

But the maid did not answer, neither indeed did she seem to have heard
me.

"I bade you fair good-morning, Helene," said I, again, stopping in my
walk across to my breakfast platter.

But still she was silent, casting sand upon the tiled floor and sweeping
it up with great vigor, all her fair body swaying and yielding to the
grace, of movement at every stroke. Strange, it seemed she was now just
about the age when I developed those nodosities of knee and elbow which
troubled me so sore, but yet there was nothing of the kind about her,
only delicate slimness and featly rounded grace.

I went over to her, and would have set my palm affectionately on her
shoulder. But she escaped, just as a bird does when you try to put your