understand--she would only worry about the wet feet and clothes being
spoilt. I always think it is so fortunate though, don't you, that
servants--even a dear like Priscilla--sleep so soundly. Aunt Ginevra
says they can't help it, every class has its peculiarity."

Mr. Carlyon was extremely interested--he wanted to hear more of these
adventures.

"How do you avoid Priscilla seeing your things in the morning then?" he
asked.

"I have got a pair of big gutta-percha boots--they were my father's
waders once, and I found them, and have hidden them in one of the
chests, and I tuck everything into them--so there are no marks. It is
enchanting."

"And do you often have these nocturnal outings, you odd little girl?"
Cheiron said, wonderingly.

"Not very. I have to be so careful, you see--and I only choose moonlight
or starlight nights, and they are rare--but when the summer comes I hope
to enjoy many more of them."

Then Mr. Carlyon's old eyes looked away into distance and seemed to
see a slender shape wrapped in a spotted fawn's skin, its head crowned
with leaves, joining the throng of those other early worshipers of
Dionysus as they beat their weird music among the dark crags of
Parnassus--searching for communion with the spiritual beyond in the only
way they knew of then to reach it, through a wild ecstasy of emotion.
Here was the same impulse, unconscious, instinctive. The probing of