something in the place, its quiescence, the immobility of the lovely but
ghost-like semblance of faces with which it was peopled that oppressed
her. She seemed to be thinking, or questioning herself, when suddenly
her attention was attracted again by a sound of a different kind, or was
it only fancy? She looked toward a large Flemish tapestry covering one
entire end of the room; behind the antique landscape in green threads
she knew there was a disused door leading into armory hall. Drawing back
the heavy folds she stepped a little behind them; the door was locked
and bolted; moreover, several heavy nails had fastened it, completely
isolating her suite, as it were, from that spacious, general apartment.

Again the sound! This time she placed it--the creaking of the giant
branch of ivy that ran up and around her own balcony. The girl paused
irresolutely, her hand on the heavy ancient hanging. Leaning forward she
waited; but the noise stopped; she heard nothing more, told herself it
was nothing and was about to move out again when her gaze was suddenly
held by something that passed like a shadow--a man's arm?--on the other
side of the nearest window, between the modern French curtains, not
quite drawn together.

In that inconsiderable space between the silk fringes she was sure she
had seen it, and anything suggestive of _dolce far niente_ disappeared
from the girl's blue eyes. The window opened wider, noiselessly but
quickly; then a hand, strong, shapely, pushed the curtains aside. Had
the intruder first satisfied himself that the room was vacant? He acted
as one certain of his ground; now drawing the window draperies quickly
together behind him as if seeking to escape observation from any one
below, he stepped out into the room.

Something he saw seemed to surprise him; a low exclamation fell from his