f the table, near whose end
I sat, touched and whispered to him swiftly. With appalling effort the
red dwarf controlled himself; he saluted the priestess ironically, I
thought; took his place at the further end of the oval. And now I
noted that the figures between were the seven of that Council of which
the Shining One's priestess and Voice were the heads. The tension
relaxed, but did not pass--as though a storm-cloud should turn away,
but still lurk, threatening.

My gaze ran back. This end of the room was draped with the
exquisitely coloured, graceful curtains looped with gorgeous garlands.
Between curtains and table, where sat Larry and the nine, a circular
platform, perhaps ten yards in diameter, raised itself a few feet
above the floor, its gleaming surface half-covered with the luminous
petals, fragrant, delicate.

On each side below it, were low carven stools. The curtains parted
and softly entered girls bearing their flutes, their harps, the
curiously emotion-exciting, octaved drums. They sank into their
places. They touched their instruments; a faint, languorous measure
throbbed through the rosy air.

The stage was set! What was to be the play?

Now about the tables passed other dusky-haired maids, fair bosoms
bare, their scanty kirtles looped high, pouring out the wines for the
feasters.

My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Marakinoff had
said, clearly it now filled his mind--even to the exclusion of the
wondrous woman beside him. His eyes were stern, cold--and now and
then, as he turned them toward the Russian, filled with a curious
speculation. Yolara watched him, frowned, gave a low order to the Hebe
behind her.

The girl disappeared, entered again with a ewer that seemed cut of
amber. The priestess poured from it into Larry's glass a clear liquid
that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the glass to her
lips, handed it to him. Half-smiling, half-abstractedly, he took it,
touched his own lips where hers had kissed; drained it. A nod from
Yolara and the maid refilled his goblet.

At once there was a swift transformation in the Irishman. His
abstraction vanished; the sternness fled; his eyes sparkled. He leaned
caressingly toward Yolara; whispered. Her blue eyes flashed
triumphantly; her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own glass--but
within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's! And again he
drained his own; and, lifting it, full once more, caught the bale