high upon the hills one morning; some say it was a
beacon fire."

"There are always rumors that mean nothing," said Eloisa quietly.

Dama Margherita had been kept in close attendance upon the Queen, who
had been often in counsel with the Counts of the Chamber of late, and
Eloisa had an uneasy sense that it devolved upon her to uphold the
quietness of discussion for which Dama Margherita always strove.

"Nay, Eloisa--that strange craft, hiding back of the great rock on the
coast--without lights or colors--why was it anchored there, in sight of
the signal-fire, instead of in the port where it had been safer?"

"Thou wilt have it a beacon-fire," Eloisa interposed again; "it is in
truth more romantic than a blaze some wanderer may have lighted to do
duty for his camp."

But no one answered her, they were all humming about Dama Ecciva,
interrupting each other with excited questions; for Dama Ecciva had
been, if possible, more mysterious and tantalizing than ever since these
rumors had been afloat--which was a sign that she could tell something
if she would. "So, my pretty friends!" she answered with a silvery
laugh, "for once it entereth your thought that there be matters about
which we--the Maids of honor of Her Majesty--are not worthy to hear!"

"I make exception of the Dama Margherita, to whom Her Majesty is
honey-sweet!" she added, as her glance rested on Eloisa; and growing hot
as she dwelt upon the thought, she went on--"she hath a manner quite
insufferable--she, who hath not more right than I to rule this court. If
one were to put the question to our knights--'an Iblin or a de
Montferrat?' would it make a pretty tourney for a Cyprian holiday?"

She laughed a mocking, malicious laugh; then suddenly stretched out one
slender hand and made a descriptive motion as of tossing her glove into
the centre of a distant circle--her eyelids narrowing until they seemed
almost to close--a strange light escaping from them--her breath coming
with slow pants, as if from suffocation--the hand dropped at her side
betraying her passion by convulsive movements trembling through the
tinted finger-tips.

In the bizarre Cyprian costume which many of the ancient Greek
patricians still retained, she seemed of a different mold from the young
Venetian gentlewomen of the court of Caterina--like some fantastic fury,
half-elf, half-woman.

"_The Melusina!_" Eloisa whispered, shuddering: "thou mindest me of her.
I like thee not in this str