with
startled eyes.

"He was not wearing this when we first saw him," she said. "I
haven't seen him wearing it at all."

St. George confronted the old man then and spoke with some
determination.

"Will you please tell us," he said, "what there is in this tube, and
how you came by this ring?"

Old Malakh looked down reflectively at his hand, and back to St.
George's face. It was wonderful, the air of courtliness and urbanity
and delicate breeding which persisted through age and infirmity and
the fallow mind.

"I wish that I might tell you," he said humbly, "but I have only
little lights in my head, instead of words. And when I say them,
they do not mean--what they _shine_. Do you not see? That is why
every one laughs. But I know what the lights say."

St. George looked at Olivia helplessly.

"Will you tell me where his room is?" he said, "and I'll go back
with him. I don't know what to make of this, quite, but don't be
frightened. It's all right. Didn't you say he is on the second
floor?"

"Yes, but don't go alone with him," begged Olivia suddenly, "let me
call some of the servants. We don't know what he may do."

St. George shook his head, smiling a little in sheer boyish delight
at that "we." "We" is a very wonderful word, when it is not put to
unimportant uses by kings, editors and the like.

"I'd rather not, thank you," he said. "I'll have a talk with him, I
think."

"His room is at the top of the stair, on the left," said Olivia
reluctantly, "but I wish--"

"We shall get on all right," St. George assured her, "and don't let
this worry you, will you? I was smoking on the terrace. I'll be
there for a while yet. Good night," he said from the doorway.

"Good night," said Olivia. "Good night--and, oh, I thank you."

St. George's expectation of having a talk with the old man was,
however, unfounded. Old Malakh led the way to his room--a great
place of carven seats and a frowning bed-canopy and high windows,
and doors set deep in stone; and he begged St. George to sit down
and permitted him to examine the sealed tube filled with little
particles that looked like nickel, and spoke with gentle irrelevance
the while. At the last St. George left him, feeling as if he were
committing not so much an indignity as a social solecism when he
locked the door upon the lonely creature, using for the purpose a
key-like implement chained to the lock without and having a ring
about the size of the iron crown of the Lo