not at all anxious that his name should be associated with the
practice of witchcraft.

It was all ridiculous and absurd, of course, but then in Russia nothing
was so absurd that it could be lightly dismissed from consideration. He
walked to the door and turned the key, then took from his pocket the
thing which Israel Kensky had slipped in. It was a thick, stoutly bound
volume secured by two brass locks. The binding was of yellow calf, and
it bore the following inscription in Russian stamped in gold lettering:

"THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER."

"Herein is the magic of power and the words and symbols which unlock the
sealed hearts of men and turn their proud wills to water."

On the bottom left-hand corner of the cover was an inscription in
Hebrew, which Malcolm could not read, but which he guessed stood for the
birth-name of Israel Kensky. He turned the book over in his hand, and,
curiosity overcoming him, he tried to force his thumb-nail into the
marbled edge of the leaves that he might secure a glimpse of its
contents. But the book was too tightly bound, and after another careful
examination, he pulled off his coat and started to make himself
presentable for breakfast.

The little meal was wholly delightful. Besides Malcolm and the girl
there were present a faded Russian lady, whom he guessed was her
official chaperon, and a sour-visaged Russian priest who ceremoniously
blessed the food and was apparently the Grand Duke's household chaplain.
He did not speak throughout the meal, and seemed to be in a condition of
rapt contemplation.

But for all Malcolm knew there might have been a hundred people
present--he had eyes and ears only for the girl. She had changed to a
dark blue costume beneath which was a plain white silk blouse cut deeply
at the neck.

He was struck by the fact that she wore no jewels, and he found himself
rejoicing at the absence of rings in general and of one ring in
particular.

Of course, it was all lunacy, sheer clotted madness, as he told himself,
but this was a day to riot in illusions, for undreamt-of things had
happened, and who could swear that the days of fairies had passed? To
meet a dream-Irene on his way to Kieff was unlikely, to rescue her from
an infuriated mob (for though they insisted that she was in no danger
he was no less insistent that he rescued her, since this illusion was
the keystone to all others), to be sitting at lunch with such a vision
of youthfu