together. Round the bend I had crept, close to
the white facade. As I turned, I saw a light above me, shining out
over a low balcony of stone. I had stopped the car and the engine, and
stepped on tiptoe to the other side of the road. From there I could
see the ceiling of a tall, first-floor room, whose wide, open windows
led on to the balcony. I saw no figure, no shadow. For a minute or
two I had heard no sound. Then, with no warning, had come an exquisite
touching of keys and a girl's voice.

"To her let us garlands bring."

The melody faded and ceased. The refrain melted into the silence. For
a moment I stood still, my eyes on the balcony above. Then I slipped
noiselessly to the car, picked up a rug from the back seat and laid it,
folded small, on the edge of the car's back. Half on the padded
leather and half on the cape hood, strapped tight, I laid it. Standing
upon this perilous perch, I was just able to lay my fingers upon the
cold edge of the balcony's floor. With an effort I could grasp one of
the stone balusters. An idea occurred to me, and I got carefully down.
One of the luggage-carrier's straps was six feet long. I had it loose
in a moment. A minute later and I had wheedled it round the baluster I
could clutch. Buckled, it made a loop three feet in length that would
have supported a bullock. I was about to soar, when I remembered the
car. I jumped down once more, turned the key of the switch, and
slipped it into my pocket. No one could steal her now. The next
second I had my foot in the thong.

I sat on the coping, looking into the room. Broad and lofty it was,
its walls hung with a fair blue paper. A handsome tapestry, looped up
a little on one side, masked the tall double doors, and in the far
corner stood a great tiled stove for burning wood. From the ceiling
was hanging a basin of alabaster--an electric fitting, really. The
powerful light of its hidden lamps spread, softened, all about the
chamber. The blue walls bore a few reproductions of famous pictures.
Meisonnier seemed in high favour, while Sir Joshua's Nellie O'Brien
surveyed the salon with her quiet, steady gaze. A great bowl of fresh
flowers stood on the grand piano.

The girl herself was sitting half on the edge of an old gate-table in
the middle of the room. The toe of one rosy slipper touched the
polished boards, and her other foot swung gently to and fro. One of
her short sleeves she had pushed up to the