tries. I drew the Preceptress' attention
to it.

"We believe that the highest excellence of moral and mental character is
alone attainable by a fair race. The elements of evil belong to the dark
race."

"And were the people of this country once of mixed complexions?"

"As you see in the portraits? Yes," was the reply.

"And what became of the dark complexions?"

"We eliminated them."

I was too astonished to speak and stood gazing upon the handsome face of
a young man in a plumed hat and lace-frilled doublet. The dark eyes had
a haughty look, like a man proud of his lineage and his sex.

"Let us leave this place," said the Preceptress presently. "It always
has a depressing effect upon me."

"In what way?" I asked.

"By the degradation of the human race that they force me to recall."

I followed her out to a seat on one of the small porticoes.

In candidly expressing herself about the dark complexions, my companion
had no intention or thought of wounding my feelings. So rigidly do they
adhere to the truth in Mizora that it is of all other things
pre-eminent, and is never supposed to give offense. The Preceptress but
gave expression to the belief inculcated by centuries of the teachings
and practices of her ancestors. I was not offended. It was her
conviction. Besides, I had the consolation of secretly disagreeing with
her. I am still of the opinion that their admirable system of
government, social and political, and their encouragement and provision
for universal culture of so high an order, had more to do with the
formation of superlative character than the elimination of the dark
complexion.

The Preceptress remained silent a long time, apparently absorbed in the
beauty of the landscape that stretched before us. The falling waters of
a fountain was all the sound we heard. The hour was auspicious. I was so
eager to develop a revelation of the mystery about these people that I
became nervous over my companion's protracted silence. I felt a delicacy
in pressing inquiries concerning information that I thought ought to be
voluntarily given. Inquisitiveness was regarded as a gross rudeness by
them, and I could frame no question that I did not fear would sound
impertinent. But at last patience gave way and, at the risk of
increasing her commiseration for my barbarous mental condition, I asked:

"Are you conversant with the history of the times occupied by the
originals of the portraits we have just seen?"

"