"Eat," bade she who was called Gretchen, shortly.

"And my horse?"

"Where is it?"

"Tied to a tree by the gate."

She struck a Chinese gong. From the kitchen appeared an elderly

servitor who looked to me more fitted to handle a saber than a

carving-knife; at least, the scar on his cheek impressed me with this

idea. (I found out later that he was an old soldier, who lived alone

in the castle as caretaker.)

"Take this gentleman's horse to the stables and feed him," said

Gretchen. "You will find the animal by the gate."

With a questioning glance at me the old fellow bowed and made off.

I sat down, and the two women brought the various plates and placed

them within reach. Their beautiful hands flashed before my eyes and

now and then a sleeve brushed my shoulder.

"Thank you," I murmured. "I will eat first, and then make my

apologies."

This remark caught the fancy of Gretchen. She laughed. It was the

same laughter I had heard while standing in the great hall.

"Will you drink tea, or would you prefer to finish this Bordeaux?" she

asked pleasantly.

"The wine, if you please; otherwise the effect of the meal and the long

hours in the wind will produce sleepiness. And it would be frightfully

discourteous on my part to fall asleep in my chair. I am very hard to

awake."

The English girl poured out the wine and passed the goblet to me. I

touched my lips to the glass, and bent my head politely. Then I

resolutely proceeded to attack the pheasant and ham. I must prove to

these women that at least I was honest in regard to my hunger. I

succeeded in causing a formidable portion of the food to disappear.

And then I noticed that neither of the young women seated herself while

I ate. I understood. There was no hostility in this action; nothing

but formality. They declined to sit in the presence of an unwelcome

stranger, thus denying his equality from a social point of view. I

readily accepted this decision on their part. They didn't know who I

was. They stood together by the fireplace and carried on a

conversation in low tones.

How shall I describe them? The elder of the two, the one who seemed to

possess all the authority, could not have been more than twenty. Her

figure was rather matured, yet it was delicate. Her hair was tawny,

her skin olive in shade and richly tinted at the cheek-bones. Her

eyes, half framed by thick, black-arching brows, reminded me of

woodland pools in the dusk of evening,--depths unknown, cool,

refreshing in repose. The chin was resolute, the mouth was large but

shapely and brilliant, the nose possessed the delicate nostrils

characteristic of all sensitive beings--that is to say, thoroughbreds;

altogether a confusing, bewildering beauty. At one moment I believed

her to be Latin, at the next I was positive that she was Teutonic. I

could not discover a single weak point, unless impulsiveness shall be

called weakness; this sign of impulsiveness was visible in the lips.




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