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 had been familiar with Maeterlinck, I should have thought that I was a minor actor in one of his unreal plays, and the lady in green the leading character.

"She's bleeding, mistress."

"Then you had better carry her into the house."

She rose and preceded us. Her walk, like her speech, seemed remote from common earth, and to my half-closed eyes she seemed to float along, not to proceed step by step, as do common mortals.

They carried me into the vast hall of her house, paved with cement, and ending in a balcony overhanging the sea of Marmora, and laid me on a couch. The mistress of the house sat by me, and touched my cheek lightly with one of her fingers.

"Get some fresh water, Leila," she commanded.

The younger of the two slaves lifted an iron cover in the middle of the hall, and dropped down an old black iron bucket, which, after a long minute, touched water in the depths of the earth. The water she brought me was icy cold. They bathed my mouth, and put a wet towel on my head. Inwardly I was laughing at all this attention; but I was quite content.

When the bleeding stopped, the lady ordered a sherbet. It was made of fresh cherries, cool and sweet, and I ate it with great relish. Then the lady in her soft, remote voice crooned: