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 tongueless bells engraved with heathenish figures, and apart by itself was an enormous block of gold cut with minute carvings and hierographic writings, with a monstrous ruby like a rose-bud sunk in the center. The tiny carvings represented vital epochs in the history of Centauri, and the great ruby heart would evaporate when Centauri ceased—the sentiment was very pretty.

I curiously examined numerous trays of beads, their glaring colors blended gorgeously in barbaric settings. These articles were treasured because worn by the first Centauris, and for centuries had ceased to be manufactured. The few remaining strings in Saxe.'s collection were vastly superior in make and no doubt, in many eloquent speeches, he would be requested to donate them to the museum.

I wandered into a great long picture gallery. The walls hung with rare old paintings—these people had their "old masters" also. For over an hour I remained before a huge painting; it seemed one could enter the pictured room and converse with the vividly animated faces, brightened with such friendly, expressive eyes. In the foreground the figure of a woman reclined upon a golden couch swathed in flimsy material, ill concealing her dusky beauty. Deep, burning eyes gleamed intensely, heavy masses of dark hair fell all around her. She was beautiful, fascinating, yet repelled. The passionate eyes were cruel, the lovely mouth drooped, cold, cynical; yet there was a startling resemblance between this divinity of past ages and the woman I adored. The ancient Queen was feline,