followed, leisurely, even perhaps warily, every sense alert.
He was prepared to see the end of this encounter—see it through to an explanation if it took all summer. Of the situation, however, and of her, he had so far ventured no theory. The type of woman and the situation were perfectly new to him. He was aware that anything might happen in New York, and, closing the heavy front door, he was ready for it.
The hall gas-jets were burning brightly, and in the darkened drawing-room he could distinguish the heavy outlines of furniture cased in dust-coverings.
She asked him to strike a match and light the sconces in the drawing-room, and he did so, curiosity now thoroughly aroused.
As the gas flared up, shrouded pictures and furniture sprang into view surrounding him, and in the dusk of the room beyond he saw a ray of light glimmering on the foliated carving of a gilded harp.
Slowly he turned to the girl beside him. A warm shadow dimmed her delicate features, yet they were the loveliest he had ever looked upon.
Suddenly he understood the mute message of her eyes: "My imprudence places me at your mercy."
"Your helplessness places me at yours," he said, aloud, scarcely conscious that he had spoken.
At that a bright flush transfigured her. "I trusted you the moment I saw you," she said, impulsively. "Do you mind sitting there opposite me? I shall take this chair—rather near you—"
She sank into an armchair; and, touched and a trifle amused, he seated himself, at a little nod from her, awaiting her further pleasure.
She lay there for a minute or two without speaking, rounded arms resting on the gilt arms of the chair, eyes thoughtfully studying him.
"I've simply got to tell you everything," she said, at length.
"It can do no harm, I think," he re- plied, pleasantly.
"No; no harm. The harm has been done. Yet, with you sitting there so near me, I am not frightened now. It is curious," she mused, "that I should feel no apprehension now. And yet—and yet—"
She leaned toward him, dropping her linked fingers in her lap.
"Tell me, did you ever hear of the Sign of Venus?—the Signum Veneris?" she asked.
"I've heard of it—yes," he replied, surprised. And as she said nothing, he went on: "The distinguished gentleman who occupies the chair of Applied Psychics at the university lectures on the Sign of Venus, I believe."
"Did you attend the lectures?" she asked, calmly.
He said he had not, smiling a trifle.
"I did."
"They were probably amusing," he ventured.
"Not very. Psychic phenomena bored me; I went during Lent. Psychic phenomena—" She hesitated, embarrassed at his amusement. "I suppose you laugh at that sort of thing."
"No, I don't laugh at it. Queer things occur, they say. All I know is that I myself have never seen anything happen that could not be explained by natural laws."
"I have," she said.
He bent his head in polite acquiescence.
"I went to the lectures," she said. "I am not very intellectual; nothing he said interested me very much—which was, of course, suitable for a lenten amusement
She leaned a little nearer, small hands lightly interlaced on her knee.
"His lecture on the Sign of Venus was the last." She lifted a white finger, drawing the imaginary Signum Veneris in the air. Hetherford nodded gravely.
"The lecture." she continued, "ended with an explanation of the Sign of Venus—how, contemplating it by starlight, one might pass into that physical unconsciousness which leaves the mind free to control the soul."
She held out her left hand toward him. On a stretched finger a ring glistened, mounted with the Sign of Venus blazing in brilliants.
"I had this made specially," she said; "not that I had any particular desire to test it—no curiosity. It never occurred to me that here in New York one could—could—"
"What?" asked Hetherford, dryly.
"—could leave one's own body at will."
