of age—and though tall, her limbs had not yet acquired any of the fullness of womanhood; that she was still a blossom could be seen by her upright budding breasts, by the silky golden down that faintly fringed the pale coraline treasure hidden twixt her thighs. There was moreover about her that slight impression of tartness, possessed by fruit that has not yet reached its full and luscious ripeness. Such a sight brought the water not only to the mouth, but elsewhere too.
As the last stroke of twelve died away, the young girl started in her sleep and sat up in her bed.
Where was she? She looked about bewildered. She was lying on her bed, in her own room.
Who had called her? Surely some one had roused her from her sleep. Whose summons had she to obey? Why had she been awakened in the midst of that most delightful dream?
But had she been called? Yes, for the voice was still ringing in her ears. She listened and she heard the low dirge-like ditty, wafted
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