“Think so,” returned Eunane quietly, “if you like.  I thought I owed her some amends.  Well, she had her bird in her lap, and I think she was crying over it.  But as soon as she saw me she put it out of sight.  I began to tell her how sorry I was about it, but she would not let me go on.  She kissed me as no one ever kissed me since my school friend Ernie died three years ago; and she cried more over the trouble I had brought on myself than over her pet.  And since then,” Eunane went on with a softened voice, “she has showed me how pretty its ways are, how clever it is, how fond of her, and she tries to make it friends with me....  Sometimes I don’t wonder she is so much to him and he to her.  She was brought up in the home where she was born.  Her father is one of those strange people; and I fancy there is something between her and Clasfempta more than....”

I could not let this go on; and stepping back from the window as if I had but just returned, I called Eunane by name.  She came at once, a little surprised at the summons, but suspecting nothing.  But the first sight of my face startled her; and when, on the impulse of the moment, I took her hands and looked straight into her eyes, her quick intelligence perceived at once that I had heard at least part of the conversation.

“Ah,” she said, flushing and hanging her head, “I am caught now, but”—­in a tone half of relief—­“I deserve it, and I won’t pretend to think that you are angry only because Eveena is your favourite.  You would not allow any of us to be spited if you could help it, and it is much worse to have spited her.”

I led her by the hand across the peristyle into her own chamber, and when the window closed behind us, drew her to my side.

“So you would rather belong to the worst master of your own race than to me?”

“Not now,” she answered.  “That was my first thought when I saw how you felt for Eveena, and knew how angry you would be when you found how we—­I mean how I—­had used her, and I remembered how terribly strong you were.  I know you better now.  It is for women to strike with five fingers” (in unmeasured passion); “only, don’t tell Eveena.  Besides,” she murmured, colouring, with drooping eyelids, “I had rather be beaten by you than caressed by another.”

“Eunane, child, you might well say you don’t understand me.  I could not have listened to your talk if I had meant to use it against you; and with you I have no cause to be displeased.  Nay” (as she looked up in surprise), “I know you have not used Eveena kindly, but I heard from yourself that you had repented.  That she, who could never be coaxed or compelled to say what made her unhappy, or even to own that I had guessed it truly, has fully forgiven you, you don’t need to be told.”

“Indeed, I don’t understand,” the girl sobbed.  “Eveena is always so strangely soft and gentle—­she would rather suffer without reason than let us suffer who deserve it.  But just because she is so kind, you must feel the more bitterly for her.  Besides,” she went on, “I was so jealous—­as if you could compare me with her—­even after I had felt her kindness.  No! you cannot forgive for her, and you ought not.”