The materials for such an evolution were certainly of tempting excellence.  In point of beauty and apparent natural capacity, Gnulemah might claim equality with the noblest daughter of the Pharaohs.  The grand primary problem of how to isolate her from all contact with the outside world was, under the existing circumstances, easy of solution.  Beyond this there needed little positive treatment.  Her creed must arise from her own instinctive and intuitive impressions.  Of all beyond the reach of her hands, she trust to her eyes alone for information; no marvel, therefore, if her conclusions concerning the great intangible phenomena of the universe were fantastic as the veriest heathen myths.  The self-evolved feelings and impulses of a black-eyed nymph like Gnulemah were not likely to be orthodox.  She was probably no better than a worshipper of vain delusions and idols of the imagination.

Her attire—­a style of costume such as might have been the fashion in the days of Cheops or Tuthmosis—­showed a carrying out of the Doctor’s whim,—­a matching of the external to the internal conditions of the age he aimed to reproduce.  The project seemed, on the whole, to have been well conceived and consistently prosecuted.  It was seldom that Uncle Hiero achieved so harmonious a piece of work; but the idea showed greater moral obliquity than Balder would have looked for in the old gentleman.

But there was no deep sincerity in the young man’s strictures.  There before him stood the woman Gnulemah,—­purple, white, and gold; a vivid, breathing, warm-hued life; a soul and body rich with Oriental splendor.  There she stood, her hair flowing dark and silky from beneath her twisted turban, her eyes,—­black melted loadstones; the broad Egyptian pendants gleaming and glowing from temple to shoulder.  The golden serpent seemed to writhe on her bosom, informed from its wearer with a subtile vitality.  Through all dominated a grand repose, like the calm of nature, which storms may prove but not disthrone!

There she stood,—­enchanted princess, witch, goddess,—­woman at all events, palpable and undeniable.  She must be accepted for what she was, civilized or uncivilized, heathen or Christian.  She was a perfected achievement,—­vain to argue how she might have been made better.  Who says that an evening cloud, gorgeous in purple and heavenly gold, were more usefully employed fertilizing a garden-patch?

Balder Helwyse, moreover, was not a simple utilitarian; he was almost ready to make a religion of beauty.  If he blamed his uncle for shutting up this superb creature within herself, he failed not to admire the result of the imprisonment.  He knew he was beholding as rare a spectacle as ever man’s eyes were blessed withal; nor was he slow to perceive the psychological interest of the situation.  To a student of mankind, if to no one else, Gnulemah was beyond estimation precious.  But had Balder forgotten what fruit his tree of philosophy had already yielded him?