“Such a mere handful are worth more than the world to him,” said Zara gravely.  “Oh, my dear, do not say such things as why should God trouble Himself?  Why do you trouble yourself for the safety and happiness of anyone you love?”

Her eyes grew soft and tender, and the jewel she wore glimmered like moonlight on the sea.  I felt a little abashed, and, to change the subject, I said: 

“Tell me, Zara, what is that stone you always wear?  Is it a talisman?”

“It belonged to a king,” said Zara,—­“at least, it was found in a king’s coffin.  It has been in our family for generations.  Casimir says it is an electric stone—­there are such still to be found in remote parts of the sea.  Do you like it?”

“It is very brilliant and lovely,” I said.

“When I die,” went on Zara slowly, “I will leave it to you.”

“I hope I shall have to wait a long time before I get it, then,” I exclaimed, embracing her affectionately.  “Indeed, I will pray never to receive it.”

“You will pray wrongly,” said Zara, smiling.  “But tell me, do you quite understand from my explanation what Casimir will do to you?”

“I think I do.”

“And you are not afraid?”

“Not at all.  Shall I suffer any pain?”

“No actual pang.  You will feel giddy for a moment, and your body will become unconscious.  That is all.”

I meditated for a few moments, and then looking up, saw Zara’s eyes watching me with a wistful inquiring tenderness.  I answered her look with a smile, and said, half gaily: 

“L’audace, l’audace, et toujours l’audace!  That must be my motto, Zara.  I have a chance now of proving how far a woman’s bravery can go, and I assure you I am proud of the opportunity.  Your brother uttered some very cutting remarks on the general inaptitude of the female sex when I first made his acquaintance; so, for the honour of the thing, I must follow the path I have begun to tread.  A plunge into the unseen world is surely a bold step for a woman, and I am determined to take it courageously.”

“That is well,” said Zara.  “I do not think it possible for you ever to regret it.  It is growing late—­shall we prepare for dinner?”

I assented, and we separated to our different rooms.  Before commencing to dress I opened the pianette that stood near my window, and tried very softly to play the melody I had heard in the chapel.  To my joy it came at once to my fingers, and I was able to remember every note.  I did not attempt to write it down—­somehow I felt sure it would not escape me now.  A sense of profound gratitude filled my heart, and, remembering the counsel given by Heliobas, I knelt reverently down and thanked God for the joy and grace of music.  As I did so, a faint breath of sound, like a distant whisper of harps played in unison, floated past my ears,—­then appeared to sweep round in ever-widening circles, till it gradually died away.  But it was sweet and entrancing enough for me to understand how glorious and full of rapture must have been the star-symphony played on that winter’s night long ago, when the angels chanted together, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good-will to Man!”