But we understood only with the greatest of difficulty.  She spoke as might one who, after living in perfect solitude for a score of years, is suddenly called upon to use language.  And I remembered that Rhamda Avec had told Jerome that he had only begun the use of language.

“Who are you?” was her first remark, in the sweetest voice conceivable.  But there was both fear and anxiety in her manner.  “How—­did I—­get—­here?”

“You came out of the Blind Spot!” I spoke, jerking out the words nervously and, as I saw, too rapidly.  I repeated them more slowly.  But she did not comprehend.

“The—­Blind—­Spot,” she pondered.  “What—­is that?”

Next instant, before I could think to warn her, the room trembled with the terrific clang of the Blind Spot bell.  Just one overwhelming peal; no more.  At the same time there came a revival of the luminous spot in the ceiling.  But, with the last tones of the bell, the spot faded to nothing.

The girl was pitifully frightened.  I sprang to my feet and steadied her with one hand—­something that I had not dared to do as long as the Spot remained open.  The touch of my fingers, as she swayed, had the effect of bringing her to herself.  She listened intelligently to what I said.

“The Blind Spot”—­speaking with the utmost care—­“is the name we have given to a certain mystery.  It is always marked by the sound you have just heard; that bell always rings when the phenomenon is at an end.”

“And—­the—­phenomenon,” uttering the word with difficulty, “what is that?”

“You,” I returned.  “Up till now three human beings have disappeared into what we call the Blind Spot.  You are the first to be seen coming out of it.”

“Hobart,” interrupted Charlotte, coming to my side.  “Let me.”

I stepped back, and Charlotte quietly passed an arm round the girl’s waist.  Together they stepped over to Charlotte’s chair.

I noted the odd way in which the newcomer walked, unsteadily, uncertainly, like a child taking its first steps.  I glanced at Jerome, wondering if this tallied with what he recalled of the Rhamda; and he gave a short nod.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Charlotte softly, “we are your friends.  In a way we have been expecting you, and we shall see to it that no harm comes to you.

“Which would you prefer—­to ask questions, or to answer them?”

“I”—­the girl hesitated—­“I—­hardly—­know.  Perhaps—­you had—­ better—­ask something first.”

“Good.  Do you remember where you came from?  Can you recall the events just prior to your arrival here?”

The girl looked helplessly from the one to the other of us.  She seemed to be searching for some clue.  Finally she shook her head in a hopeless, despairing fashion.

“I can’t remember,” speaking with a shade less difficulty.  “The last thing—­I recall is—­seeing—­you three—­staring—­at me.”