It was with genuine anxiety that he mounted the stairs.  His heart was heavy over many things, and as he went towards the child’s room he said to himself with a melancholy smile, that he, who had contemned many a distinguished man and many a courted fair one at Constantinople because they had fallen short of his lofty standard, had here no one but this child who would be sure to understand him.  Some minutes elapsed before his knock was answered with the request to ‘come in,’ and he heard a hasty bustle within.  He found Mary lying, as the physician had ordered, on a couch by the window, which was wide open and well-shaded; her couch was surrounded by flowering plants and, on a little table in front of her, were two large nosegays, one fading, the other quite fresh and particularly beautiful.

How sadly the child had changed in these few days.  The soft round cheeks had disappeared, and the pretty little face had sunk into nothingness by comparison with the wonderful, large eyes, which had gained in size and brilliancy.  Yesterday she had been free from fever and very pale, but to-day her cheeks were crimson, and a twitching of her lips and of her right shoulder, which had come on since the scene at the grandfather’s deathbed, was so incessant that Orion sat down by her side in some alarm.

“Has your grandmother been to see you?” was his first question, but the answer was a mournful shake of her head.

The blossoming plants were his own gift and so was the fading nosegay; the other, fresher one had not come from him, so he enquired who was the giver, and was not a little astonished to see his favorite’s confusion and agitation at the question.  There must be something special connected with the posey, that was very evident, and the young man, who did not wish to excite her sensitive nerves unnecessarily, but could not recall his words, was wishing he had never spoken them, when the discovery of a feather fan cut the knot of his difficulty; he took it up, exclaiming:  “Hey—­what have we here?”

A deeper flush dyed Mary’s cheek, and raising her large eyes imploringly to his face, she laid a finger on her lips.  He nodded, as understanding her, and said in a low voice: 

“Katharina has been here?  Susannah’s gardener ties up flowers like that.  The fan—­when I knocked—­she is here still perhaps?”

He had guessed rightly; Mary pointed dumbly to the door of the adjoining room.

“But, in Heaven’s name, child,” Orion went on, in an undertone, “what does she want here?”

“She came by stealth, in the boat,” whispered the child.  “She sent Anubis from the treasurer’s office to ask me if she might not come, she could not do without me any longer, and she never did me any harm and so I said yes—­and then, when I knew it was your knock, whisk—­off she went into the bedroom.”

“And if your grandmother were to come across her?”

“Then—­well, then I do not know what would become of me!  But oh!  Orion, if you only knew how—­how...”  Two big tears rolled down her cheeks and Orion understood her; he stroked her hair lovingly and said in a whisper, glancing now and again at the door of the next room.