He went back to the turning—of Lycoris, not a sign.
“This is strange!” thought he. “What can it mean?”
Suddenly he stood stock-still, for in the middle of the path stood a girlish form, small, but well made and of the sweetest grace. She pressed her finger mysteriously to her rosebud lips, and then made unmistakable signs to the youth that he was to follow her.
“What do you want?” asked Quintus, going up to her.
“Above all things silence,” said the girl. “My errand is to you alone.”
“Speak on then.”
“Nay, not here, noble Quintus; consider a moment—with impenetrable hedges on each side of us! If any one came upon us, how could we escape?”
“And who are you?” asked Quintus with a meaning smile.
“Only a slave—named Polycharma. Will you come with me?”