"What would my lady like?" inquired Jacintha turning to Barbara, and enumerating the contents of her larder.
"You are very good," smiled Barbara. "Anything will do for me."
"Except, of course, roast Turk," said Paul, turning to Lambro. "We must draw the line at that."
The Turcophage grinned and withdrew in company with Jacintha; and as they called no servant to their aid, Paul concluded, and rightly, that these two were the sole tenants of the castle.
Paul had now a better opportunity than heretofore for observing his fair companion as she sat by the hearth, the bright firelight playing over her silken attire with its shimmer of chain-work and jewels. Her figure was beautifully shaped; her features were of pure, classic type, as clear and delicate as if sculptured from alabaster. There was something peculiarly noble in the pose of her head, which disposed Paul to the belief that when the mystery of her origin became solved, it would be found that she was of high birth.
She had spread out her hands to the fire, and with her face upturned to Paul, she said with charming naïveté,—
"I am so glad that you insisted upon me accompanying you, for this is certainly more cheerful than the dark forest."
The light of gratitude sparkling in her soft dusky eyes completely captivated Paul. He began to think that it would be a pleasant thing if she would always smile so upon him, and upon none other.
"Our new friends," he remarked, "are evidently expecting visitors, and those—two in number—to judge from the cutlery." He pointed to the dining-table and its snowy cloth set with Majolica-ware, cut-glass, and silver. "The Master and his wife I presume. Unpleasant for us if they should arrive to-night, and should object to the proceedings of their hospitable seneschal."
Lambro and his partner now entered, bringing in a repast.