There was a momentary pause. When she went on, I saw the angel's lower lip begin to tremble and tears come into her eyes. She was describing the death of her demon, her poor, poor demon. Well, as regards appearances, I must own that I would greatly prefer that hideous ape-bat of hers to many a bulldog that I have seen. The others too looked distressed. And, indeed, I have no doubt that we ourselves, had we known all about demons, would have been--well, at least troubled. Little did Milton and I dream that the loss of that winged monster might entail upon our little band the most serious consequences. So, however, it was, as we were soon to learn. When she had ended her account, the angel turned to us forthwith and went through an earnest and remarkable pantomime. She and the others awaited our answer with the most intense interest. But the only answer that we could give her was that we did not understand. That pantomime had been wholly unintelligible to Milton Rhodes and myself. I say wholly unintelligible; we could see, however, that it had something to do with ourselves and something to do with _something_ up above; but everything else in it was an utter mystery. The angel went through it again, more slowly, more carefully and more fully this time. But still we could not understand. "Perhaps," I suggested, "she could tell us with paper and pencil." "Not a bad idea, Bill." Thereat Rhodes produced pencil and notebook. These he gave to the angel, with a sign that she put it down in the book. She regarded the pencil curiously for some moments, tried it upon the paper, and then--with some difficulty and undoubtedly some pain, what with her hurt hand--she began. Rhodes moved to her right side, I to her left. Yes, there could be no mistaking that: she had drawn the Tamahnowis Rocks. Then she drew a crevasse and two figures, plainly Rhodes and myself, going down into it. That was clear as the day. Then she put those figures that were Rhodes and I into the tunnel, and, presto, with a wave of the hand, she brought them down to that very spot where we were standing. Clear again, lovely Sibyl. What next? More figures, and more and more; and were they too coming down into the tunnel? Yes, at last it all was plain, at last we wise numskulls understood her. _Were we alone?_ Rhodes made it clear to her that we were. But he did not stop there; he proceeded to make it clear to her that _we only_ knew the secret. She was some time in understanding this; but, when she did understand it, what a look was that which passed across her lovely Sibylline features! "Great Heaven," said I to myself, "he's gone and done it now!" The look was one of joy, the look of a soul triumphant. In a moment, however, it was gone; her features were only lovely, impassive. But the thoughts and the feelings which that strange look of hers had aroused were not gone. I felt something like a shudder pass to my heart. Of a truth, this lovely woman was dreadful.