There was present at that supper a young girl just out that season—as giddy, as merry, and full of happy spirits as one unknown to care or saddened thoughts can ever be. And to close a spirited discussion with some as young and thoughtless as herself, just as the feast was ending, she left her place amidst a laughing silence, and ran to the farther upper end of the table, where Mr. Barringcourt sat beside the Princess. With the happy assurance of youth never rebuffed, she accosted him. “I come,” said she, still laughing, “to plead on the side of our religion. They say that dismal curtain bears a resemblance, and a very striking one, to the crimson one within the temple. Will you not contradict them?” He looked across the room toward it “One’s black and the other’s red,” he said, and smiled. “Yes; but we were discussing what might be beyond,” and her face was demure, though her eyes were sparkling with merriment. “With what result?” said he. “We all grew curious. Princess, will you be curious, too?” “Oh, instantly. What is beyond that curtain, Mr. Barringcourt? Tell us, or show us, pray.” The silence of expectation had settled on the guests. Barringcourt leaned forward toward the table, playing with the half-filled glass of wine beside him. And when he spoke his voice was low, yet perfectly distinct. “You know,” said he, “it was a foible of Mr. Todbrook’s to collect as many heathen gods and false ones as lay in his power. This house was built on a system—I might say systems—of idolatry; its furniture collected from disused temples sought for all over the face of Lucifram. “Behind that curtain stands a god, more hideous than any I have ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty in my time, as maybe most of you have done. The curtain came along with it from the temple where it stood, and in a state of wonderful preservation. Over one thousand years in age.” “What is beyond?” was the general question throughout the chamber. “A death’s-head of unusual size, worshipped and feared of all in the parts from where it came.” “Let us see it.” A general murmur of anticipation ran round the room. “These poor heathens!” said one lady, and her tone was patronising. “How ignorant they must have been.” “And are still in some parts, madam,” said he. “We do our best with the missionaries,” she replied. “Let us see it, please.” This was the voice of the charming youthful pioneer from the back. “It’s a death’s-head,” said he, and he smiled very kindly as he spoke. “They are not beautiful.” “But I’ve enjoyed myself so much all evening, Mr. Barringcourt, that I could not bear to be disappointed now. Besides, the Princess has commanded you. Please show us the head.” “It has never to be seen but in complete darkness. It’s a clause of the will. It was the condition on which he bought it, I believe, from a few crazy priests, who had no congregation.”