But her pulse was even, and he frowned. “Where did you come from when you came to me?” he asked, bending his eyes down to hers with a keen, penetrating glance. “I came from the temple.” “From the prayer?” “Yes.” “Then you—” but here he stopped. “I see,” he continued, but in reality he didn’t. “Did you expect I should be hurt?” she asked. “I can hardly believe you were not.” “But I should have screamed. I made no sound.” “That was scarcely possible. For my own part, I always think it best to guard against screams, they are so unhelpful and unnecessary.” Now Rosalie looked at him, with eyes just as keen and penetrating as his had been. “Why do you stare at me?” he asked, smiling. “To see if you are disappointed.” Here he laughed. “Be careful. Your tongue is getting rather out of bounds already.” “I think you would rather have enjoyed my being hurt.” “Well, what can you expect in a country where vivisection is disallowed? One must take what little pleasure one can get.” Here he led the way back into the outer room. When they were both through he turned the key and put it in his pocket. “I rarely go in there,” he said. “Few folks are fool enough to come to me. I have no ambition to become a doctor, and I shun the popularity that hangs upon the quack.” They were both standing by the table now, one on either side. Rosalie’s eyes were fixed dreamily on a large glass ink-stand in the centre of the table. She was beginning to feel indescribably tired. There was nothing very wonderful in this, the operation had lasted longer than she was aware. But though tired, she was feeling remarkably light-hearted, longing to get outside and give herself two or three decided pinches to become convinced she was awake, and that this great good fortune of her prayer had at last come to her. But over and above the tired feeling and the unreality came gratitude to her deliverer. The thought of this made her suddenly raise her eyes and look across at him. Certainly his face was very proud, and the shadows lurking underneath his eyes and at the corners of his mouth gave it a dark, forbidding expression. It was not altogether pleasant. “The feature I like best is his nose,” thought Rosalie. “The one that frightens me most is his mouth; the one that most interests me is his eyes.” “You have been very kind to me,” she said. “Is there any way in which I can pay you back?” But he shook his head. “I do not think you could give me anything tangible, but perhaps you yourself will be able to suggest something.” Rosalie flushed to the roots of her hair. “I haven’t anything,” she answered. “Not even a soul?” “What is that?” “That part of you which under certain conditions becomes immortal.” “That part of me belongs to the Serpent.” “The Serpent passed you on body and soul to me.” “The Serpent did nothing of the sort,” she answered vehemently, if slowly. “I—I—I—” “You what?” “I nothing.” His eyebrows came together in a frown.