“Simple creature! What a question! Why, Fleta has told me all about you. Did you never hear that the princess had a foster-sister, and that none could ever tell which was which, so like were we—and are we! Did you never hear that Fleta’s mother was blonde, and dull, and plain, and that Fleta is like none of her own family? Oh, Hilary, you, fresh from the city, you know nothing!” A sudden remembrance crossed Hilary’s mind. “I _have_ heard,” he said, “that no one could tell where Fleta had drawn her beauty from. But I believe you draw it from your own beautiful soul!” “Ah, you still think me Fleta? I have had some happy hours in the city before now when Fleta has let me play at being a princess. Ah, but the men all thought the princess in a strange, charming, delightful humour on these days. And when next they saw her, that humour was gone, and they were afraid to speak to her. Come in. I am starving!” They had entered a wide, low doorway, and stood now within the great hall. What a strange hall it was! The floor was covered with the skins of animals, many of them very handsome skins; and great jars held flowering plants, the scent from which made the air rich and heavy. A wood fire burned on the wide hearth, and before it, still in the dress she had travelled in, stood—Fleta. Yes, Fleta. The girl who stood at Hilary’s side laughed and clapped her hands as he uttered a cry of amazement, even of horror. “This is some of your magic, Fleta!” he exclaimed involuntarily. The Princess turned at his words. She was looking singularly grave and stern; her glance gave Hilary a sense of almost fear. “No,” she answered in a low, quiet voice that had a tone, as Hilary fancied, of pain, “it is not magic. It is all very natural. This is Adine, my little sister; so like me that I do not know her from myself.” She drew Adine to her with a gesture which had a protecting tenderness in it. This was the Princess who spoke, queen-like in her kindness. Hilary stood, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to understand. Before him stood two girls—each Fleta. Only by the difference of expression could he detect any difference between them. One threw him back the most coquettish and charming glance, as she went towards her grave sister. He could feel keenly how vitally different the two were. Yet they stood side by side, and though Fleta said “my little sister” there was no outward difference between them. Adine was as tall, as beautiful—and the same in everything! “Do not be startled,” said Fleta quietly, “you will soon grow used to the likeness.” “Though I doubt,” added Adine, with a wicked glance from her brilliant eyes, “whether you will ever tell us apart except when we are not together.” “Come,” said Fleta, “let us go and wash the travel stains off. It is just supper time.”