‘I know it, Cestus, I know it! But yet it would be strange if she could forget,’ murmured Masthlion. Cestus took another pull at his wine, and looking across at his companion’s troubled face, said briskly, ‘Come, Masthlion, this is only speculation; let us get to the facts! Have you anything belonging to the girl which might serve as a token of her early years?’ Masthlion rose up without a word and left the room. ‘That looks well,’ muttered Cestus to himself, and he was once more addressing his attentions to the wine jar when he stopped himself. ‘No! no! be careful, Cestus,’ he said; ‘you are only an invalid yet, and only need what will do you good. You must get strong again as fast as possible.’ Masthlion re‐entered bearing a small bundle neatly and tightly bound. He untied and unrolled the package on the table. ‘There, Cestus!’ he said,—‘there are the self‐same things which she had about her when you left her here. They have been carefully kept.’ The small eyes of the Suburan flashed with joy as they rested on the contents. He lifted them up one by one and examined them. They consisted, as the potter said, of the tiny garments of a child two or three years old; and, in addition, there was a small bag of soft leather, not larger than the girth of a small‐sized walnut, to which was attached a fine steel chain to encircle the neck. Pouncing on the bag Cestus extracted a carved amulet of polished stone. His face fairly beamed with delight as he gazed. ‘Good!’ he said, as he replaced the stone, and put the bag carefully away in his breast, ‘this is of the highest importance; taken together with yourself and Tibia they are enough for what I want. And now to let you into the secret. In the first place, Masthlion, that rare piece of womankind who is dreaming of her lover upstairs, owes her life directly to me, the rough bear, whose face she declined to profane her pretty lips with.’ ‘Her life!’ exclaimed the potter.