“Here is a match,” said Miss Holmes to Harût who was engaged in putting more tobacco into the bowl, the suspicion of a smile upon his grave and statuesque countenance. Harût received the match with a low bow and fired the stuff as before. Then he handed the bowl, from which once again the blue smoke curled upwards, to Miss Holmes, and gently and gracefully let the antimacassar fall over it and her head, which it draped as a wedding veil might do. A few seconds later she threw off the antimacassar and cast the bowl, in which the fire was now out, on to the floor. Then she stood up with wide eyes, looking wondrous lovely and, notwithstanding her lack of height, majestic. “I have been in another world,” she said in a low voice as though she spoke to the air, “I have travelled a great way. I found myself in a small place made of stone. It was dark in the place, the fire in that bowl lit it up. There was nothing there except a beautiful statue of a naked baby which seemed to be carved in yellow ivory, and a chair made of ebony inlaid with ivory and seated with string. I stood in front of the statue of the Ivory Child. It seemed to come to life and smile at me. Round its neck was a string of red stones. It took them from its neck and set them upon mine. Then it pointed to the chair, and I sat down in the chair. That was all.” Harût followed her words with an interest that I could see was intense, although he attempted to hide it. Then he asked me to translate them, which I did. As their full sense came home to him, although his face remained impassive, I saw his dark eyes shine with the light of triumph. Moreover I heard him whisper to Marût words that seemed to mean, “The Sacred Child accepts the Guardian. The Spirit of the White Kendah finds a voice again.” Then as though involuntarily, but with the utmost reverence, both of them bowed deeply towards Miss Holmes. A babel of conversation broke out. “What a ridiculous dream,” I heard Lord Ragnall say in a vexed voice. “An ivory child that seemed to come to life and to give you a necklace. Whoever heard such nonsense?” “Whoever heard such nonsense?” repeated Miss Holmes after him, as though in polite acquiescence, but speaking as an automaton might speak. “I say,” interrupted Scroope, addressing Miss Manners, “this is a drawing-room entertainment and a half, isn’t it, dear?” “I don’t know,” answered Miss Manners, doubtfully, “it is rather too queer for my taste. Tricks are all very well, but when it comes to magic and visions I get frightened.” “Well, I suppose the show is over,” said Lord Ragnall. “Quatermain, would you mind asking your conjurer friends what I owe them?” Here Harût, who had understood, paused from packing up his properties and answered,