The guardian, who was a conspirator also, thoroughly understood the whole business. And there we can leave the doctor and return to Norman, who by no means enjoyed the situation. He did not find the books in the dissecting room of much interest. He was wandering in the throne-room, which looked more ghastly than ever, now the guards had extinguished the candles, in the flickering shadow of the lamp he carried, when he found several scraps of paper on the throne itself. They were covered with intricate designs and meaningless arabesques. There was a wing, there a face, there a foot, there an emblem--all incoherent and messed round with wild scratches. The bits of paper had so fearsome a fascination that it was almost a relief to Norman to go back to the dissecting room and sit down and try to read a treatise on skin diseases. But long before he had mastered the difficult subject Norman was on foot again, restless and troubled. The window was barred--Andrea had slept here sometimes. The night was close. He sighed for the young strong arms that might have been round his neck. The conspiracy seemed already to be enclosing him in an impenetrable net. As immeasurable time wore on the fishy eyes of Andrea haunted him. He would not sleep inside the bed, a sorry and comfortless pallet which might have been the madman's. He lay down on it, dressed as he was, flinging off only his collar. Sleep would not come, save for fitful visions. Rising again, he saw his face pallid in the looking-glass by the fight of the dingy candle, which flickered in a gorgeous stand of beaten copper. He blew the candle out hurriedly, then groped for matches, and lit it again, and flung himself once more on to the couch. A fitful slumber was descending over him, prelude to sweet sleep, when he heard footsteps, with a tapping noise and the sound of voices. One voice was a man's: there were two other voices, of women. Norman leapt from the bed, alert, and listened hard. "He won't hurt you, Drakina," said one voice. "He's kissed me many a time, and I don't know what he might not have done if Makzelo had not been there." A confused giggle was all the reply Norman could hear. "Where is he, Malsprita?" said another girl's voice. "Hullo," said the voice of the man, apparently called Makzelo. "He seems to have gone away. The room's empty, that's strange." "Perhaps he's gone to bed," said a girl. "He can't have; he never goes to bed as early as this. We have played with him night after night. He loves it, doesn't he, Malsprita?" "When I do it." More giggles. Then the voice of Drakina was heard, saying she was frightened. "Andrea!" cried Makzelo. They all shouted; there was no reply. "Let's go and look for him in the corridors. How strange! he was dreadfully excited about his Queen. He mustn't be disappointed." "I'm frightened," said Drakina. "I don't want to be his Queen." "You who wanted so to be in a real King's arms. What a little coward you are!"