The whole interior of the pavilion obviously contained but one room; and in that room Austin May was nowhere to be seen. In the centre was a huge long centre-table of carven oak; it was covered with dust, and upon it was but one large book--Burton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy.” All the four walls were lined with filled bookcases, and, above them were serried ranks of engravings, etchings, drawings, but nothing that was not in black and white. Most of these had woman for a subject, but woman always either in her least agreeable or most unspiritual aspect--Katherines with Petruchio, Madame de Staels, Harriet Martineaus, Manon Lescauts, Cressidas, and Marneffes; Messalinas, Hecubas, Danaës, Judiths, daughters of Herodias; an engraving of the Appalachian Women’s Rights Association, and a charcoal sketch of Daudet’s _Sappho_. And of such as were not real persons or historical characters, there was but one common characteristic, namely, that all were shamelessly naked of body and unspiritual of face. The sole exception to this rule stood at the farther end of the room from Schmidt; it was a full-sized and marvellously perfect reproduction of the Venus of Milo; having the cynical inscription upon its pedestal, “A woman without rights.” Schmidt gave a long low whistle, as he went about the room to examine these engravings; then he returned to the centre-table, wholly at a loss. May surely had not left the pavilion; but where was he? He looked out of the windows, and saw only the pine-grove, the house, the lawn, and the lake. In the centre of the lake was a large fountain, plashing merrily, and shaped like the coronal of some huge lily. As he was watching this, the fountain suddenly stopped; the water-petals wavered and fell, revealing a small grass island that had been screened by the circlet of playing water. A moment after, he started at his master’s voice; May was immediately behind him, calmly putting a book back in the bookcase. It was the Burton’s “Anatomy.” “You may go now, Schmidt; I shall not want you until to-morrow. You will stay in the under part of the house; and not go out under any circumstances, unless you hear a pistol-shot. When you hear my pistol fired you will come out rapidly. If fired twice, you will run to the stable for a horse. If I want you to do anything, I will send Fides with a note.” Schmidt bowed his comprehension and was about to withdraw. “Stop,” said May, “there is one thing more. You must go to Brookline village and hire a fast horse and a buggy, without a driver; put the horse in the stable, but don’t unharness him, and shut the door. You may go.” Schmidt went.