Erica, to her subsequent and intense mortification at such a clumsy marring of a dramatic moment, rolled headlong, bumpity-_bump_, down the softly carpeted steps, and landed in a small undignified heap at the bottom, striking the back of her head smartly on something that was neither velvety nor soft, but wooden and sharp-cornered. There was a flashing of myriads of colored stars before her eyes, and a violent ringing of bells in her ears for a brief second, before both were blotted out in a dizzy wave of blackness that rolled over her. CHAPTER XIII It was only a moment or two later when Erica opened her eyes again, but to the still dazed girl it seemed impossible that she was not asleep and dreaming what she saw about her. Vaguely she recalled having had some kind of a fall and hearing her father and Lis cry out in alarm. She could even remember, quite too vividly for comfort, the following contact of her head with that sharp wooden corner at the stairfoot. But this—certainly she had never seen this small but splendid room in which she was lying. There appeared to be no windows in it, or if there were they must be hidden by the heavy gold-embroidered curtains of a deep plum color that lined the walls on all sides. Light was supplied by several hanging lamps of what looked like beaten silver, with amber glass, and the room was full of that smell of incense she had noticed on the companion stairs. She herself was lying on a low divan, with a pile of softest silk and down pillows propping her up in a slightly raised position. For an instant Erica thought she was alone in this strange, gorgeous room, but when she turned her head on its mound of pillows some one moved behind her and came around to stand at the side of the divan where she could see him. This was the oddest, oldest, most leathery-faced and wrinkled little Chinaman Erica had ever imagined, who bent over her with a gentle air of solicitude, and taking one of her hands in his, felt her pulse, nodding his head slowly as if in time to its beat. “All is well,” he announced after a moment or two of silence, replacing Erica’s hand on the couch and standing back a step to regard her solemnly. “The fall had no consequences of a serious nature, so rest assured.” His English was perfect in accent and pronunciation, but it was spoken in a curious sing-song that made it difficult to follow. In spite of his apparent age, his hair, which he wore in a long queue, was quite black, and that with his piercing black eyes, and the stiff, coat-like garment of dark silk which he wore, gave Erica the impression of something rather severe and gloomy, though not exactly forbidding, for his glance at her was kindly enough. Then she caught the sound of footsteps crossing soft carpets, evidently from some door beyond, and to her vast relief Captain Eric’s merry blue eyes looked over the solemn little Chinaman’s shoulder.