The girl looked puzzled. "My name is Mavis Durham," she said simply. Haskins knew that he was awake, for he had grazed his knee while climbing and the pain assured him of material existence. Otherwise, he would certainly have believed that the whole thing was a delicious dream. But on looking downward more intently he saw that, although the image of Charity in physical appearance, this girl who declared herself to be Mavis Durham had a more spiritual look on her face. Her eyes were turquoise-blue like the dancer's: she possessed the same wonderful hair, the color of ripe corn, about which Miss Bird's admirers raved, and her features were cast in the same classic mold; but she had a mystical, etherial, evanescent look about her, which hinted at more spirituality than was apparent in Charity's pronouncedly material charms. It might have been the dying light of the evening, or the exalted state of mind consequent on emotion, that raised Gerald to a high plane, but the girl looked as though she would vanish like a wreath of mist under the influence of the newly risen sun. The resemblance between Mavis and Charity was certainly marvelous, and Haskins could not account for the similarity; but after a long and searching look he became certain that the girls were two different flesh and blood human beings, and not one, as he had momentarily supposed. On acquiring this assurance in his innermost being the young man drew a breath of relief, since Charity was more or less engaged to Tod, and he did not wish to poach on Tod's preserves. The question of the resemblance he determined swiftly to leave to a later date for answer, and meanwhile surrendered himself entirely to the incredible romance of the adventure. Surely no more poetic happening had taken place since King Cophetua had gone a-wooing his Beggar Maid. But by the time his reflections had reached this point the Princess of Fairyland--for that she certainly was--betrayed excitement and uneasiness, waving her hands to intimate that he should hide behind the ruddy leaves of a copper beech, which over topped the wall and leaned against it. "Bellaria will catch you," called up Mavis softly, "and then I'll never see you again. Get behind the beech. I'll return soon." She sped lightly away, while Haskins, still trying to assure himself that he was not dreaming, shuffled along the wall until he gained the covert of the spreading branches. Here he was safe from any espial, and while Mavis was absent he gently parted the leaves to view her enchanted palace, whither she had called him. A phonograph and Fairyland! it was an odd mixture of poetry and science. A page with a silken-bound parchment; a dragon-chariot to waft a mortal prince to a spellbound queen; these were natural in the circumstances. But to be summoned by a phonograph! Why, it linked the age of motor cars with that of King Arthur.