In the hall again, seated in the window, is Urith. The window is planted high in the wall, so high, that to look out at it a sort of dais must be ascended, consisting of a step. On this dais is an ancient Tudor chair, high in the seat, as was usual with such chairs, made when floors were of slate and were rush-strewn, calculated to keep the feet above the stone, resting on a stool. Thus, elevated two steps above the floor, to whit, on the dais and the footstool, sat Urith as an enthroned queen, but a queen most forlorn, deadly pale, with sunken eyes that had become so large as to seem to fill her entire face, which remained entirely impassive, self-absorbed. She made no allusion to Anthony; after he had withdrawn, she forgot that she had seen him. His presence when before her rendered her uneasy, so that, out of pity for her distress, he removed, when at once she sank back into the condition which had become fixed. But Anthony was again in the hall on this occasion, resolved again to try to draw her from her lethargy. She sat uptilted in her chair, trifling with a broken token. She was swinging it like a pendulum before her, and to do this she leaned forward that the ribbon might hang free of her bosom. Though her eyes rested on the half-disc, its movement did not seem to interest her, and yet she never suffered the sway entirely to cease. So soon as the vibration became imperceptible, she put a finger to the coin and set it swinging once more. Anthony had seated himself on the dais step, and looked up into her face, and, as he looked, recalled how he had gazed in that same face on Devil Tor, when he had carried her through the fire. An infinite yearning and tenderness came on him. His heart swelled, and he said low, but distinct, with a quiver in his voice---- "Urith!" She slowly turned her head, fixed her eyes on him, and said, "Aye." "Urith! Do you not know me?" She had averted her head again. Slowly, mechanically, she again turned her face to him, seemed to be gathering her thoughts, and then said: "You are like Anthony. But you are not he. I cannot tell who you are." "I am your Anthony!" He caught her elbow to draw her hand to him, to kiss it, but she started at the touch, shivered to her very feet, so as to rattle the stool under them, plucked her arm from him, and said quickly: "Do not touch me. I will not be touched." He heaved a long breath, and put his hand to his head. "How can you forget me, Urith? Do you not recall how I had you in my arms, and leaped with you through the fire, on Devil Tor?" "I was carried by him--he is dead--not by you." She looked steadily at him. "No--not by you."