unlike the clear hues, pearly grey and gold, and soft roseate light that
had hitherto encompassed me, the voice of Amroth answered my unuttered
question, and said, "It is the image of her thought." Her slim white
hands moved aimlessly over the robe, and seemed to finger the jewels
which adorned it. Her lips were parted, and anything more beautiful than
the pure curves of her chin and neck I had seldom seen, though she
seemed never to be still, as Amroth was still, but to move restlessly
and wearily about. I knew by a sort of intuition that she was unaware
of Amroth and only aware of myself. She seemed startled and surprised at
the sight of me, and I wondered in what form I appeared to her; in a
moment she spoke, and her voice was low and thrilling.

"I am so glad," she said in a half-courteous, half-distracted way, "to
find some one in the place to whom I can speak. I seem to be always
moving in a crowd, and yet to see no one--they are afraid of me, I
think; and it is not what I expected, not what I am used to. I am in
need of help, I feel, and yet I do not know what sort of help it is that
I want. May I stay with you a little?"

"Why, yes," I said; "there is no question of 'may' here."

She came up to me with a sort of proud confidence, and looked at me
fixedly. "Yes," she said, "I see that I can trust you; and I am tired of
being deceived!" Then she added with a sort of pettishness, "I have
nowhere to go, nothing to do--it is all dull and cold. On earth it was
just the opposite. I had only too much attention and love.... Oh, yes,"
she added with a strange glance, "it was what you would probably call
sinful. The only man I ever loved did not care for me, and I was loved
by many for whom I did not care. Well, I had my pleasures, and I suppose
I must pay for them. I do not complain of that. But I am determined not