glittering-eyed creature that has suddenly taken possession of my
fancy--she overcomes me in spite of myself; she makes havoc of all
the good intentions of my life. I admit it--I confess it!"

"You are speaking of the Princess Ziska?" asked Helen,
tremblingly.

"Of whom else should I speak?" he responded, dreamily. "There is
no one like her; probably there never was anyone like her, except,
perhaps, Ziska-Charmazel!"

As the name passed his lips, he sprang hastily up and stood
amazed, as though some sudden voice had called him. Helen Murray
looked at him in alarm.

"Oh, what is it?" she exclaimed.

He forced a laugh.

"Nothing--nothing--but a madness! I suppose it is all a part of my
strange malady. Your brother is stricken with the same fever.
Surely you know that?"

"Indeed I do know it," Helen answered, "to my sorrow!"

He regarded her intently. Her face in its pure outline and quiet
sadness of expression touched him more than he cared to own even
to himself.

"My dear Helen," he said, with an effort at composure, "I have