‘It’s nothing, really,’ I hastened to explain. ‘But I was dining the other evening with a friend who was describing the ruined walls of the convent to me.’

‘So it was ruined!’

It was a soft exclamation, uttered more to herself than to us. Then looking at me once more she asked hesitatingly: ‘Tell me, Monsieur, did your friend say how—in what way—it was ruined?’

‘It was blown up,’ I said, and added: ‘The peasants are afraid to pass that way at night.’

‘Why are they afraid?’

‘Because of a black mark on a ruined wall. They have a superstitious fear of it.’

She leaned forward.

‘Tell me, Monsieur—quick—quick—tell me! What is that mark like?’

‘It has the shape of a huge hound,’ I answered. ‘The peasants call it the Hound of Death.’

‘Ah!’

A shrill cry burst from her lips.

‘It is true then—it is true. All that I remember is true. It is not some black nightmare. It happened! It happened!’

‘What happened, my sister?’ asked the doctor in a low voice.

She turned to him eagerly.

‘I remembered. There on the steps, I remembered. I remembered the way of it. I used the power as we used to use it. I stood on the altar steps and I bade them to come no farther. I told them to depart in peace. They would not listen, they came on although I warned them. And so—’ She leaned forward and made a curious gesture. ‘And so I loosed the Hound of Death on them . . .’

She lay back on her chair shivering all over, her eyes closed.

The doctor rose, fetched a glass from a cupboard, half-filled it with water, added a drop or two from a little bottle which he produced from his pocket, then took the glass to her.

‘Drink this,’ he said authoritatively.

She obeyed—mechanically as it seemed. Her eyes looked far away as though they contemplated some inner vision of her own.

‘But then it is all true,’ she said. ‘Everything. The City of the Circles, the People of the Crystal—everything. It is all true.’

‘It would seem so,’ said Rose.

His voice was low and soothing, clearly designed to encourage and not to disturb her train of thought.

‘Tell me about the City,’ he said. ‘The City of Circles, I think you said?’

She answered absently and mechanically.

‘Yes—there were three circles. The first circle for the chosen, the second for the priestesses and the outer circle for the priests.’

‘And in the centre?’

She drew her breath sharply and her voice sank to a tone of indescribable awe.

‘The House of the Crystal . . .’

As she breathed the words, her right hand went to her forehead and her finger traced some figure there.

Her figure seemed to grow more rigid, her eyes closed, she swayed a little—then suddenly she sat upright with a jerk, as though she had suddenly awakened.

‘What is it?’ she said confusedly. ‘What have I been saying?’