I picked up
what she had let fall; it was a delicate lace handkerchief,
tied to the handle of an elaborately wrought bronze key. It was
evidently the key of the house, and invited me to enter. I loosened it
from the handkerchief, which bore a faint, delicious perfume, like the
aroma of flowers in an ancient garden, and turned to the arched
doorway. I felt no misgiving, and scarcely any sense of strangeness.
All was as I had wished it to be, and as it should be; the mediaeval
age was alive once more, and as for myself, I almost felt the velvet
cloak hanging from my shoulder and the long rapier dangling at my belt.
Standing in front of the door I thrust the key into the lock, turned
it, and felt the bolt yield. The next instant the door was opened,
apparently from within; I stepped across the threshold, the door closed
again, and I was alone in the house, and in darkness.
"Not alone, however! As I extended my hand to grope my way it was met
by another hand, soft, slender, and cold, which insinuated itself
gently into mine and drew me forward. Forward I went, nothing loath;
the darkness was impenetrable, but I could hear the light rustle of a
dress close to me, and the same delicious perfume that had emanated
from the handkerchief enriched the air that I breathed, while the
little hand that clasped and was clasped by my own alternately
tightened and half relaxed the hold of its soft cold fingers.
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