And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. " "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. "Where is he?" he cried.
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