his forge."

"Have they lost the power of speech?"

"Oh, no, sir. They talk when speech is necessary in carrying on their work. Just a few words, though—like parrots, I would say."

Oppressed by the horror of this silent, noisy place, they hurried along until they came to a better-lighted section of the building. There a number of women were engaged in etching delicate designs on almost-finished stones.

Dressed in black nun-like robes, they crouched over their work while their fingers flew. Most of them were ugly and toothless, with dirty hair and shoulders permanently rounded. A few retained some semblance of good looks and made pitiful attempts at adornment. One had a drooping flower in her unkempt locks; another wore an ancient ring. Those little things sent a thrill through the newcomer. Perhaps....

Glancing away from this group of harpies, Jonathan drew in his breath sharply. On a platform near a broken window sat a girl who was looking at him with a faint show of interest in her great, sad eyes. Her chestnut hair was held back with a strip of cloth. Her robe was clean. Her face reminded him of a Watteau shepherdess.

"Who is she?" he whispered.

"The women's overseer, sir; she talks a bit."

"Good morning," Jonathan addressed the girl hesitantly. "I'm the new master. Do you like to work here? Have you any complaints?" He stopped, feeling foolish, as he realized that, although she still was looking at him, her fragile fingers had not ceased their endless task of sorting little blue stones.

"Good morning, new master," she answered in a voice faint from disuse. "I do like to work here. I have no com-com...." She stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"What is your name?"

"Jo."

"Jo what?"

"Jo." He detected a look of fright in her blue eyes.

"Would you like to leave this place?"

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