A sense of evil lay heavy upon me. It was a cloudless night, with Pyrena, the moon, a great purple round disk. The forest was full of purple shadows; the red murmuring things were abroad, and I blessed with a new understanding, this purple light which held them in check. We ascended the incline and came upon Garla's main street. The two girls were shrouded in cloaks of white. Father the same. Once, Hulda raised her cloak like a hood over her head until Freddie asked her to lower it. "You look like a ghost in this moonlight." He laughed, but it was high-pitched and nervous, unlike him. Dan whispered to me: "Kean is to join us at the stadium entrance. Do you think he will, Peter? If anything goes wrong--" "We'll sit near the back," I whispered. "He'll find us. You and Freddie and I must sit together, where we can slip away." Freddie edged toward us as we walked along; the street swayed and bent beneath us. "This cursed flimsy city! Where did Kean say he'd join us? Peter, give me my knife and revolver--thank Heaven for these dark cloaks--" We three had seen cloaks of a dark woven fiber lying in one of the rooms of Under Gardens. We had wanted to wear them, and father had acquiesced. I raised my cloak, surreptitiously handed Freddie the weapons. We each had a short, wide dirk--and an Essen soundless automatic--the only weapons we had brought from earth. They were very welcome now! "Move back," I whispered to Dan. "Father will wonder what we're talking about." We were determined to get into the grotto by whatever desperate expedient Kean would think possible of success. Father would approve--we did not doubt that. But he would want to go with us. That we did not desire. In the event of failure, we wanted him, at least, to remain in safety. He would not, very probably, be blamed by the Garlands for our attack. He would be left to look after Hulda. And--I added to myself--look after Zetta. Shrouded in our cloaks, we hastened through Garla's tree-top streets. In the purple moonlight the dark houses seemed giant birds' nests; the giant leaves which occasionally hung over them were motionless in the still night air. A breathless silence brooded over everything. The houses showed occasional glows of light; but most of them seemed unoccupied. There were many pedestrians. All were going our way. From a doorway a woman clutching a baby at her breast, gazed down on us with an obvious hostility. "A Braun," I thought. But she was not. Hulda pointed her out--a Garland. From over us, as a crowd of young people went past in a leap, some one dropped a flower. A heavy thing--it struck Dan a blow on the shoulder which brought a startled curse from him. Hulda waved her white arm upward in a friendly gesture; but her face was very solemn. "I don't like this," father murmured. "They're hostile--in all the months we've been here, it's never been like this."