The figure had been retreating. But the hill was close behind it. Suddenly it stopped; seemed to gather itself; to crouch; to spring. It left the ground, and came sailing up into the unobstructed moonlight above the orange trees. Sailing up in an arc it passed almost directly over their heads and landed soundlessly in the road behind them! As it passed overhead, outlined against the stars, they saw it more plainly. It seemed a girl of human form, cast in a fashion which might well have been called beautiful. She poised, not as though flying, but sailing. Face toward the ground, white hair waving behind her, arms outstretched, with the folds of her drapery robe opened fan-shape, fluttering like wings. There was a brief glimpse of her lower limbs, human of mold with the robe wound by the wind close around them. A thing of beauty, had it not been so uncanny. She floated in a sailing arc as though almost weightless; and with a flip, dropped to the ground upright upon her feet. A fairy's leap! Soundless, graceful! Romantic, yet uncanny. A figure of enchantment from the dream of a child. [Illustration: A thing of beauty, she floated in a sailing arc against the star-studded heavens, directly over the heads of the astonished couple.] Dan tried to laugh. Fear seemed incongruous. As he and Hulda turned, the figure stood again in the trail facing them. And they could see it was a slim young girl, strangely beautiful, fearful as a fawn at their approach; yet she lingered, seeming--Dan wondered if his fancy were playing him tricks--desirous of conquering her fear and encountering them. "Hulda--nothing to be afraid of. Don't move--you'll frighten her!" They stood motionless. The white girl in the moonlight down the road took a step forward. They did not move. She came a little further. Paused. Then another step. Not floating. Walking--they could see the outlines of her limbs moving beneath the drapery. And now they could see her face. Queer, strange of feature, yet in what way they could not have said. And certainly beautiful; gentle; anxious, and afraid. Youthful, a mere girl; and with those flowing waves of snow-white hair framing her face and falling thick over her pink-white shoulders. She stood, twenty feet away. Dan and Hulda were almost holding their breaths. Dan murmured: "Speak to her again. Softly--don't frighten her!" Hulda said gently: "Can you understand me? We're friends." The strange girl stood birdlike, trembling. Hulda repeated: "We're friends--won't hurt you. Shall we come nearer? Who are you?" There was a moment of silence. And then the girl spoke. A soft whisper of a voice, ethereal as the fairy voice of a child's enchanted fancy; a wraith of sound, but it carried, and Hulda and Dan heard it plainly. "_Zetta! Zetta! Zetta!_" CHAPTER III THE CROWNING TERROR