With a last desperate plunge, fairly dragging the two Rorn who tugged at me, I fell forward. With the clenched steel talons of my right hand, I struck at the silvery flask I could see dangling from Mercer's waist. I hit it, but only a glancing blow; the flask did not shatter. "Again!" commanded Mercer. "It's heavy annealed glass--hydrocyanic acid--terrible stuff--even the fumes--" I paid but slight heed. The two Rorn dragged me back, but I managed to crawl forward on my knees, and with all my strength, I struck at the flask again. This time it shattered, and I lay where I fell, sobbing with weakness, looking out through the side window of my head-piece. The five Rorn seemed to suddenly lose their strength. They struggled limply for a moment, and then floated down to the waiting sand beneath us. "Finish," remarked Mercer coolly. "And just in time. Let's see if we can find our way back to the _Santa Maria_." * * * * * We were weary, and we plodded along slowly, twin trails of air-bubbles like plumes waving behind us, rushing upwards to the surface. I felt strangely alone at the moment, isolated, cut off from all mankind, on the bottom of the Atlantic. "Coming to meet you, all of us," Imee signaled us. "Be careful where you step, so that you do not walk in a circle and find again the Place of Darkness. It is very large." "Probably some uncharted deep," threw in Mercer. "Only the larger ones have been located." For my part, I was too weary to think. I just staggered on. A crowd of slim, darting white shapes surrounded us. They swam before us, showing the way. The five patriarchs walked majestically before us; and between us, smiling at us through the thick lenses of our headpieces, walked Imee. Oh, it was a triumphal procession, and had I been less weary, I presume I would have felt quite the hero. * * * * * Imee pictured for us, as we went along, the happiness, the gratefulness of her people. Already, she informed us, great numbers of young men were clearing away the bodies of the dead Rorn. She was so happy she could hardly restrain herself. A dim skeleton shape bulked up at my left. I turned to look at it, and Imee, watching me through the lights of my head-piece, nodded and smiled. Yes, this was the very hulk by which she had been swimming when the shark had attacked her, the shark which had been the cause of the accident. She darted on to show me the very rib upon which her head had struck, stunning her so that she had drifted, unconscious and storm-tossed, to the shore of Mercer's estate. I studied the wreck. It was battered and tilted on its beam ends, but I could still make out the high poop that marked it as a very old ship. "A Spanish galleon, Mercer," I conjectured. "I believe so." And then, in pictured form, for Imee's benefit, "It has been here while much time passed?"