“On the great island is a colony of virgins, where no man may go. We thought . . . we hope that perhaps the virgins had stolen our prince and princess, to hold them as hostages that we may be forced to yield to the virgins’ cause.” “The prince and the princess stolen,” Jim exclaimed, “and you’ve done nothing about it?” Ren smiled gently. “We have done a great deal, but to no purpose has it been as yet. We got the prince’s thoughts. He was asking us for help. But he would not say what threatened, and he could not say where he was, for he did not know. And then the thoughts suddenly stopped. “Oh yes, we have searched. The island of the virgins was invaded. But the virgins—indeed no woman of our nation—will admit knowing anything of our prince. We have organized an army. All the nearer forests have been searched. And now we are getting ready to invade the caves. But it is not easy to get men for our army. That nameless horror—” His voice held an intonation almost gruesome. He changed the subject abruptly. “Our king, very shortly now he will want to see you. He feels, perhaps, you can aid us. You men, of strength, and these two young women—they might perhaps be of assistance in dealing with our virgins. But you will have to be examined, your minds gauged, so we may know if your oath of allegiance is honorable.” “By the infernal, mine will be!” Jim exclaimed. “I’ll go with your army to the caves, nameless horror, or not.” * * * * * Jim, with Ren, later joined me. And then Dr. Weatherby approached. “Where are the girls?” he asked. They were in another part of the building. I noticed Dr. Weatherby gazing downstairs with a furtive air, as though he had come here to join us, knowing the girls were not here, and not wanting them around. Jim was saying, “You think, Ren, that tomorrow—I mean after our next sleep—that the king will want to see us?” “Yes,” answered Ren. “Perhaps tomorrow.” “When we’ve taken the oath,” Jim added, “they’ll let us out of here, won’t they. If we’re going to join your army.” Dr. Weatherby sat down among us. He said to Ren, “You spoke of your king being in ill-health. Do you have much sickness, much disease, here?” “No,” replied the old man. “Our climate is healthy. Our people have always been so. There is very little—” “I mean . . . perhaps you have doctors, men of medicine, who are quite skillful?” “Yes. There are such. In the past they have been very learned. The records of our history—” “And surgeons, perhaps, very skillful surgeons?” Dr. Weatherby was leaning forward; his hands, locked in his lap, were trembling. Ren said abruptly, “What do you mean?” “I mean . . . my granddaughter, Dolores, she is blind.” The man nodded gravely. “That is so. It is very sorrowful. I have seen others here. It is a terrible affliction.” “But your surgeons, Ren. I have dared hope that she might be cured.”