The food was unfamiliar but satisfying, warmed in a matter of seconds in an oven-like box to which he could see no power connections or controls. In reply to his questions she pointed to a hexagonal red crystal set in the back of the box and looked at him as though he should understand. One of the foods was a sort of meat, and with only one arm Eldon found himself in difficulty. Krasna noticed, took his eating utensils and cut it into bite-sized bits. She said nothing, but he finished the meal in sullen silence, resentful that he needed a woman's help even to eat. Afterwards Krasna buckled on her heavy belt with the dagger swinging at her hip. "I must go out now," she said. "The not-quite-men of the Faith are prowling tonight, and Luvans are with them." "But--?" "You could not help." The reminder of his uselessness rankled, but still he felt a pang at the thought of a girl like her going into danger. "But you?" he asked. "I can take care of myself. And if not, what matter? I am Krasna." Once more she read his thoughts. "No. Stay here." It was not a request but an order. "If you were to fall into the hands of--her--it would add to my troubles. And my own people would kill you on sight, because you have been with me." III After she left he prowled restlessly around the underground rooms, looking, touching, exploring. He tried to find the controls for the illuminated walls, and there were none. Every square inch of the smooth plastic seemed exactly like every other. The other devices--even the uses of some he could not determine--were the same. There were no switches or other controls. It was all very puzzling. He spent most of his time in the main room where Krasna had left the walls lighted, for the unfamiliar darkness of the others gave him the eerie feeling that something was watching him from behind. Some of the fittings seemed unaccountably familiar, although operating on principles he was unable to understand. The sense of familiarity amid strangeness gave him a schizophrenic sensation, as though two personalities struggled for control, two personalities with different life-patterns and experiences. A most unsettling feeling. He thought of Margaret, longingly, and then of Victor. His fist clenched and his lips tightened. If Schenley were still alive, some day there would be a reckoning. Schenley had been sure of himself and had boasted. And now, he was sure, Margaret knew just what sort of rat Victor really was. His thoughts turned to his anomalous position with the red-haired girl. Krasna had brought him out of the perilous forest purely because she thought he was this wonderful El-ve-don. And now he was living in her home, entirely dependent upon her sense of pity. It was galling.