His Majesty, slowing and steadying their craft as a bird holds poise, pulled the girl-soul to her feet and with her leaned to watch, first-sight, the troops rushing into formation. Soon sight of the units was cut off by slashing swords of light. A fetid gas arose from the on-rush. In an ague of undefined terror, Dolores felt herself further shaken by the clutch on her arm; heard the Prince of the Power of the Air again give himself over to mirth. “Fool fiends, they hear my voice and think it is That Day! Not bad for an impromptu practice drive, eh? Once all fear is drilled out of them, once their numbers are complete, once the full force of that gas is turned on--Ah, nothing and none may stand against the hate of Hell!” Skimming the upper air toward the palace, he centered his attention on the cowering convert to his power. “Whether you rise to the rôle in this new comedy divine for which I am considering you, depends upon yourself,” he told her. “Your first séance was one of fair success. But nerve yourself for to-night lest you fail to entertain. After what you have seen to-day, you’d not wish to fail?” The weight of her responsibility crushed out her reply. “I should not dare to fail.” He nodded, his hope evidently strengthened, as hers had been weakened, by the morning’s flight. “That Day you ask about--I do not understand myself why it has been postponed so long. Do you suppose----” As if startled by his own thought, Satan caught her hand with a touch that pained like a burn, yet left no mark. His voice sagged superstitiously as he finished: “Do you suppose it could have been ordained that I should wait--for _you_?” CHAPTER VIII “When hall bedrooms are alcoves in disguise”--so said the Royal Entertainer--“their inner walls are likely to be thin.” This was true of the haven paid for in advance by Dolores Trent--true as thin. Often during that first night after the dénouement at Seff’s she had need to remind herself of the fact and of the sleep needs of the actor lady in the adjoining star-guest chamber. It was hard, though, not to cry, when she kept thinking of her father lying underneath his sod blanket out in the rain. Indeed, she did not sleep until after the rain had stopped. Comfort came with oblivion. In her dreams somebody strong, young and ardent entered her door as though he had the right--the love-lad who, in a vision more real than the shameful reality of the store-stage scene, had crossed to her side from the stranger who had rescued her. Through the narrow space between the wall and her cot he slipped; sat looking at her from the single, stiff chair; at last leaned down and, ever so tenderly, kissed her on the lips. A peremptory knock awakened her. In the coarse night-gown, which had felt like the embrace of a mother after those cobwebby things at Seff’s, she opened the door a crack upon the young blond hair and old brunette face of her landlady.