And then, after the great nuptial banquet in the palace, off went the happy pair in the queen's barge for Lella Nuramanistherom, a lovely royal seat some thirty miles down the river; whilst I betook myself to the solitude of my rooms, there to ponder on the glad-sad lot of man, to hear over and over, and over again, those low tragic words: "It was just my heart--but I am better now." "_Amor_," says Saint Jerome, "_ordinem nescit_." Beautiful, Sibylline, noble, poor Drorathusa! Chapter 44 WE SEE THE STARS When facing the dangers, mysteries, horrors (and other things) of our descent to this strange and wonderful subterranean land of Drome, how often did I say to myself: "If ever I get out of this, never anything like it again!" And I truly believed it at the time, though I should have known better. I should have known--I _did_ know that adventure and mystery have inexplicable and most dreadful charms. Indeed, the more fearful the Unknown, the more eager a man (one who has heard the Siren song which adventure and mystery sing) is to penetrate to its secret places--unless, indeed, the charms of some Lepraylya or Drorathusa entwine themselves about the heart. In my case--well, _Amor ordinem nescit_. Here was I in the Golden City; here was everything, _it would seem to another_, that could conduce to contentment, to that peace of mind which is dearer that all. And yet I was restless and very unhappy. And the Unknown was calling, calling and calling for me to come. To what? Perhaps to wonders the like of which Science never has dreamed. Perhaps to horrors and mysteries from which the imagination of even a Dante or a Doré would shrink, would flee in mad terror--things nameless, worse than any seen in a horrible dream. But I wanted to go. Yes, I _would_ go. I would go into that fearful land of Grawngrograr--discover its mysteries or perish in the attempt. And I am going, too. That journey has not been abandoned, only delayed. It was like this. I was drawing up, in my mind, tentative plans (my purpose was yet a secret) when one day Milton Rhodes came in, and, after smiling in somewhat enigmatic fashion for some moments, he suddenly asked: "I say, Bill, how would you like to see the stars, the sun again?" "The sun? Milton, what do you mean?" "That I am going back to the surface, out onto the snow and ice of Rainier, back to Seattle. I thought that you would want to go along." "What in the world," I exclaimed, "are you going back for?" "There are many things that we ought to have here in Drome; a book of logarithms, the best that I can get, is one of them. We'll get those things, or as many as we can, for it would, of course, be impossible to bring them all. We'll wind up our sublunary affairs, and, hurrah, then back to Drome! What do you say to that, old _tillicum_?" "What does Lepraylya say?"