She stumbled, fell, turned over and over, much too slowly. Winds still howled, but above her here at hill's bottom. Wraiths of fog swirled in eddying gusts, came closer and faded, appeared again and swept away. She cried a name because the fog brought her an image and the name and the image were one._ "Smith of Earth, of Earth, of Earth...." _And he came to her, this image, on a charger, an animal much too thick through the shoulders to be a horse, with three pairs of legs. Low out of saddle he leaned, graceful, handsome bald head pink with excitement. He clutched at her, lifted her through the mists, above them. The six-legged horse soared high, above the hills, above the winds, carried her higher and higher. Smith stroked her yellow hair, kissed her. She tingled...._ [Illustration] * * * * * "Wake up Smith! Up, come on now, the class is over for today." He stirred. The dream--Gods of Earth, what a dream! "Well, how'd you like it? See what I mean about dream empathy, Smith? Beats everything, doesn't it?" Smith hardly heard her. They say dreams fulfill wishes, they say--and what was it Geria had dreamed? Suddenly, it was very important to Smith, terribly important, more important than anything, because he remembered, without knowing how or why, what had happened yesterday on the crags. "Geria," he said. He tried to make his voice soft, but it boomed loudly, almost startled her. "What's the matter?" "Nothing. Why nothing is the matter. You remember yesterday on the crag, Geria?" She nodded. "And your dream--Geria?" Again, the casual nod. "Geria, I--I love you. I think I want to marry you. I think--" He stopped. She looked at him for what seemed a long time but really was only a few seconds, and then she grinned. There was nothing malicious about it, Smith knew, just a grin. It spread, and the woman of Bortinot began to laugh. Softly at first, but soon she was laughing very hard and Smith felt foolish. He wanted very much to be out of there, any place but in that room, but he did not know for sure that he knew how to operate the door. "Oh, Smith, Smith," she said, "if you could see yourself now. But I suppose I deserve it. I planted the suggestion, you fought it, now you're pretending. All right, I admit defeat. But stop now; you should see your face." Serious. She was serious. She thought he was joking. Post-suggestively you tried to get someone to do something--anything, and it was very very funny if they did. Funnier yet if they didn't, because then they beat you at your own game, made fun of you, laughed at you, but eventually with you. Of course it was like that, let her think it was like that. He smiled. "All right, I'll--stop." And together, laughing, they walked out of the room. Smith was surprised to find he had no trouble at all with the door. * * * * *