With trembling fingers that he could scarcely control, old Willard sent the answering message. "SPACE SHIP MARY LOU REPLYING. RECEIVED MESSAGE. THANK GOD!" He broke off, unable to continue. His heart was ready to burst within him and the tears of joy were already welling in his eyes. He listened to the happiest message he had ever heard: "NOTICE THAT SPACE SHIP MARY LOU IS DISABLED AND NOT SPACE WORTHY. YOU ARE INVITED TO COME ABOARD. HAVE YOU SPACE SUIT AND--ARE YOU ABLE TO COME?" Willard, already sobbing with joy, could send only two words. "YES! COMING!" The years of waiting were over. At last he was free of the _Mary Lou_. In a dream like trance, he dressed in his space suit, pathetically glad that he had already checked every detail of it a short time ago. He realized suddenly that everything about the _Mary Lou_ was hateful to him. It was here that his best friend died, and it was here that twenty years of his life were wasted completely in solitude and despair. He took one last look and stepped into the air-lock. The Earth-ship, he did not see its name, was only a hundred yards away and a man was already at the air-lock waiting to help him. A rope was tossed to him. He reached for it and made his way to the ship, leaving the _Mary Lou_ behind him forever. Suddenly the world dropped away from him. Willard could neither see nor say anything. His heart was choked with emotion. "It's all right," a kindly voice assured him, "You're safe now." He had the sensation of being carried by several men and then placed in bed. The quiet of deep sleep descended upon him. * * * * * He woke many times in the following days, but the privations of the passing years had drained his strength and his mind, had made him so much of a hermit that the presence of other men frightened him to the point of gibbering insanity. He knew that the food and drink were drugged, for after eating he never remembered seeing the men enter the room to care for him and to remove the dirty dishes. But there was enough sanity in his mind to also realize that, without the gradual reawakening of his senses to the value of human companionship, he might not be able to stand the mental shock of moving about among his people back on Earth. During those passing days, he savored each new impression, comparing it with what he remembered from that age-long past when he and his friends had walked on Earth's great plains and ridden on the oceans' sleek ships or flown with the wings of birds over the mountain ranges. And each impression was doubly enjoyable, for his memory was hazy and confused.