Whirling, I beheld Jason Croft. Rather, I seemed to see two Jason Crofts, instead of one. One sat in a chair of the same wine-red wood of which the pedestal supporting Azil was formed, in the posture of a man in more than mortal slumber. One floated toward me, ghostlike--a shimmering, shifting, vaporlike semblance of the other as to physical shape. And it was this second Croft that seemed to speak. I say seemed, because as I recall the episode now I know that communication was in reality by thought transference, although it appeared then to reach the understanding in the form of spoken words. It came over me instantly that Jason had purposely assumed the astral condition to welcome me on my arrival here. * * * * * I had been too much occupied with my surroundings until then to give thought to my own possible appearance. But as I put out a hand in answer to his single word of greeting, I found it no more than a thin diaphanous cloud. I was even as he was--a nebulous something. Still, that was to be expected. I put it aside and considered the man before me. The features of his astral presence were actually haggard, marked by a suffering plainly mental, yet akin in its way to the lines that contorted Naia of Aphur's face in her present mortal woe. "Croft, in God's name what is the trouble?" I asked as once more a low sound of smothered anguish came from the couch behind me. Nor do I think I overshot the mark in declaring what followed to have been the most remarkable medical consultation mortal man might know. He lost no time in explaining the situation. It wasn't his way. He gave me at once an exact and scientific understanding of her condition, ending his narration simply: "Murray, you know how I love her. I faced the thing as long as I could have alone. And then--knowing all that depended on me--I became unnerved, and called for you. There was no one else--and you'd said you'd be glad to attend her. Can you blame me, my friend, now that you see her?" I shook my head in negation, turning it for an instant toward the glorious woman shape on the copper bed. "Can she see me? Does she know I am here? Can I speak with her?" I questioned. "She will sense your presence at least," Croft said. "I shall revivify my body and draw the chair in which it is sitting close beside the couch. You will sit there, Murray, and I shall tell her you are present, watching, nerving me to my task, before I set to work. She knows I called you, Murray, and now you must help us both. Your brain must use my hands to save her. Come--what do you advise me to do, Murray?" I told him as soon as he had brought his almost panting response to an end. His exposition of the problem we faced had made it dreadfully plain. He heard me out and then nodded with set lips.