Kyphallos lowered his cup and turned toward the Princess of Aphur slowly. And suddenly the Cathurian smiled. He replaced his goblet on the table and sank to one knee before the haughty daughter of his host. "By Zitu!" his voice rang out; "but you are truly royal. You are magnificent, daughter of Aphur. Did I pick me a lesser toy, 'twas but that I knew you for what you are--one fit to be a queen. Naia of Aphur, wilt pledge yourself queen of Cathur's throne?" The words were out. Croft felt his senses sink. Yet even so he saw the whole psychology of the event. To Cathur, the maiden offered, had seemed but an easy prize--to take at his pleasure, if at all. To Cathur drunk the dancer had appealed. To Cathur still drunk Naia of Aphur, offended, angered, hurling her scorn in his teeth, appeared suddenly not a thing to be taken lightly, but a beautiful consort to be won if taken at all. On Jadgor's face was a satisfaction unvoiced. He rose and lifted his hands. "My lords and ladies," he announced, "I call you to witness that Cathur asks the hand of Aphur's princess. Let Naia choose." Kyphallos drew himself up and folded his arms. To Croft it seemed the man was sobered by Jadgor's words. Yet as cries of assent and acclamation rang out through the court, he remained silent before the tense figure of the girl. And slowly the golden head beneath the curling plume of purple bowed. One bared arm rose and extended its fingers toward the northern prince. "Aphur accepts." Her words came scarcely above a whisper and were drowned in a greeting roar of voices upraised by the waiting guests. Cathur caught the extended hand and turned to the forward straining faces, the watching eyes. "A happy consummation to our feast," rang the words of Aphur's king. "Men and women of Aphur this shall be arranged. I, Jadgor, myself shall sponsor the formal betrothal on a day one twelfth of a cycle hence." The thing was done. A month from tonight would see it ratified. A sick impotency filled Croft's soul as once more cries of approbation greeted the promise of the king. And into the midst of his despair there flashed one ray of blinding thought. Before it he staggered, drew back, shaken in the primal elements of his being. Yet he did not put it aside. He held it. He marveled at it. And suddenly taking it with him, he left the scented atmosphere of Lakkon's palace court and rose up toward the heavens, studded with stars. To earth! His will gathered, centered, focused by the wonder of the thing he had conceived cast all its driving power into the demand. Palos and all it held sank swiftly away beneath him. He opened the eyes of the form he left on his library couch. CHAPTER IX 'TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN