Hours later Croft looked from the windows of his room. The evening had been spent in a far more formal fashion than the late afternoon. Lakkon had come in. He had welcomed his guest. Naia had gone to her rooms to dress for the evening meal. They had dined. Over the meal Croft had described again his plans, to the flattering attention of his host. Naia had lingered with them for a time, now and then meeting Croft's glance with a smile of her crimson lips before she had gone to her room. Now as he leaned from his window he found all the garden beneath him, the mountain valley, the lake flooded in the light of the Palosian moons. The night called to him, and his heart was too full, his brain too busy with thought, to feel the spell of sleep. Drawing back he left his apartment, passed down the balcony corridor to the small door giving onto the garden stair and ran quickly down. The breath of flowering shrubs was about him. Light and shadow filled the place with a quiet beauty. Choosing a path which ran off before him he strolled along. So by degrees he approached the white walls of the garden bath, doubly white now in the night. And having approached them he paused. The sound of a gentle splashing came from within. Croft smiled. Another had felt the call of the outside world beside himself, and surely he felt that he knew who that one was. "Princess," he called softly, from beside the entrance screen. "Aye." The word came as soft as his own and was followed by a gentle laugh. "Wait, Jasor of Nodhur." There came a louder sound of movement, followed by a silence, and then: "And now my lord you may come." Croft passed the screen. The maiden stood before him. Her hair was coiled about her head. Her shoulder and arms showed glistening in the moonlight from the moisture of her skin. "Naia," said the man. "My lord." She smiled. "Nay--call me Jasor at least," he returned. "Jasor," said she. They were alone--a man and a maid. The white walls of the bath shut them in from all prying eyes. The pool lay silvered by the moonlight beneath them. And suddenly, Croft reached out toward her and swept her into his arms. That bold spirit which was his brooked no longer delay. He drew her to him. His arms sensed the lithe coolness of her figure as its dampness struck through the single garment, hastily donned at his call. So he held her and sensed all her maddening presence. "Mine!" he cried, pressing her close in the circle of his arms. "Mine! Woman whom Zitu himself has made for me." "Hush." Her hand fell over his lips, and he felt her tremble. "Jasor, how knew you I was here?" "I knew not until the night called me into the garden and I heard the sound of the water," he replied. "Then your presence told me of itself and I spoke your name."