“It is not his fault,” said Vilor, as the birdman rose to leave the cabin. “Moosko, strange as it may seem, had never seen an angan; and I fetched this fellow here merely to satisfy his curiosity. I am sorry if I did wrong.” “Of course,” I said, “that puts a slightly different aspect on the matter, but I think it will be better if the prisoner inspects the klangan on deck where they belong. He has my permission to do so tomorrow.” The angan departed, I exchanged a few more words with Vilor, and then I left him with his prisoner and turned toward the after cabin where Duare was quartered, the episode that had just occurred fading from my mind almost immediately, to be replaced by far more pleasant thoughts. There was a light in Duare’s cabin as I whistled before her door, wondering if she would invite me in or ignore my presence. For a time there was no response to my signal, and I had about determined that she would not see me, when I heard her soft, low voice inviting me to enter. “You are persistent,” she said, but there was less anger in her voice than when last she had spoken to me. “I came to ask if the storm has frightened you and to assure you that there is no danger.” “I am not afraid,” she replied. “Was that all that you wished to say?” It sounded very much like a dismissal. “No,” I assured her, “nor did I come solely for the purpose of saying it.” She raised her eyebrows. “What else could you have to say to me—that you have not already said?” “Perhaps I wished to repeat,” I suggested. “You must not!” she cried. I came closer to her. “Look at me, Duare; look me in the eyes and tell me that you do not like to hear me tell you that I love you!” Her eyes fell. “I must not listen!” she whispered and rose as though to leave the room. I was mad with love for her; her near presence sent the hot blood boiling through my veins; I seized her in my arms and drew her to me; before she could prevent it, I covered her lips with mine. Then she partially tore away from me, and I saw a dagger gleaming in her hand. “You are right,” I said. “Strike! I have done an unforgivable thing. My only excuse is my great love for you; it swept away reason and honor.” Her dagger hand dropped to her side. “I cannot,” she sobbed, and, turning, fled from the room. I went back to my own cabin, cursing myself for a beast and a cad. I could not understand how it had been possible for me to have committed such an unpardonable act. I reviled myself, and at the same time the memory of that soft body crushed against mine and those perfect lips against my lips suffused me with a warm glow of contentment that seemed far removed from repentance.