Air entered the chamber through mortises in the wall near the ceiling and above the ground level, where began the foundation of the palace. It was lighted by a single globe, with its enclosed curious battery--mitzl, the Maeronicans called it; but the Americans had decided that the source of the light was some new application of electricity. By the light from the globe Polaris saw that he was not alone in the cell. A small man, whose features were concealed by a mat of unkempt gray hair and a shaggy beard, sat on a low cot in the angle of the wall nearest to the door. He was clothed in rags. This man did not look up when another was thrust in to break his solitude, but bent low over something which he had on the cot, swaying back and forth as he sat, and crooning softly to himself. Polaris cast his fellow prisoner a glance, and then fell to pacing up and down the length of the cell. His mood was gloomy. Above him somewhere through those gray walls dwelt his dear lady; but, ah, how far away! For he was powerless now to comfort her or to aid. Oleric would keep faith. Of that he was sure; but his heart misgave him mightily lest the plans of the captain should go awry. Yes; above him were Rose and Lady Memene, who through the long weeks of their prisonment, each night when they went to rest, would kneel and pray for his welfare and that of Minos and the others, and that all plans might prevail. Presently the son of the snows sat himself on a second cot on the far side of the chamber, and fell to fondling Rombar and toying with the dog's pointed ears. "Good Rombar," he said. "Good fellow and comrade." At his words, the man in the corner sprang up from his cot as though fire had touched him. He shrieked hoarsely and tottered across the floor, moving and clawing at the air with his hands. Unheeding the snarling menace of Rombar, he came on until he stood in front of the cot where Polaris sat holding the dog back by the collar. The man bent over, resting his hands on his knees, and peered into Polaris's face with darkling, rheumy eyes. "Hinglish!" he croaked, gasping for his breath. "Hinglish! Did Hi 'ear a Hinglish word, or was I a-dreamin'? Sye?" He trembled in a terrible eagerness. "You did, indeed," Polaris said gently. "Now tell me how you came here, who speak it also, and who are you?" "Gor'bly me; Hi never 'oped to 'ear another Hinglish word in this life--me wot's rottin' 'ere into my grave!" the man said. "Gor'! Gor'!" He subsided into a tattered heap on the floor of the cell, covered his eyes with his shaking, grimy hands, and sobbed hysterically. Restraining the dog, which would have sprung upon the weeping man, Polaris leaned forward and patted the poor fellow on the shoulder. "Who are you, and how do you come to be in a Maeronican dungeon?" he asked.