We enjoyed our festival; that is, I suppose the rest did. We had torches by thousands at the feast, had music from sea shells, reeds and stringed instruments. We seemed to be in a magic land, the air was so soft, the star Venus so brilliant! The scene was bewildering! The sea was musical! “The star is small, but it is all ours!” we said. There were no warlike races to conquer, no insubordinate people to subdue. There was nothing to hinder the grand march of progress. I noticed that Isabella looked pale and very sad. I had never seen such an expression upon her face before. The walls of the house, where we went after the fête was over, were glittering with glass set in panels. The doors were hung with fabrics of gold-colored straw and of brilliant cloth. The floors were of polished woods, overlaid with grass rugs. Flowers were banked in corners, and a fire was upon the hearth, for we could not pass the hours of night without great fires, on account of the exceeding dampness of the air. When we had quietly settled ourselves for the few hours left till day, the rain began to fall heavily. While Father Renaudin and Regan were at the table before the door, looking over maps, I sat beside Isabella and we were speaking of the change which we had made in the star. “If these people could not fly, they would work slower. They are living machines; don’t you think so?” said Isabella. “Certainly their wings are a great advantage,” replied I. “Do you know what Regan has done about the wings?” asked Isabella. “No.” “Then he has not told you?” “No.” “He calls them ‘hideous deformities,’ ‘cumbersome appendages.’” “Yes; I know he doesn’t like the powerful wings of the people. But what is it, Isabella?” “He says they are only subject when they choose to be—temporarily.” “Yes. Isabella, have you seen Regan often in all these years?” “Oh! yes, very often!” answered she, paying no heed to me or my question, absorbed, as ever, with some idea about Regan. “Duped, duped!”—that hammer-like voice in my ears again! “I am so troubled, Roy; he has cut off their wings from ten—” “What!” “Yes, he thought they would recover; but they—they—” “Died?” “No! I wish they had! They languished awhile, and then they fell upon the ground only to look more and more miserable! Finally, to end their misery, he—” Isabella began to weep bitterly. “How in the world did you learn all this?” I exclaimed. “I was there!” she answered, composedly as regarded my question, only in tears over Regan’s iniquity. “Well, Roy, he killed them! They are vegetables you know!” “Regan a murderer!” She heard the triumph and pleasure in my voice. “He is a king!” she began, vehemently. “Nonsense! He is a criminal! He ought to be hanged!” “Not for subjects, not by subjects!” I had never seen Isabella so beautiful; she looked like an enraged goddess. “He is a king! He has a right to kill!” “Can you so forget right—” “It is ‘right’ of another world! It has no place here!”