Regan looked at them, helplessly; they seemed a group of heads—heads, nothing but heads and eyes! He fell down, insensible! He did not open his eyes again until the noonday sun was blazing down. They were still standing, headless, waiting! Regan staggered to his feet. Through all his cruelty, through all their miserable years, they had yet faith, strong and perfect faith, that this man, their king, would and could restore them to their old life! And Regan knew he could do nothing! All the land and sea and air began to burn in a transparent glory. The sun itself was lost in a greater splendor. Dim, golden forms in tremulous radiance moved ceaselessly. Vibrating chords of a transcendent song came thrilling all the space. Beyond this miracle of whitening glory, swept along in a chariot of purple and gold, was a great dim gate, rising as one dark cloud rises beyond a misty white one. Through these moving portals was a glimpse of a bewildering vision which made the star seem dark! So rise the God-lit heights of Heaven beyond the gates of pearl! Yet Regan knew this was not Heaven. No; it was only a translation from the star to some greater glory. There were winged angels indistinctly flitting. Regan saw hundreds of thousands of his bird subjects rise, until they seemed all to go. He feared there would be none left. Turning from him with songs of rapture, they rose into angels before his very eyes, as birds flying in flocks from a shady forest come into a sunshine of yellow light. For hours the bewildering sight continued, engrossing his entire attention. Then the forms began to recede. First, he could not see the gate. Then the angels seemed only like stars. Then there was nothing but a cold blue sky after sunset. Where he had seen flakes of brightness loosed from the throne, he looked at a dull, common sky, giving no hint of the sphere beyond. He saw nothing. But they had been there. Where had they gone? He gazed about to see if any of his bird people were left. He had forgotten. They stood there yet, waiting, those terrible headless men! The assembled multitudes had looked upon the result of his experiment! “Go away! go away!” shrieked Regan. The revulsion of feeling was awful. He had been looking at the glory astray from Heaven. He looked on deepest human misery. He had not only spoiled more than twenty years of their existence—he had kept them back from translation! “Go away!” he repeated, wildly. “What if Rondah should ever see these men!” “We have waited over twenty years!” insisted the speaking heads. Then Regan controlled himself and tried to imagine what he should do; he could think of nothing, nothing, unless he imprisoned them once more. A footstep was heard beside him. It was Isabella. “Oh! my sister, see them! They are here! I cannot save them! They will not go! What shall I do? The worst of all is they have the idea that I can save them!” Regan was utterly confounded, hopeless.