This was his danger; Regan knew now. There was everything to fear from another man—insurrection of the elf men, helplessness of sleep, horror of war, confusion of conflicting power. An enemy! Powerful, else he would never be able to endure the star! Wily, else he had never been able to reach the star! He could see those hideous troops of traitorous elf men, roused to any pitch of enthusiasm by a few human words, ranging in red lines over the cold snow like streaks of human blood! Oh! all misfortune he foresaw in that moment’s realization, but he foresaw nothing like the true one! No death, no death, no death on the star! If his enemy were there, he was there forever! “Possibly it was Father Renaudin. I will see him.” Regan’s voice sounded strangely. “What can he do, Regan?—the man!” “I cannot tell.” They found Father Renaudin, meditating in the blue, silver and crimson radiance of his own great rooms. He was in possession of a large wing, where the rooms had been given up entirely to his use. When he looked up and saw them, he smiled with the pleasure of an indulgent and idolizing parent, who contemplates a couple of beautiful children. Regan wore always the half-Greek costume, tunic and cloak, which he had adopted upon coming to the star. He had a suit of dark green, the sleeves gold-slashed, the belts and clasps of gold and gems. His shoes were yellow leather, tied with long, gold-decked strings wound about scarlet hose. Rondah wore a long, loose robe of rose color, belted with a bow of gemmed stars. A wide collar of gems was on her shoulders, and a gemmed coronet held the braided bands of her shining hair. Her arms were hidden under a network of jewels, which covered a close, long sleeve of rose color. “How beautiful, young and strong they are!” thought Father Renaudin. He wondered that Rondah found never-ceasing delight in the lonely pomp and splendor of her position, wondered that the careless adoration of the bird people as well pleased her as if it were the thoughtful allegiance of humanity. He noticed Regan’s face, pallid and stern, that old fury in his eyes once more. He sprang to his feet. Better than any other human being Father Renaudin knew the depths of slumbering, chained depravity in Regan’s soul, knew his destructive power when his rage was kindled, his heartlessness unlimited when he chose to become a tyrant. Always he was fearing that, for some aggravating cause, Regan would destroy the people, if not the star, before the time of Jupiter’s reign began. “Father Renaudin—Father Renaudin!” No more words than these could he speak; leaning against one of the pillars, he waited to control himself. “Was it for the presence of the other man?” Rondah thought. “It must be, but why was he so disturbed?” Then she said aloud: “I saw a man walking on the cliffs; was it you, Father Renaudin? Oh, was it not you?”