There was a rap at the doorway; they turned. One of the litter-bearers loomed darker than the gloomy sky. "Are you ready?" he asked. Koroby twirled before the mirror, criticizing her appearance. "Yes, ready," she said. "Ready!" the girls cried. Then there was a little silence. "Shall we go now?" Koroby asked, and the litter-carrier nodded. Koroby kissed the girls, one after another. "Here, Shonka--you can have this bracelet you've always liked. And this is for you, Lolla. And here, Trossa--and you, Shia. Goodbye, darlings, goodbye--come and see me whenever you can!" "Goodbye, Koroby!" "Goodbye! Goodbye!" They crowded around her, embracing, babbling farewells, shreds of advice. Trossa began to cry. Finally Koroby broke away from them, went to the door. She took a last look at the interior of the little hut, dim in the lamplight--at the hard bed of laced _gnau_-hide strips, the crude but beautifully-carved charts and chests. Then she turned and stepped out into the night. "This way," the litter-carrier announced, touching the girl's arm. They stumbled over the rutted clearing toward the twinkling sparks that were the lights of the other litter-bearers, colored sparks as befitted a wedding-conveyance. The winking lights were enclosed in shells of colored glass for another reason--the danger of their firing the papery jungle verdure. * * * * * It was not a new litter, built especially for the occasion--Yasak was too practical a man to sanction any kind of waste. It was the same old litter that Koroby had been watching come and go ever since she was a little girl, a canopied framework of gaudily-painted carvings. She had wondered, watching it pass, whether its cushioned floor was soft, and now, as she stepped into the litter, she patted the padding experimentally. Yes, it was soft .... And fragrant, too--a shade too fragrant. It smelled stale, hinting of other occupants, other brides being borne to other weddings.... Garlands of flowers occupied a good deal of space in it. Settled among them, she felt like a bird in a strange nest. She leaned back among them; they rustled dryly. Too bad--it had been such a dry year-- "You're comfortable?" the litter bearer asked. Koroby nodded, and the litter was lifted, was carried along the path. The procession filed into the jungle, into a tunnel of arched branches, of elephant-eared leaves. Above the monotonous music came the hiss of the torches, the occasional startled cry of a wakened bird. The glow of the flames, in the dusty air, hung around the party, sharply defined, like a cloak of light. At times a breeze would shake the ceiling of foliage, producing the sound of rolling surf. Koroby fingered the flowers around her throat, her eyes rapt on the passing trees. Her lips moved in the barest murmur: "If only--!" and again, "Oh, if only--!" But the music trickled on, and nothing happened; the litter seemed to float along--none of the bearers even stumbled.