The trim and interior of the tower was burning. The protons Georg had flung at it with his weapon had broken the electrical barrage. The interference heat had burned out the connections and fired everything combustible within the tower. A terrific heat. It began to melt and burn the _blenite_.[10] The upper portion of the tower walls began to crumble. Huge blocks of stone were shifting, tottering; and they began to fall through the glare of mounting flames and the thick black smoke. [Footnote 10: A cement or mortar used in stone constructions--evidently partially combustible.] Georg had tossed away his now useless weapon--emptied of its charge. He was crouching in the shadow of a parapet. The city was now in turmoil. Alarm lights everywhere. The shrilling of sirens; roaring of megaphoned commands ... women screaming hysterically.... A chaos, out of which, for a few moments, Georg knew no order could come. But his heart was in his mouth. The Princess Maida, within that burning building.... He had located the tiny postern gate at the bottom of the tower where Wolfgar had told him she would appear. The barrage was gone; and in a moment she came--a white figure appearing there amid the smoke that was rolling out. He rushed to her. A figure wholly encased in white _itan_[11] fabric with head-mask, and tubes from its generator to supply her with air. Wolfgar had smuggled the equipment in to her for just this emergency. She stood awkwardly beside Georg--a grotesque figure hampered by the heavy costume. Its crescent panes of _itanoid_ begoggled her. [Footnote 11: A universal insulating fabric, as rubber insulates electricity and asbestos bars heat.] Behind him, Georg could hear people advancing. A guard picked them out with a white flash. The mounting flames of the tower bathed everything in red. A block of stone fell near at hand, crashing through the metallic platform upon which they were standing. Broken, it sagged beneath their feet. Georg tore at the girl's head-piece, lifted it off. Her face was pale, frightened, yet she seemed calm. Her glorious white hair tumbled down in waves over her shoulders. "Wolfgar--he----" She choked a little in the smoke that swirled around them. Georg cut in: "He sent me--Georg Brende. Don't talk now--get this off." He pulled the heavy costume from her. She emerged from it--slim and beautiful in the shimmering blue kirtle, with long grey stockings beneath.