She was kicking desperately again, the fur kirtle working loose from her body in the fury of her struggle, and once more she managed to drive her chin above the surface of the water, and continuing that frantic treading she was keeping the baby from drowning while O'Hara, ramming himself continuously into the pliable wall, slashed with both fists in futile efforts to reach her. Now suddenly he heard Nedra's choked voice, above the splashing of her body, as if the sound track of a movie had resumed after some minutes' silence: "I can't, O'Hara--can't keep--going--" And she sank once more. This time her sagging legs were not able to support the child above the surface, and her arms sank helplessly, the child revolving slowly in the water toward her, wide-eyed, grasping with its tiny fingers, and O'Hara saw them both drifting downward in that aimless, dying way that half-bouyant matter has. "Father!" he screamed. "Stephen Bryce--" "Yes, O'Hara," the gentle voice came from the space about him. "Yes, I understand. You see, I have already reversed the flow of the water. The room is draining." O'Hara could not speak. He sank upon his knees, watching the level of the water drop toward the bodies drifting on the floor of the translucent room. And almost instantly that room was drained. And Nedra was lying with the baby beside her, her arms limply--unconsciously, O'Hara knew--enfolding him, and the water now dripping in small rivers from her loose, rich hair that had swirled like a shawl across her body. "They need my full attention now, O'Hara," the Father was saying very softly. "You must go now upon your mission--I will be with you constantly. I will be watching, and when it seems wise I shall talk with you. But remember, whenever I wish it, I can again return you to a translucent wall like this one that will yield to your touch without ever admitting you, and beyond it, so very near to you, Nedra and the child will drown." "She needs you quickly, Father--" "And she needs your voice to sustain her. Speak to her." "Nedra," he whispered, unable to believe that she would hear. But her eyelids opened. "Nedra," he whispered, "if I am able to return--" Her lips were moving now. "You will, O'Hara." "I will! And no matter what you're told, never believe--" "I shan't, O'Hara." Then the sound track was dead again and he knew it. The Father, lying upon that immense bed within that incredibly vast hall, wherever that now was in Washington, and watching in the screen above the dais, had shut off the key that had made Nedra's and O'Hara's voices audible to each other, and was himself speaking again. "I have regretted doing this, O'Hara. But if all the regrets of my life were to come back upon me suddenly, I should as surely drown in them as Nedra and your baby were drowning a moment ago. Now I promise their lives to you, if you are faithful. The walls again are receding, as you see--"