She pressed my hand ever so slightly. “Do I feel like a spirit? I am material as much as you are. We live, see--everything.” “But you are not of this world?” Her eyes grew sadder; a soft longing. “Not exactly, Harry, not exactly. It is a long story and a very strange one. I may not tell you. It is for your own good. I am your friend”--her eyes were moist--“I--don't you see? Oh, I would save you!” I did not doubt it. Somehow she was like a girl of dreams, pure as an angel; her wistfulness only deepened her beauty. It came like a shock at the moment. I could love this woman. She was--what was I thinking? My guilty mind ran back to Charlotte. I had loved her since boyhood. I would be a coward--then a wild fear. Perhaps of jealousy. “The Rhamda? Is he your husband? You are the same--” “Oh,” she answered, “why do you say it?” Her eyes snapped and she grew rigid. “The Rhamda! My husband! If you only knew. I hate him! We are enemies. It was he who opened the Blind Spot. I am here because he is evil. To watch him. I love your world, I love it all. I would save it. I love--” She dropped her head. Whatever she was, she was not above sobbing. I touched her hair; it was of the softest texture I have ever seen; the lustre was like all the beauty of night woven into silk. She loved, loved; I could love--I was on the point of surrender. “Tell me,” I asked, “just one thing more. If I gave you this ring would you save the doctor and Chick Watson?” She raised her head; her eyes glistened; but she did not answer. “Would you?” She shook her head. “I cannot,” she answered. “That cannot be. I can only save you for--for--Charlotte.” Was it vanity in myself? I don't know. It seemed to me that it was hard for her to say it. Frankly, I loved her. I knew it. I loved Charlotte. I loved them both. But I held to my purpose. “Are the professor and Watson living?” “They are.” “Are they conscious?” She nodded. “Harry,” she said, “I can tell you that. They are living and conscious. You have seen them. They have only one enemy--the Rhamda. But they must never come out of the Blind Spot. I am their friend and yours.” A sudden courage came upon me. I remembered my word to Watson. I had loved the old professor. I would save them. If necessary I would follow to the end. Either myself or Fenton. One of us would solve it! “I shall keep the ring,” I said. “I shall avenge them. Somehow, somewhere, I feel that I shall do it. Even if I must follow--” She straightened at that. Her eyes were frightened. “Oh,” she said, “why do you say it? It must not be! You would perish! You shall not do it! I must save you. You must not go alone. Three--it may not be. If you go, I go with you. Perhaps--oh, Harry!” She dropped her head again; her body shook with her sobbing; plainly she was a girl. No real man is ever himself in the presence of a woman's tears. I was again on the point of surrender. Suddenly she looked up.