The moonlight fell on the sweet, womanly face. The goddess looked at me dumbly—almost with the divine expression I had seen on the face of little Tike. Her eyes were eloquent of gratitude, relief and things too great to be expressed. Slowly her head came forward on her breast, away from which she held that ugly serpent, and she sobbed and sobbed like a child. Ah what a night it was! I felt a throb of triumph all through my veins. Rowing steadily and stoutly I said nothing, but let her have her cry. At last she looked upon my face again. “Where—are we—going?” she faltered. “Home,” said I, “to the camp on top of the hill.” “Home?” she echoed softly. “To your—people, do you—mean?” “Yep,” I agreed. “For a while, at least. But they’re not exactly my people. They’re a lot of Missing Links.” “Oh—what? Missing Links? You don’t mean things like the horrible creatures we have just escaped?” “Same species,” I assured her cheerfully, “but mine are red.” “Oh—oh,” she moaned with a shudder, “but I’d rather not! Oh I hate them so; they are all so horrid; they frighten me terribly, and I know they will act exactly like the others—” “No they won’t,” I interrupted, with a grin, “they’ll get off the earth, if I say the word, for they know that I am the King!” CHAPTER XXXVII THE GODDESS The pull was a long one, even in the cool of the night. I knew my way, by the stars, if necessary, but the moonlight made my steering easy. For half an hour the goddess was silent, sighing now and again, and crying a bit, as if deliverance had broken down some barrier to all her emotions, letting floods of pent up feelings free at once. “It doesn’t seem possible,” she told me finally. “What doesn’t?” said I, though I knew very well what she meant. “This boat,” she answered, “and you—a man—in this terrible place. It doesn’t seem really true that I have escaped from those awful creatures; I didn’t believe I should ever get away. Oh, how did you do it?” “Perhaps you’d better tell me first how you got there,” I made answer. “How long have you been in the place?” “I—don’t know,” she faltered. “It must be months and months. I lost all account, but it seems like an age. I didn’t seem to care about the dates, there have been such lots of awful things to think of all the while. What month is it now?” “Lord bless you, that’s more than I know,” I admitted shamelessly. “I couldn’t keep track; things have been too hot. I should say, though, it’s probably getting along toward summer.” Although she was deeply concerned with herself and all the troubles which for long she had endured, she realised that I too had been lost in this land of jungle. She made me tell my story first. I boiled it down to the bones, being anxious to hear how it was she came to be there. This she told me, brokenly, before we landed from the boat.