We ascended the narrow waterways, came to a lagoon with a glassy surface wherein a thousand spots of the lantern-flowers were mirrored like colored stars. Near the shore here, beyond a dock at which we landed, was a broad enclosed space with an arcade of the lantern-flowers arching over it. Brilliant with their light. Most of the crowd seemed congregated there--a milling throng on the level floor inside, with liquid strains of music mingling with the shouts and laughter. "We'll go in there," said Brett. "I'll find seats for you--then I must leave, to join Leela and her father. There is to be a musical program. But first--just Greedo, Zee and Leela, and our marriage. Most of the music comes afterward." Within the arcade the lights blended into a kaleidoscope of color. All the cloaks were discarded now. Costumes vividly splashed as a painter's palette. Heavy perfumes. And that soft, echoing music. I could not tell its source. At one end of the room was a raised, canopied platform, with doors behind it. Most of the crowd were choosing low seats, like stools ranged in rows. Brett got us settled. "I'll leave you now--and meet you over there by the right-hand end of the platform, afterward." He left us. With Frannie between us, Martt and I sat quiet, watching and listening. We had not long to wait. The light around us began to dim; sliding curtains were obscuring the flowers over us. A hush fell upon the crowd. The soft music was stilled. A hush of expectancy. The arcade was in gloom. The light on the platform intensified. A deep-red glow, with a single spot focused upon a small, raised dais. Into the red glow came Greedo, robed unobtrusively in black. He was carrying a crescent frame of strings. He seated himself, and in the silence swept his hands across the strings. His fingers plucked them like a harp; and then his other hand slid upon them. The staccato notes rippled clear as a mountain rill, soft, muted to seem an echo of music. And blended with them was a low, crying melody--a fragment, then silence. Leela had appeared. She crossed through the red glow, mounted the dais, and stood in the silver light--Leela, robed to her feet in a misty silver veil through which her figure vaguely was outlined. She stood there drooping--a Naiad veiled in the fountain mist. . . . Then Greedo's music sounded. And Leela sang. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. Music, toned strangely, with strange intervals to make it neither major nor minor. Not happiness, nor yet sadness. A wistfulness. A longing. But with the promise of fulfilment.