Rogers was impatient to return to his wife in New York City. Azeela and Dee, left orphans, had no wish to stay. Unobtrusively as it had come, the Frazia plane departed. In the humming, glowing cabin of the plane the voyagers were waiting for the dials to reach the time world for which they were headed. On one of the side benches, the ghostlike figures of Loto and Azeela sat a little apart from the others; they were talking softly as they gazed down through the window beside them. "You think Mogruud will make a good leader?" she asked. "My father would have been so strong, so stern, but always just and fair...." Her eyes had filled with tears. He pressed her hand sympathetically. "I know, Azeela. But you mustn't grieve. He gave his life for his people." "Yes. And he said 'Good-by--for a little time.' Oh, Loto--I did not realize then what he meant." "He knew--someday--you would be with him again. And you will." His arm went around her tenderly. "I shall always try to make you happy. I promise it, Azeela. Always, as long as we live." "Beloved," she murmured. "Beloved, who always understands." Rogers had been talking to George and Dee. He left them to attend to the motors. Dee was watching the scene beneath the plane; as they fled back through the centuries the great city was melting away. "Your city that we're going to," she said after a long silence. "George, is it like this? Are we almost to its time now?" "No," he laughed. "It's a very little, puny city I have to show you, Dee. I used to think it was wonderful. But it's only a conceited child--learning as fast as it can and thinking it knows everything. I used to be like that myself. But this sort of trip changes one." She did not answer. "I'm glad you're coming back with us, Dee." "Yes," she said abstractedly. "Dee," he persisted out of another silence, "I wonder if you know how happy it makes me to have you--here where we're going. I've wanted to tell you for a long time--maybe you don't know how I feel. I--" * * * * * On this return journey, the plane had now reached the height of its time velocity. The swiftly changing form of the city blurred the scene into a confusion of shifting details, among which only the broadest fundamentals were discernible. The northern section of Central Park presently lay open. Then the great building that covered its southern end melted into nothingness, and trees and water were in its stead. George was at the dials. "One hundred years! We're almost into our own century!" Through decreasing intensities of the proton current, they slackened their time velocity. The park, whitened with winter, turned green again as the previous summer was reached. Soon the days separated from the nights. The sun came up from the west, plunged swiftly across the sky, and dropped into the east.