A whisper went through the gray starlight that Mars was turning toward morning. And the waters of the mind drained away, leaving high and clear the common desire that stands like a drowned tower. "I love you, Madeleine." She could hear it all fading away--her own joy, the fires--as if everything were melting, a wax candle dying, a wine glass draining, a soft light dimming.... * * * * * They had found her by following the pathway left by bits of abandoned clothing. There was nothing but the rescue party and thousands of miles of waste around Madeleine where she lay in the ancient, dried-up creek bed. And she was shriveled and dried out and resembled, as Don had predicted, a mummy. But there was a kind of softness of repose on her face that hadn't been there before. Don stood back and looked down at her and thought about the waste. Mr. Ericson ran forward in his purple shirt and fell to his knees whispering, "Madeleine, we've found you! Madeleine--Madeleine--can't you hear your Daddy?" "We give you anything you want," Don whispered, but no one heard him. And while Mr. Ericson wept, Mrs. Ericson slumped into Don's arms as though it was the end of the world. End of Project Gutenberg's The Mating of the Moons, by Kenneth O'Hara