“Just went out to look for the pony,” he muttered when he returned. “It's safe. I was afraid it had been stepped on. It's getting dusk. There's a big light down the canyon--over in the valley.” Ventnor drew back past the globe; rejoined us. The blue bower trembled under a gust of sound. Ruth stirred; her brows knitted; her hands clenched. The sphere that stood before her spun on its axis, swept up to the globe at her head, glided from it to the globe at her feet--as though whispering. Ruth moaned--her body bent upright, swayed rigidly. Her eyes opened; they stared through us as though upon some dreadful vision; and strangely was it as though she were seeing with another's eyes, were reflecting another's sufferings. The globes at her feet and at her head swirled out, clustering against the third sphere--three weird shapes in silent consultation. On Ventnor's face I saw pity--and a vast relief. With shocked amaze I realized that Ruth's agony--for in agony she clearly was--was calling forth in him elation. He spoke--and I knew why. “Norhala!” he whispered. “She is seeing with Norhala's eyes--feeling what Norhala feels. It's not going well with--That--out there. If we dared leave Ruth--could only, see--” Ruth leaped to her feet; cried out--a golden bugling that might have been Norhala's own wrathful trumpet notes. Instantly the two pyramids flamed open, became two gleaming stars that bathed her in violet radiance. Beneath their upper tips I saw the blasting ovals glitter--menacingly. The girl glared at us--more brilliant grew the glittering ovals as though their lightnings trembled on their lips. “Ruth!” called Ventnor softly. A shadow softened the intolerable, hard brilliancy of the brown eyes. In them something struggled to arise, fighting its way to the surface like some drowning human thing. It sank back--upon her face dropped a cloud of heartbreak, appalling woe; the despair of a soul that, having withdrawn all faith in its own kind to rest all faith, as it thought, on angels--sees that faith betrayed. There stared upon us a stripped spirit, naked and hopeless and terrible. Despairing, raging, she screamed once more. The central globe swam to her; it raised her upon its back; glided to the doorway. Upon it she stood poised like some youthful, anguished Victory--a Victory who faced and knew she faced destroying defeat; poised upon that enigmatic orb on bare slender feet, one sweet breast bare, hands upraised, virginally archaic, nothing about her of the Ruth we knew. “Ruth!” cried Drake; despair as great as that upon her face was in his voice. He sprang before the globe that held her; barred its way. For an instant the Thing paused--and in that instant the human soul of the girl rushed back. “No!” she cried. “No!”