A weird call issued from the white lips--stumbling, uncertain, as though she who sent it forth herself wondered whence it sprang. Abruptly the angry stars closed. The three globes spun--doubting, puzzled! Again she called--now a tremulous, halting cadence. She was lifted; dropped gently to her feet. For an instant the globes and pyramids whirled and danced before her--then sped away through the portal. Ruth swayed, sobbing. Then as though drawn, she ran to the doorway, fled through it. As one we sprang after her. Rods ahead her white body flashed, speeding toward the Pit. Like fleet-footed Atalanta she fled--and far, far behind us was the blue bower, the misty barrier of the veils close, when Drake with a last desperate burst reached her side, gripped her. Down the two fell, rolling upon the smooth roadway. Silently she fought, biting, tearing at Drake, struggling to escape. “Quick!” gasped Ventnor, stretching out to me an arm. “Cut off the sleeve. Quick!” Unquestioningly, I drew my knife, ripped the garment at the shoulder. He snatched the sleeve, knelt at Ruth's head; rapidly he crumpled an end, thrust it roughly into her mouth; tied it fast, gagging her. “Hold her!” he ordered Drake; and with a sob of relief sprang up. The girl's eyes blazed at him, filled with hate. “Cut that other sleeve,” he said; and when I had done so, he knelt again, pinned Ruth down with a knee at her throat, turned her over and knotted her hands behind her. She ceased struggling; gently now he drew up the curly head; swung her upon her back. “Hold her feet.” He nodded to Drake, who caught the slender bare ankles in his hands. She lay there, helpless, being unable to use her hands or feet. “Too little Ruth, and too much Norhala,” said Ventnor, looking up at me. “If she'd only thought to cry out! She could have brought a regiment of those Things down to blast us. And would--if she HAD thought. You don't think THAT is Ruth, do you?” He pointed to the pallid face glaring at him, the eyes from which cold fires flamed. “No, you don't!” He caught Drake by the shoulder, sent him spinning a dozen feet away. “Damn it, Drake--don't you understand!” For suddenly Ruth's eyes softened; she had turned them on Dick pitifully, appealingly--and he had loosed her ankles, had leaned forward as though to draw away the band that covered her lips. “Your gun,” whispered Ventnor to me; before I had moved he had snatched the automatic from my holster; had covered Drake with it. “Drake,” he said, “stand where you are. If you take another step toward this girl I'll shoot you--by God, I will!” Drake halted, shocked amazement in his face; I myself felt resentful, wondering at his outburst. “But it's hurting her,” he muttered, Ruth's eyes, soft and pleading, still dwelt upon him.