Up to its base swept the cube that bore Ruth and Norhala--and stopped. From it leaped the woman, and drew Ruth down beside her, then turned and gestured toward us. That upon which we rode drew close. I felt it quiver beneath me; felt on the instant, the magnetic grip drop from me, angle downward and leave me free. Shakily I arose from aching knees, and saw Ventnor flash down and run, rifle in hand, toward his sister. Drake bent for his gun. I moved unsteadily toward the side of the clustered cubes. There came a curious pushing motion driving me to the edge. Sliding over upon me came Drake and the pony-- The cube tilted, gently, playfully--and with the slightest of jars the three of us stood beside it on the floor, we two men gaping at it in renewed wonder, and the little beast stretching its legs, lifting its feet and whinnying with relief. Then abruptly the four blocks that had been our steed broke from each other; that which had been the woman's glided to them. The four clicked into place behind it and darted from sight. “Ruth!” Ventnor's voice was vibrant with his fear. “Ruth! What is wrong with you? What has she done to you?” We ran to his side. He stood clutching her hands, searching her eyes. They were wide, unseeing, dream filled. Upon her face the calm and stillness, which were mirrored reflections of Norhala's unearthly tranquillity, had deepened. “Brother.” The sweet voice seemed far away, drifting out of untroubled space, an echo of Norhala's golden chimings--“Brother, there is nothing wrong with me. Indeed--all is--well with me--brother.” He dropped the listless palms, faced the woman, tall figure tense, drawn with mingled rage and anguish. “What have you done to her?” he whispered in Norhala's own tongue. Her serene gaze took him in, undisturbed by his anger save for the faintest shadow of wonder, of perplexity. “Done?” she repeated, slowly. “I have stilled all that was troubled within her--have lifted her above sorrow. I have given her the peace--as I will give it to you if--” “You'll give me nothing,” he interrupted fiercely; then, his passion breaking through all restraint--“Yes, you damned witch--you'll give me back my sister!” In his rage he had spoken English; she could not, of course, have understood the words, but their anger and hatred she did understand. Her serenity quivered, broke. The strange stars within her eyes began to glitter forth as they had when she had summoned the Smiting Thing. Unheeding, Ventnor thrust out a hand, caught her roughly by one bare, lovely shoulder. “Give her back to me, I say!” he cried. “Give her back to me!” The woman's eyes grew--awful. Out of the distended pupils the strange stars blazed; upon her face was something of the goddess outraged. I felt the shadow of Death's wings. “No! No--Norhala! No, Martin!” the veils of inhuman calm shrouding Ruth were torn; swiftly the girl we knew looked out from them. She threw herself between the two, arms outstretched.