“Don't! Martin--don't fire!” I shouted, leaping toward him. “Stop! Ventnor--” Drake's panic cry mingled with my own. But before we could reach him, Norhala flew to him, like a darting swallow. Down the face of the Disk glided the upright body of Ruth, struck softly, stood swaying. And out of the blue-black convexity within a star point of one of the opened pyramids a lance of intense green flame darted, a lightning bolt as real as any hurled by tempest, upon Ventnor. The shattered air closed behind the streaming spark with the sound of breaking glass. It struck--Norhala. It struck her. It seemed to splash upon her, to run down her like water. One curling tongue writhed over her bare shoulder and leaped to the barrel of the rifle in Ventnor's hands. It flashed up it and licked him. The gun was torn from his grip, hurled high in air, exploding as it went. He leaped convulsively from his knees and dropped. I heard a wailing, low, bitter and heartbroken. Past us ran Ruth, all dream, all unearthliness gone from a face now a tragic mask of human woe and terror. She threw herself down beside her brother, felt of his heart; then raised herself upon her knees and thrust out supplicating hands to the shapes. “Don't hurt him any more! He didn't mean it!” she cried out to them piteously--like a child. She reached up, caught one of Norhala's hands. “Norhala--don't let them kill him. Don't let them hurt him any more. Please!” she sobbed. Beside me I heard Drake cursing. “If they touch her I'll kill the woman! I will, by God I will!” He strode to Norhala's side. “If you want to live, call off these devils of yours.” His voice was strangled. She looked at him, wonder deepening on the tranquil brow, in the clear, untroubled gaze. Of course she could not understand his words--but it was not that which made my own sick apprehension grow. It was that she did not understand what called them forth. Did not even understand what reason lay behind Ruth's sorrow, Ruth's prayer. And more and more wondering grew in her eyes as she looked from the threatening Drake to the supplicating Ruth, and from them to the still body of Ventnor. “Tell her what I say, Goodwin. I mean it.” I shook my head. That was not the way, I knew. I looked toward the Disk, still flanked with its sextette of spheres, still guarded by the flaming blue stars. They were motionless, calm, watching. I sensed no hostility, no anger; it was as though they were waiting for us to--to--waiting for us to do what? It came to me--they were indifferent. That was it--as indifferent as we could be to the struggle of an ephemera; and as mildly curious. “Norhala,” I turned to the woman, “she would not have him suffer; she would not have him die. She loves him.” “Love?” she repeated, and all of her wonderment seemed crystallized in the word. “Love?” she asked. “She loves him,” I said; and then, why I did not know, but I added, pointing to Drake: “and he loves her.”