"Well," he answered slowly, "I suppose it was because I'd been thinking of--Golden Eyes. Anyway, I thought she came through the wall and leaned over me--yes, and put one of those long white hands of hers on my head--I couldn't raise my lids--but in some queer way I could see her. Then it got real dreamish. Why do you ask?" Rador turned back toward us, "Later," I answered, "Not now. When we're alone." But through me went a little glow of reassurance. Whatever the maze through which we were moving; whatever of menacing evil lurking there--the Golden Girl was clearly watching over us; watching with whatever unknown powers she could muster. We passed the pillared entrance; went through a long bowered corridor and stopped before a door that seemed to be sliced from a monolith of pale jade--high, narrow, set in a wall of opal. Rador stamped twice and the same supernally sweet, silver bell tones of--yesterday, I must call it, although in that place of eternal day the term is meaningless--bade us enter. The door slipped aside. The chamber was small, the opal walls screening it on three sides, the black opacity covering it, the fourth side opening out into a delicious little walled garden--a mass of the fragrant, luminous blooms and delicately colored fruit. Facing it was a small table of reddish wood and from the omnipresent cushions heaped around it arose to greet us--Yolara. Larry drew in his breath with an involuntary gasp of admiration and bowed low. My own admiration was as frank--and the priestess was well pleased with our homage. She was swathed in the filmy, half-revelant webs, now of palest blue. The corn-silk hair was caught within a wide-meshed golden net in which sparkled tiny brilliants, like blended sapphires and diamonds. Her own azure eyes sparkled as brightly as they, and I noted again in their clear depths the half-eager approval as they rested upon O'Keefe's lithe, well-knit figure and his keen, clean-cut face. The high-arched, slender feet rested upon soft sandals whose gauzy withes laced the exquisitely formed leg to just below the dimpled knee. "Some giddy wonder!" exclaimed Larry, looking at me and placing a hand over his heart. "Put her on a New York roof and she'd empty Broadway. Take the cue from me, Doc." He turned to Yolara, whose face was somewhat puzzled. "I said, O lady whose shining hair is a web for hearts, that in our world your beauty would dazzle the sight of men as would a little woman sun!" he said, in the florid imagery to which the tongue lends itself so well. A flush stole up through the translucent skin. The blue eyes softened and she waved us toward the cushions. Black-haired maids stole in, placing before us the fruits, the little loaves and a steaming drink somewhat the colour and odor of chocolate. I was conscious of outrageous hunger. "What are you named, strangers?" she asked. "This man is named Goodwin," said O'Keefe. "As for me, call me Larry."