Gradually they circled round the Argenta, and brought her safely to the ground. They watched the lifting of the shutters curiously. This was indeed the strangest “air bird” they had ever seen. When Sir John gave his wild cry, the Keemarnians realized that the strangers who had come in so wonderful a manner to their land, had suffered acutely. “Send for six Bhors,” said Waz-Y-Kjesta quickly, “these friends are ill.” In the shortest space of time, the Bhors, the Keemarnian carriages, appeared. They were comfortable litters like vehicles, laden with rugs of silk and downy cushions. Above were canopies of silk which shaded the occupants, who swung hammock wise from a wheeled frame, into the shafts of which were harnessed magnificent colis—beasts very similar to Shetland ponies, only with long curly hair. At a command from Waz-Y-Kjesta, Mashonia and another leapt nimbly over the bulwarks of the Argenta, and without a word, in turn carried all the erstwhile prisoners of the airship, and placed them on cushions in the comfortable Keemarnian equipages. As Alan was carried past the Waz, he murmured feebly. “A guard for the Argenta, please.” A look of surprise passed over the Keemarnian’s face. “What meanest thou?” he asked. “A guard,” urged Alan. “The Argenta contains all our possessions.” “A guard?” answered Kjesta. “Nay, why should we do that? It is safe there. It does not belong to us. Fear not, no one will touch it, my friend.” Gently the colis stepped out, drawing easily the Bhors and their occupants. “Drive to the palace of the Jkak,” said Waz-Y-Kjesta. “We must acquaint him first with the news of the arrival of these strangers.” The weary travellers saw nothing of the country through which they passed. They were too weary and worn to raise themselves on the cushions and look around. The cool breeze swept across their faces and refreshed them, so they were content to remain as they were and not think or worry about the future. A runner was sent before to acquaint the Jkak of their near approach, and as they stopped at his beautiful palace, men came out, unhooked the hammock part of the Bhors, and carried the occupants into the Jkak’s presence. He was awaiting them in the cool reception hall, and regal and patriarchal he looked, in his robe of loose green silk, with his golden fillet low upon his brow. “My brothers,” said he in a low musical voice. “Welcome to Keemar, the land of all good. Eat first from yonder viands. They will revive you.” Trays daintily laden with food and wine were placed before the hungry travellers. The Jkakalata, consort to the Jkak, attended to Mavis. “A child,” said she, “and a woman, too. Come, Persoph,” to her husband, “give me that glass of friankate—it will revive her.” She moistened Mavis’s lips with the fragrant wine—Mavis opened her eyes, and as she looked at the kindly woman’s face, she burst into tears. “Who are you?” she cried.