Outside they found two double bhors ready, and Sir John and his faithful Masters travelled in one, while Alan and Waz-Y-Kjesta occupied the other. Alan was now able to enjoy the scenery through which he passed. The path by which they travelled ran by the side of an island lake, with tall mountains towering on the further side of the water. The woodland nature of the scene with the twining paths and overhanging branches reminded Alan forcibly of the bank of Loch Lomond between Tarbet and Ardlui; yet the almost tropical colouring of the flora—the wonderful brightness of the birds’ plumage, the waving palm-like trees that were interspersed here and there, were unlike anything he had ever beheld. This place seemed to possess everything to make it perfect—mountain—moorland—water—and woodlands. Nothing was missing from this panorama of glory. At last the Argenta hove in sight, and somehow its beauty seemed to have lessened in this land of glory. The silver brightness of its aluminium looked dim in the golden sunlight; the torpedo-shaped body seemed ugly and sinister in comparison with the beauty and symmetry of the Keemarnian air birds. The Jkak waited for the strangers to alight, and the Waz whispered his instructions. “Welcome the Jkak, my friend,” said he. “It is our custom. Ask him to honour you by boarding your craft. Let him bring peace and prosperity to your house by stepping across the threshold of your boat.” “My Jkak,” said Alan, going to the side of the state bhor, “will you honour us all by boarding our Argenta, and bring us joy and peace?” “You have learnt your lesson quickly and well, my son,” said the Jkak in reply. “I will come with pleasure.” He walked aboard and was extremely interested in the vessel. “But how do you move it?” he asked. “How does it rise into the heights of the heavens?” “This is the spirit,” said Alan, “but alas, it will not work in your atmosphere. There seems no power in it. Perhaps later on, we might experiment with your etheric current?” The Jkak and his suite were enchanted with the fittings of the Argenta—the electricity, the furniture, the hangings. As they made their way toward the sleeping cabins, Masters suddenly spoke. “Poor old Murdoch—he’s in there,” said he. “I am afraid I forgot all about him.” “Poor chap,” said Alan, “so did I,” and he quickly barred the way. “May I suggest, my Jkak, that you do not go in there,” said he. “A very dear comrade of ours risked his life for us all. He is in there—dead.” “Dead?” asked the Jkak. Sir John bowed his head sadly. “Dead,” he repeated, “and one of the truest servants that man ever had.” “But if he is in there,” said the Jkak with a puzzled frown, “why does he not come out?” He looked at the others in turn. “Why does he not enjoy life with you? Ah! He thinks the Argenta would not be safe without him? That is foolish. I will enter—I will assure him he has nothing to fear.” “But he is dead,” urged Alan. “Dead?”