Alan smiled. He had come across as strange proofs of telepathy as in the old world between kindred spirits. Whatever happened he knew Waz-Y-Kjesta was his friend. “Perhaps I am in danger, my friend,” said he. “If so can I count on you?” “My Alan, I would suffer even serquor for you,” he answered fervently. And Alan knew he spoke truly. CHAPTER VIII THE UNFORGIVEABLE KISS The day passed slowly. Still the Princess remained in her cabin. Alan passed Waiko with his usual cheery smile, and the guilty student trembled and turned white at sight of the healthy man, who he thought had been doomed to serquor. Kulmervan remained in his cabin near the princess, and had his meals served him there. Waz-Y-Kjesta realized that something was wrong, but as Alan did not confide in him, he made no effort to find out the cause of his friend’s restlessness. “My Waz,” said Alan suddenly, “is it possible for me to see the Ipso-Rorka? I wish to speak to her.” “Not unless she sends for you, my friend. It is impossible else.” “It is a matter of grave import,” said Alan earnestly. “To me, to her—” “Nothing can alter custom, my friend. If she sends for you—well. Otherwise—” and he shrugged his shoulders expressively. Alan, however, was determined to speak with Chlorie by foul means or fair. Her cabin was situated in the front of the ship, and round it was a tiny balcony railed in just above the level of the deck. He paced round this portion of the ship the whole day, resting only at mealtimes from his self imposed watch. Never once did the Princess appear. The Kymo was setting, the sky was bright with sunset colours; the sea was unruffled and calm. A fish leapt out of the water leaving rings of glistening fluid, roseate in the glow. Alan sat, out of sight, still watching the cabin door. Suddenly it opened and Morar, the Princess’ personal attendant appeared. She looked around hastily. “All is quiet, my Princess,” she cried. “No one is in sight. The sinful stranger is in his cabin, no doubt plotting ill against you and yours.” Chlorie came through the doorway. Her hair was gleaming, and her flowing draperies of blue showed up the fairness of her skin. “I am stifled, Morar. ’Tis ill to spend so many hours without a breath of air. Watch you the other side, and should you see the evil one appear, appraise me, and I will again take shelter within.” With a low bow Morar vanished, closing the cabin door behind her. The Princess paced up and down the tiny balcony, singing a Keemarnian lullaby. Still Alan remained silent and watchful, hidden from sight beneath the covering rail. Morar returned. “There is no sign of Alan the evil one,” said she, “but Taz-Ak Kulmervan begs an audience.”