“No—no—no,” she cried. “Not my lips—Kulmervan be merciful. My lips are sacred until I wed—spare my lips.” But Kulmervan’s reason had gone. “My beautiful one,” he murmured, and ran his fingers through her glorious mantle of hair. He held her head between his hands, and drank in the glory of her face. Her eyes were open wide in terror, her lips tightly compressed, her power of movement gone. Nearer, nearer he drew. His breath came in hot gusts upon her cheek. Her eyelids quivered under his scorching kisses. Her cheeks reddened as his lips touched them. With one mighty effort she tried to release herself. “In the name of Mitzor the Great, leave my lips,” she cried, but the madness of passion was upon him. He revelled in his power, laughed at her struggles, mocked at her impotence. Roughly he clasped her still closer to him, but the Princess was inert in his arms—the strain was too much for her, and blissful unconsciousness had come to soothe her. There was the slightest of sounds. Alan, the athletic still, vaulted over the rail, and swinging Kulmervan by the scruff of his neck threw him on to the ground. Tenderly he lifted the Princess in his arms—she was as light as a feather—and went into her cabin. “Morar,” he called. “Morar.” The serving maid appeared, trembling as she saw her beloved mistress in the arms of “the evil one.” “Your mistress has had a fright,” said Alan thickly. “Show me her couch.” Without a word the little maid led the way into the tiny sleeping apartment, and tenderly he laid his burden on the silken coverings of blue. “Look after her,” said he, “she has fainted.” With arms folded across his chest and his breath coming in spasmodic jerks, he waited outside the door. Presently Morar appeared. “The Ipso-Rorka has recovered,” she said, “and has now fallen asleep. What shall I do?” “Allow no one to enter her apartments at all. I will send a letter to her in the morning. Can I depend on your giving it to her?” “Yes. I can see you are not evil,” said the little maid. “Some mistake has been made. You are her friend.” “I am her friend,” said Alan grimly. “Remember, Morar, no one is to enter these apartments without the Ipso-Rorka’s permission. You understand?” and he strode out on to the balcony. Kulmervan had gone, and he vaulted lightly over the balcony rail and went straight to his cabin. As he opened the door he recognized the sweet, sickly odour that he had smelt once before. So! He must be on his guard. Kulmervan and Waiko would stop at nothing—a madness had indeed come over them, a madness of the earth! Holding his breath he went swiftly across the room, and opened the windows, then shutting the door behind him, went into the big saloon. Waz-Y-Kjesta smiled as he entered. “Where have you been, my friend? I looked for you everywhere.”