Hurriedly he made his way to the little hut, and knocked loudly on the door. There was no reply and he tried it; it opened at his touch. He entered it—it was deserted, but he soon had proof of its owner. Upon the wall hung a beautiful painting of Chlorie—and it was signed “Kulmervan, from his kinswoman. Chlorie.” On a table by the window was a pile of books, and on the fly leaf of nearly every one was written in a strong hand, “Kulmervan, Taz-Ak of the House of Pluthoz.” Mostly the books were on Astronomy and Alan noticed with amusement one was called “Quilphis, or the most important unimportant Planet.” Quilphis—Terra! His world, once his all—now nothing. He looked round the room, a door led on one side to the sleeping apartment, and on the other to the kitchen and offices. The whole place was tastefully furnished and showed signs of frequent use. Alan hurried to the seashore—the little craft was called the Chlorie. He sprang into it, and pushed off. In the bow he saw a tiny engine with three levers. He was already slightly acquainted with the simple Keemarnian machinery, so he pulled one down with assurance. Instantly the boat skimmed along the water at a terrific speed. Hastily he touched the second, a slower pace resulted, and the third stopped the boat altogether. With the first speed on, he ploughed out to the horizon. He could see no trace of Kulmervan. The sea was desolate and bare. He felt hopeless. Had Kulmervan swamped the boat, and were he and Chlorie now lying dead at the bottom of the sea? Death! He knew the Jovians had no death—yet surely they were not immune from drowning? Perhaps they would remain on the sea’s bed—serquor. The thought maddened him, and savagely he turned the boat first this way, then that, in his hopeless endeavour to find the fugitives. Kymo had sunk, darkness was setting in—he could see the faint outlines of the hut. Suddenly two beams of light shone out from its windows, which were as suddenly obscured. Kulmervan had doubtless returned. Quickly he turned the boat towards shore; he drew close in and beached her without a sound. Quietly he crept up to the open window and moved the heavy curtain ever so slightly. There was Kulmervan in his easy chair, reading a book—but he was alone. A knock sounded and a man appeared. “Do you want refreshment now, my lord?” he asked. “Yes, Arrack. At once.” “Shall I take refreshment to the lady, your mate?” “No, Arrack. But stay—take her a glass of wine, and,” fumbling on his table—“melt this pellet in it. She will fall asleep. When she is asleep, carry her hither and place her in my room. ’Tis my wedding night, Arrack. I have an unwilling bride it’s true, but before Pirox the Killer, my mate shall she be this night.” Arrack smiled evilly. “’Tis well, my lord. I will do thy bidding.”