Alan had at last met and won his ideal, and he caressed and murmured sweet nothings to her, until they forgot they were fugitives—forgot that a madman would soon be on their trail—forgot aught but the joy of the present, and the hope of the future. Chlorie recovered herself first. Shyly she slipped her little hand into Alan’s. “My loved one,” said she. “My father the Rorka knows naught of Kulmervan and his sin. We must escape, reach him, and for the safety of the community, for the traditions of our dear land, we must send Kulmervan to the Hall of Sorrows.” “My Chlorie, nothing will purge him of his sin. He is mad—quite mad.” “But he must go away all the same. See what unhappiness he has caused already—see what he may do in the future!” “You are right. He must be put away. He has money, position and cunning.” “Where are we, my Alan?” “I know not where this leads,” said Alan, “but it is the only road I dared take.” Hungry, tired and worn, they crept on along the little narrow ledge. Suddenly a cave, lighted from without through slits in the wall, burst on their view, and Chlorie gave a startled exclamation. “The Hall of our Fathers,” she cried, “I have been here before.” “What is it?” “This is the place where the regalia of each reigning Rorka is placed, together with his throne, when he has left the fair land of Keemar, through the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata.” Round the cave were thrones of all descriptions—some in heavy marble—others in gold adorned with precious jewels; others just simple, wooden thrones, that showed their antiquity. “Down, down on your knees,” cried Chlorie, and Alan realized that the cave had become alive with living figures. The thrones were occupied by men who wore crowns of gold and jewels, and who carried sceptre and orb in their hands. The cave that had been dead and cold only a minute before, was now alive. But there was no sound; all was hushed and still, and the figures were shadowy and unreal. “Oh my Mitzor,” breathed Chlorie. “The joy! To think I should have been permitted to witness this scene—to see the wraiths of my forefathers. My Alan, watch—read a meaning in this visitation, for it augurs well.”