Slowly the priests and the acolytes walked down the aisle, the bridal pair following. With prayers and exhortations the dust was scattered, and wafted out of sight by the breeze. The ceremony was over—a hymn of joy was sung, and Alan and Chlorie were led to their bhor that was waiting. They drove together in the open bhor, and Chlorie could not speak—her heart was too full of emotion. The excitement, the cheering, the crowds tired her—and yet there was still the reception to get through. Not a word had she spoken to her newly made husband, but as they alighted he whispered—“You don’t regret, my darling?” She gave him a quick, shy glance, but it satisfied him. They had to wait for the congratulations of the intimate friends and guests, but at last Mavis whispered, “Come, dear, it is time for you to change into your other frock.” Quietly the bride left the reception and changed into her other gown. Tenderly she bade her father good-bye. “Good-bye, my little one,” he murmured, “Mitzor take care of you. In forty Kymos I shall come for you. Be happy in your new life.” “Good-bye, my father.” “Good-bye.” “You will find everything in readiness at the House of Roses,” said Waz-Y-Kjesta. There were renewed cheers, the band played—and the comfortable equipage drove off, bearing the happiest couple in all Keemar. “My darling,” murmured Alan, when they were at last outside the town, and running swiftly through quiet country roads. “Are you sure you won’t regret this day?” “Never, my Alan,” she replied, her eyes smiling as she nestled close to her husband—“but Alan, I think I am a little frightened all the same.” For answer he crushed her in his arms, and rained passionate kisses on her unresisting lips—and it sufficed her. She was content. CHAPTER XVI THE PERFECT WORLD Many hundred times the Kymo rose and set, and Ak-Alan and his wife, beloved of all Keemarnians, lived in peace and happiness. A son and daughter had been born to them, and now the time had come when the Rorka had received his call, and through the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata would make his exit from the world, and enter into glory. “My son,” said he, “the voice came in my sleep last night. My room was bathed in a wonderful whiteness when the messenger from Mitzor called me. ‘When the Kymo reaches the full for thirteen days make ready—for on the fourteenth thou shalt meet the Great White Glory.’ I must now set my house in order. You will reign jointly with Chlorie. I can safely leave my country in your hands.” “Father,” said Alan, “must you really leave us?” He was troubled. “Oh it’s terrible.” “But why?” said Chlorie. “I shall miss my father it is true—for I love him dearly. But how can I wish him here, when his happiness lies yonder?” “I don’t understand,” said Alan miserably. “Death is so sad.” “But it is not—death—” said the Rorka. “I am simply—‘going away’.”