From what they could gather the “Kadetha” was divided into two parts—the Moiltee—which proved to be part of the first three books of Moses—and “Jarcobbi,” five books written by one of the first priests of the people after their descent into the bowels of the earth. That these strange people were really descendants of the rebels against Moses, the boys had not the slightest shadow of doubt—the proof in the “Kadetha” was only too conclusive. They were now able to converse fairly freely with the people, and were able to understand many of their strange beliefs. The true meaning of the Light they were so far unable to fathom, but “Har-Barim” the high priest, told them there would be no more offerings to the Fire from “Above” as he called the world. The people began to take more kindly to them, but Kaweeka remained watchful and brooding, and they realized that she was indeed a bitter enemy, and the person most greatly to be feared in the underworld. Little Myruum, the high priest’s daughter, spent many hours with them, and they learnt much of the language from her baby prattle. They were admitted to all the services and religious rites in the temple, and the boys noted with surprise that the fire seemed to be daily losing its power. Its flames grew smaller and smaller, and they noticed the difference in it when they had not seen it for several days. “Jovah,” they said to Har-Barim one day. “Tell us your history, now we understand your language.” The old man smiled at them. “There is little to tell,” he said. “It is true we were once of the earth above—once white people like yourselves; but for over three thousand, three hundred and three years we have lived in the darkness of the earth. Our skins are changed—they have taken the hue of the land we are forced to dwell in. Our forefathers burrowed in the earth to make streets and houses and shelter for their families, and they left us the heritage of their labour.” He pointed as he spoke to the short horn that protruded from his forehead. “What became of Korah?” they asked him. “Coorer?” he pronounced the word differently. “Korah,” he told them, was their bad angel. It was Korah, with the devil in his soul who urged them to stand up against Moses, and it was Korah they shut away from their lives when the pit had closed in upon them, revealing to them no more the light of the sun. “How do you mean?” asked Alan. “How did you shut him out of your lives, my Jovah?” Jovah signified “Father” and was the term by which all the people addressed Har-Barim. “Why, my sons, when the pit closed down upon our forefathers, all turned upon Korah as the father of all their woes. He was stoned and left half dead—then a wall was built up in front of him and all his family, together with all his possessions, and there he was left to perish. One of his daughters escaped, however, and her descendants have been Princesses of Kalvar, as we call our country, ever since.” “Then Kaweeka—” began Alan.