“Desmond,” she cried, “I loved you—I would have made you happy, but he”—pointing to Alan—“he came between us. He tore my heart from its resting place within my breast—he made me love him also, and then stamped on my love and spurned me.” “That is hardly fair, Kaweeka. I never made overtures to you—” “No,” said Desmond, doing his best to conciliate her. “Enough,” she cried and then began a frenzied tirade to which the boys listened in horror, as they realized that almost a madness had come upon Kaweeka—the seed of Korah. Falling to her knees she clung to Alan and begged him to marry her according to the custom of his world and hers. She offered to make him Prince of the land of Kalvar and possessor of a thousand fortunes if he would but love her—be it ever so little. And when he gently lifted her up and put her away from him, she looked him fully in the eyes, and for a full minute there was silence. Then with a queer gesture of finality, she outspread her hands and accepted the inevitable. Then in a monotonous voice and with carefully chosen words she began to speak again— “In the world you came from, O Men of the Sun, you saw strange sights and heard strange things. A light appeared in the sky—a light that was the forerunner of tragedy. I propose to show you the Light, O Strangers. I will unfold the secret of its being before your wondering eyes. Know you now, that this Fire is next in honour to the God of our Fathers. It is the Fire that gives us air to breathe, and light by which we can see. From the Fire we obtain our strength, and when it dies out our power will be gone. But know you also, that when our Fire dies and we perish, so will your world die also. You above are dependent for your very existence on the Fire in the Earth’s belly—with our extinction will come also the consummation of all mankind. See”—and she pointed to a coil of metal that looked like a silver rope—“See—this is the Light—the Light that brought sacrifices we could offer to our God of all, and that fed our Fire.” Then she began a weird dance. Grovelling on the floor in apparent worship of the Fire, she drew nearer and nearer to the shimmering metal, and taking up one end of it, undid it until it lay in shimmering folds outspread upon the floor. Still, with rhythmic grace, she continued, now advancing, now retreating, until she had coiled part of the writhing mass about her body, and the boys realized that one end was firmly embedded in the heart of the Fire itself. And as they watched they realized that Kaweeka was dancing away from the Fire—away down the length of the great Fire Hall, to where a little door was half hidden behind cherubim of gold.