Whereat a small detachment arrived on the double quick, with torches. The leader shaded his eyes with one palm, and inspected Myles and his companion carefully. “This is a Vairking,” he said in surprise, noting the leather trappings of the earth-man. “You are spies. Seize them!” In an instant they were seized and bound, and thrown into separate tents under guard. When morning came, Myles was fed and then led before Grod the Silent. The earth-man smiled ingratiatingly as he entered, but there was no sign of recognition on the stern face of the King of the Roies. “Who are you?” the latter asked, “and what are you doing here?” “I am Cabot the Minorian,” was the reply, “a recently escaped prisoner of Att the Terrible.” “Do not mention that accursed name in my presence!” thundered the king; then: “I do not seem to recall your name, but your face looks familiar. Where have I seen you before?” “In the ravine near Sur.” Grod’s brow clouded. “I remember. You felled me with your fist,” said he, darkly; then brightening a bit: “But you spared me. Why?” “Because your death would please the Roy whose name you do not permit me to mention.” “You improve,” Grod declared, smiling. “Know, then, that we Roies hold to the maxim, ‘A life for a life.’ Accordingly, I shall set you free, and shall content myself with shooting arrows into merely the soldier who brought you here.” “You give me a life for a life unconditionally?” asked Myles. “Yes.” “Then give me the life of the poor soldier who saved me from the unmentionable one. Shoot your arrows into my body instead.” “Very magnanimous of you,” Grod said. “And really, it makes but little difference to me just whom I practice archery upon. Ho guard! Bring the other prisoner in.” One of the soldiery accordingly withdrew, and presently returned with—Quivven! Quivven, of all persons! Cabot gasped, and so did the golden-furred Vairking maiden; then both uttered simultaneously the single word, “You!” The savage chief smiled. Said he, “A slight mistake, guard; I meant you to bring the Roy soldier who was captured with this furless one early this morning. But evidently it has turned out to be a fortunate mistake, for it has brought to my attention the fact that this common Vairking man and this noble Vairking lady are acquainted.” While the Roy was speaking an idea occurred to Cabot: He was entitled by the code of honor of this savage race to save a life. Chivalry demanded that he save the life of this maiden rather than that of himself, or even the soldier who had rescued him from Att the Terrible. Yet what would Lilla think? Did he not owe it to Lilla to save his own life in order that he might some day return across the boiling seas to save _her_ from the unknown peril which menaced her? For him to sacrifice himself and her, or even merely himself, for the sake of some strange woman, would fill Lilla with consuming jealousy.