She had a good head start of him. The silver sky was turning crimson in the west. Night was coming on. So he hurried after her down the wet and slippery trail. At last it became so dark that he had to slow down and walk; and finally merely grope his way, shoving his feet ahead, one after the other, in order to be sure to keep to the trail and not to stumble. Time and again his foot would touch something soft, which he would picture as some strange and weird Porovian animal, a gnooper for instance. Quickly he would withdraw the foot. Then waiting in suspense for the creature either to go away or to spring upon him, at last he would cautiously push his foot forward, touch the object again, kick it slightly, and find that it was only a clump of Porovian grass or a rotted piece of lichen log. Poor Quivven! How terrified _she_ must be at such encounters! After a while he got a bit used to these occurrences, and accordingly each succeeding one of them delayed him less than the preceding. “You know,” he said to himself, “this will keep on until finally one of these obstacles will actually turn out to be a gnooper, and it will eat me alive before I can get out of the way.” Just then his groping foot touched another of these soft objects. “Get out of my way,” Cabot shouted, and gave it a kick. But this time it was not attached to the soil. It yielded and wriggled a bit. Then it gave a peculiar groaning sound. Myles leaped backward and waited. But nothing happened; so he tried to circle the creature. Again the groan. His scientific curiosity got the better of his caution. He approached once more and investigated more closely, reaching down with his hand. The animal was covered with wet and muddy fur. It was Quivven! Tenderly he raised the crumpled form in his arms, and groped on down the treacherous trail. Myles wondered how long he could bear up with this dead weight in his arms. But just as he was beginning to stagger, the road gave a turn and flattened out, and there before him were lights, the flares and bonfires of a city! They had reached the plain. “Quivven!” he cried joyfully. “This is home! There ahead lies Vairkingi!” But she made no reply. Her body was cold and still. Quickly he laid her on the ground and placed one ear to her chest. Thank the Great Builder! Her heart still beat. So he chafed her hands and feet, and worked her arms violently back and forth until she began to groan protestingly. “Quivven!” he cried. “Wake up! We are home!” “Are you here, Myles?” she murmured faintly, “Yes.” “And you won’t make me walk any more?” “No.” “Then I’ll wake up for you,” she murmured cheerfully, and promptly fell fast asleep. Again lifting her tenderly in his arms, he resumed the journey. On reaching the city he circled the wall until he came to one of the gates, where he stood the girl on the ground and shook her gently into consciousness. “Where am I?” she asked. “At the gates of Vairkingi,” Myles answered.