And shook her head. She did not know where we were. But then she indicated the cloak again, and smiled, and said, "Yes--yes." What could she mean by that? Was she trying to convey that with Nanette's cloak they would be able to learn where Nanette was? It seemed so. A tenseness had come to San. He was alert at his mechanisms. He spoke sharply to Lea. Her hand went to Alan, steadying him. Alan braced himself. San flung a switch-lever. The tower seemed almost to lurch physically. They had reached their destination. Alan's senses had suddenly reeled; but they cleared at once. The tower room was vibrationless; the hum was stilled. San opened the door. A warm sunlight streamed in. The Space of Central Park, five thousand years in our future! Lea and San led Alan from the tower. CHAPTER VII OATH OF VENGEANCE They went down a flight of stone steps to the ground. Alan found that the tower now was set in the midst of a garden of gloriously vivid blossoms. The air was redolent with their perfume. A brook of sunlit water flowed near by. There were cool bushes and shade trees, green and brown; cool green lawns of sward; little winding paths. A garden of a few acres. It was all inclosed by a wall of masonry--a wall some twenty or thirty feet high, looped and turreted. The figure of a man was on the top of the wall, over a gateway fairly near at hand. As they stepped from the tower his arm went up with a gesture of recognition. Realization swept Alan. This garden, this wall, this pacing sentry--all this we had seen on the television. We had witnessed then the tower's departure; by some vagary of Nature's laws the etheric waves carrying this image had come to us of 1945. They passed through the gateway of the wall. The guard on its top called down something; and stared at Alan curiously as they passed through. Beyond the wall a sylvan landscape was spread to Alan's gaze. The Space of Manhattan Island. He could still recognize it. A river behind him. Another river ahead a mile or so. The Hudson shimmering in its valley. He could see the cliffs of its further bank. Near at hand the open country was dotted with trees, checkered with round patches of cultivated fields. There were figures working in the fields. And occasional habitations--low, oval houses of green thatch. A road of dull smooth white wound from this gateway over the countryside toward the river. Animals, strange of aspect, were slowly dragging carts. A city was off there, along this nearer bank of the river--a stretch of houses more closely set. City! It seemed some primitive village. All this--primitive; as though here might be some lost Indian tribe of our early ages. The field workers, garbed in vivid colors. Their squat little carts, slow-moving with broad-horned oxen. The quiet village strung along the calm-flowing river. All picturesque and primitive.