On the day of Robert’s and Zola’s wedding, the emperor presented his daughter with a magnificent, perfect ruby, which he had had set, and hung in a pendant, with the connivance of the professor. The gem was uniquely cut, similarly to what we know as table-cut. He also presented them with a packet of three remarkable stones, in the rough, which he had secretly brought with him. One of these was a black diamond of twenty-one carats; another was a white diamond of slightly larger size. The third stone was also a white diamond, but of astounding size. It was several times larger than the famous Koh-i-noor; it even exceeded in size the Great Mogul in the rough, as it balanced at a trifle under 1,115 carats! Properly cut and polished, without the unfortunate bungling which both the Koh-i-noor and the Great Mogul had suffered, it should weigh considerably more than these two famous gems together, they weighing 106 and 280 carats respectively after their final cutting. “It should be named,” said the professor, when shown this enormous stone. “What are you going to call it?” “Let us call it the _Ragnarok_, which means ‘the twilight of the gods and the doomsday of the world’--in memory of the waning world from which it came,” suggested Robert, after some thought. And so it was named. The little vine-clad church in the village saw the wedding of Robert and Zola on a delightful, soft autumn afternoon a few days later. Her father gave her away, and Professor Palmer was the best man. Futile attempts at fittingly describing the glorious vision presented by the princess were attempted. But perhaps none was more apt than that ventured by the professor’s housekeeper, a kindly soul, who had helped Zola choose her dainty bridal gown and charming trousseau. “A true daughter of the gods,” was the rather surprizing expression of this normally prosaic woman. More surprizing, however, may have been the choice of these two young beings of the scene of their honeymoon. Not a tour of Europe, nor of the natural wonders of our own great country. They simply disappeared into the great Canadian wilderness. There, if one could have followed them, they might have been discovered happily paddling a well-loaded canoe up a winding stream of still, friendly, wooded shores. Above, the clear blue sky rivaled the crystal transparency of the rippling stream. A hawk drifted across the ribbon of blue and was lost again beyond the maze of tall pines. Somewhere a woodpecker drummed stoutly upon a dead limb. Softly, easily, the slim craft rounded a bend to the even thrust of two pairs of vigorous, willing young arms. Like the hawk, it was soon lost to view--lost in a twilight wilderness of love and peace. THE END [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in four consecutive issues of Weird Tales magazine starting in November 1925.]