At last the Infantryman, after threading his way through streets of enormous rocky palaces, passed through a colossal arch, and so into a hall as big as St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey into one. A crowd of Under Folk, who were seated on stone benches around rude tables, eating strange luminous food, rose up, and cried, “What news?” “Four prisoners,” said the Infantryman. “Upper Folk,” the Colonel said; “and my orders are to deliver them to the Queen herself.” He passed to the end of the hall and up a long wide flight of steps made of something so green and clear that it was plainly either glass or emerald, and I don’t think it could have been glass, because how could they have made glass in the sea? There were lights below it which shone through the green transparency so clear and lovely that Francis said dreamily— “‘_Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting, Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave_,’” and quite suddenly there was much less room in the net, and they were being embraced all at once and with tears of relief and joy by the Princess Freia—their own Mer Princess. “Oh, I _didn’t_ mean to—Princess dear, I _didn’t_,” said Francis. “It was the emerald steps made me think of translucent.” “So they are,” she said, “but oh, if you knew what I’ve felt—you, our guests, our knights-errant, our noble defenders—to be prisoners and all of us safe. I did so hope you’d call me. And I’m so proud that you didn’t—that you were brave enough not to call for me until you did it by accident.” “We never thought of doing it,” said Mavis candidly, “but I hope we shouldn’t have, if we _had_ thought of it.” “Why haven’t you pressed your pearl buttons?” she asked, and they told her why. “Wise children,” she said, “but at any rate we must all use the charm that prevents our losing our memories.” “I shan’t use mine,” said Cathay. “I don’t want to remember. If I didn’t remember I should forget to be frightened. Do please let me forget to remember.” She clung pleadingly to the Princess, who whispered to Mavis, “Perhaps it would be best,” and they let Cathay have her way. The others had only just time to swallow their charms before the Infantryman threw the net onto a great table, which seemed to be cut out of one vast diamond, and fell on his face on the ground. It was his way of saluting his sovereign. “Prisoners, your Majesty,” he said when he had got up again. “Four of the young of the Upper Folk—” and he turned to the net as he spoke, and stopped short—“there’s someone else,” he said in an altered voice, “someone as wasn’t there when we started, I’ll swear.” “Open the net,” said a strong, sweet voice, “and bid the prisoners stand up that I may look upon them.” “They might escape, my love,” said another voice anxiously, “or perhaps they bite.” “Submersia,” said the first voice, “do you and four of my women stand ready. Take the prisoners one by one. Seize each a prisoner and hold them, awaiting my royal pleasure.”