thal," said Nod, "and
seven rogue Ephelantoes gave the Oomgar of their tails."

"Ah yes, ah yes!" groaned Immanala; "but what are seventy Ephelantoes
compared with Immanala, Queen of All?"

"Now," said Nod, "I will weary myself no more with speeches. Is it
warm?"

"I am in a furnace; I burn."

"Is it too loose? Does it wrinkle? Does it sag?"

"Oh, but I can breathe but a mouthful at a time!"

"Last and last again, then," said Nod, packing into the pockets one or
two of the stones and bullets and lumps of ice that had fallen out, "is
it comfortable?"

"O my friend, my scarce-wise Mulgar-royal, when did you ever hear that
grand clothes were comfortable?"

"Wait but a little moment, then, while I go in to fetch the magic-glass,
that will show you your face, Immanala, handsome and lovesome."

The Beast struggled faintly in her magic coat. "Have a care--oh, have a
care, Ummanodda! The gun, the gun! The Oomgar might wake. Let me creep
swiftly to my stone, and bring the glass to me there."

"The Oomgar will not wake," said Nod; "he sleeps as deep as the Ghost of
the Rose upon the bosom of Tishnar."

"But, O Mulgar, think again. Strip off from my body this grievous belt,"
she pleaded; "you will keep nothing for yourself."

"Have no fear, friend," said Nod shakily; "I will keep"--and his eyes
met hers in the shadow of the hat, stony and merciless and ravenous--"I
will keep," he grunted, "my Zbaffle."

He went into the hut and seated himself on a little stool. Then very
carefully he took the Wonderstone out of his pocket and unwrapped it.
Its pale gleam mingled softly with the moonlight, as a rainbow mingles
with foam. Wetting his left thumb with spittle, he rubbed it softly,
softly, Samaweeza, three times round. And distant and clear as the
shining of a star a voice seemed to cry: "The Spirit of Tishnar answers,
Prince Ummanodda Nizza-neela; what dost thou require of me?"

"Oh, by Tishnar, only this," said Nod, trembling: "that the
nine-and-ninety hunting-dogs in their hunting mistake the ravening
Beast of Shadows, Immanala, for the sailorman, Zbaffle, my master and
friend."

And surely, when Nod looked out from the doorway, it seemed that,
strange and terrible, the shape muffled within the Oomgar's coat was
swollen out, stretched lean and tall, that even lank gold hair did
dangle on her shoulders from beneath the furry cap. It seemed he heard a
far-away crying--crying, out of that monstrous bale, as the creat