e two or three hundred feet above the ground. As she came closer I saw
her wings were blue, not red like Miela's. She came directly toward us.

Suddenly Miela gave a little cry.

"Anina! Anina!"

Without a word to me she spread her wings and flew up to meet the oncoming
girl.

I stood in awe as I watched them. They met almost above me, and I could
see them hovering with clasped hands while they touched cheeks in
affectionate greeting. Then, releasing each other, they flew rapidly away
together--smaller and smaller, until a turn in the valley hid them
entirely from my sight.

I sat down abruptly. A lump was in my throat, a dismal lonesomeness in my
heart. I knew Miela would return in a moment--that she had met some friend
or relative--yet I could not suppress the vague feeling of sorrow and the
knowledge of my own incapacity that swept over me.

For the first time then I wanted wings--wanted them myself--that I might
join this wife I loved in her glorious freedom of the air. And I realized,
too, for the first time, how that condition Miela so deplored on Mercury
had come to pass. I could understand now very easily how it was that
married women were deprived by their husbands of these wings which they
themselves were denied by the Creator.

Hardly more than ten minutes had passed before I saw the two girls again
flying toward me. They alighted a short distance away, and approached me,
hand in hand.

The girl with Miela, I could see now, was somewhat shorter, even slighter
of build, and two or three years younger. Her face held the same delicate,
wistful beauty. The two girls strongly resembled one another in feature.
The newcomer was dressed in similar fashion to Miela--sandals on her feet,
and silken trousers of a silvery white, fastened at the ankles with golden
cords.

Her wings, as I have said, were blue--a delight light blue that, as I
afterward noticed, matched her eyes. Her hair was the color of spun gold;
she wore it in two long, thick braids over her shoulders and fastened at
the waist and knee. She was, in very truth, the most ethereal human being
I had ever beheld. And--next to Miela--the most beautiful.

Miela pulled her forward, and she came on, blushing with the sweet shyness
of a child. She was winding her silken silver scarf about her breast
hastily, as best she could with her free hand.

"My sister, Anina--Alan," said Miela simply.

The girl stood undecided; then, evidently obeying Miela's s