martin. He
paused uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager,
intent gaze, hesitated, then closed the door behind him.

"Throck," I called. "Come! It's Goodwin."

He made his way to me.

"Throck," I said, wasting no time in preliminaries. "What's wrong?
Can I help you?"

I felt his body grow tense.

"I'm going to Melbourne, Goodwin," he answered. "I need a few
things--need them urgently. And more men--white men--"

He stopped abruptly; rose from his chair, gazed intently toward the
north. I followed his gaze. Far, far away the moon had broken through
the clouds. Almost on the horizon, you could see the faint
luminescence of it upon the smooth sea. The distant patch of light
quivered and shook. The clouds thickened again and it was gone. The
ship raced on southward, swiftly.

Throckmartin dropped into his chair. He lighted a cigarette with a
hand that trembled; then turned to me with abrupt resolution.

"Goodwin," he said. "I do need help. If ever man needed it, I do.
Goodwin--can you imagine yourself in another world, alien, unfamiliar,
a world of terror, whose unknown joy is its greatest terror of all;
you all alone there, a stranger! As such a man would need help, so I
need--"

He paused abruptly and arose; the cigarette dropped from his fingers.
The moon had again broken through the clouds, and this time much
nearer. Not a mile away was the patch of light that it threw upon the
waves. Back of it, to the rim of the sea was a lane of moonlight; a
gigantic gleaming serpent racing over the edge of the world straight
and surely toward the ship.

Throckmartin stiffened to it as a pointer does to a hidden covey. To
me from him pulsed a thrill of horror--but horror tinged with an
unfamiliar, an infernal joy. It came to me and passed away--leaving me
trembling with its shock of bitter sweet.

He bent forward, all his soul in his eyes. The moon path swept
closer, closer still. It was now less than half a mile away. From it
the ship fled--almost as though pursued. Down upon it, swift and
straight, a radiant torrent cleaving the waves, raced the moon stream.

"Good God!" breathed Throckmartin, and if ever the words were a prayer
and an invocation they were.

And then, for the first time--I saw--_it_!

The moon path stretched to the horizon and was bordered by darkness.
It was as though the clouds above had been parted to form a lane-drawn
aside like curtains or as the waters of the Red S