ly, through their ranks came--a girl! Behind her,
enormous pouch at his throat swelling in and out menacingly, in one
paw a treelike, spike-studded mace, a frog-man, huger than any of the
others, guarding. But of him I caught but a fleeting, involuntary
impression--all my gaze was for her.

For it was she who had pointed out to us the way from the peril of the
Dweller's lair on Nan-Tauach. And as I looked at her, I marvelled that
ever could I have thought the priestess more beautiful. Into the eyes
of O'Keefe rushed joy and an utter abasement of shame.

And from all about came murmurs--edged with anger, half-incredulous,
tinged with fear:

"Lakla!"

"Lakla!"

"The handmaiden!"

She halted close beside me. From firm little chin to dainty buskined
feet she was swathed in the soft robes of dull, almost coppery hue.
The left arm was hidden, the right free and gloved. Wound tight about
it was one of the vines of the sculptured wall and of Lugur's circled
signet-ring. Thick, a vivid green, its five tendrils ran between her
fingers, stretching out five flowered heads that gleamed like blossoms
cut from gigantic, glowing rubies.

So she stood contemplating Yolara. Then drawn perhaps by my gaze, she
dropped her eyes upon me; golden, translucent, with tiny flecks of
amber in their aureate irises, the soul that looked through them was
as far removed from that flaming out of the priestess as zenith is
above nadir.

I noted the low, broad brow, the proud little nose, the tender mouth,
and the soft--sunlight--glow that seemed to transfuse the delicate
skin. And suddenly in the eyes dawned a smile--sweet, friendly, a
touch of roguishness, profoundly reassuring in its all humanness. I
felt my heart expand as though freed from fetters, a recrudescence of
confidence in the essential reality of things--as though in nightmare
the struggling consciousness should glimpse some familiar face and
know the terrors with which it strove were but dreams. And
involuntarily I smiled back at her.

She raised her head and looked again at Yolara, contempt and a certain
curiosity in her gaze; at O'Keefe--and through the softened eyes
drifted swiftly a shadow of sorrow, and on its fleeting wings deepest
interest, and hovering over that a naive approval as reassuringly
human as had been her smile.

She spoke, and her voice, deep-timbred, liquid gold as was Yolara's
all silver, was subtly the synthesis of all the golden glowing beauty
of h