uth still slept, breathing peacefully beneath the
cloak, one white arm stretched over the shoulder of Drake--as though in
her sleep she had drawn close to him.

At her feet lay Ventnor, as deep in slumber as they. I arose and
tip-toed over to the closed door.

Searching, I found its key; a cupped indentation upon which I pressed.

The crystalline panel slipped back; it was moved, I suppose, by some
mechanism of counterbalances responding to the weight of the hand.
It must have been some vibration of the thunder which had loosed that
mechanism and had closed the panel upon the heels of our entrance--so I
thought--then seeing again in memory that uncanny, deliberate shutting
was not at all convinced that it had been the thunder.

I looked out. How many hours the sun had been up there was no means of
knowing.

The sky was low and slaty gray; a fine rain was falling. I stepped out.

The garden of Norhala was a wreckage of uprooted and splintered trees
and torn masses of what had been blossoming verdure.

The gateway of the precipices beyond which lay the Pit was hidden in the
webs of the rain. Long I gazed down the canyon--and longingly; striving
to picture what the Pit now held; eager to read the riddles of the
night.

There came from the valley no sound, no movement, no light.

I reentered the blue globe and paused on the threshold--staring into
the wide and wondering eyes of Ruth bolt upright in her silken bed
with Norhala's cloak clutched to her chin like a suddenly awakened and
startled child. As she glimpsed me she stretched out her hand. Drake,
wide awake on the instant, leaped to his feet, his hand jumping to his
pistol.

"Dick!" called Ruth, her voice tremulous, sweet.

He swung about, looked deep into the clear and fearless brown eyes in
which--with leaping heart I realized it--was throned only that spirit
which was Ruth's and Ruth's alone; Ruth's clear unshadowed eyes glad and
shy and soft with love.

"Dick!" she whispered, and held soft arms out to him. The cloak fell
from her. He swung her up. Their lips met.

Upon them, embraced, the wakening eyes of Ventnor dwelt; they filled
with relief and joy, nor was there lacking in them a certain amusement.

She drew from Drake's arms, pushed him from her, stood for a moment
shakily, with covered eyes.

"Ruth," called Ventnor softly.

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh, Martin--I forgot--" She ran to him, held him
tight, face hidden in his breast. His hand rested