t all disturbance might cease.

And again came the gentle thrilling, and broke out into a clear, low
calling in my brain; and the calling was my name--the old-earth name of
this day, and not the name of that age. And the name smote me, with a
frightenedness of fresh awakening memories. And, immediately, I sent the
Master-Word into the night; and all the aether was full of movement. And
a silence came; and later a beat afar off in the void of night, which
only I in all that great Redoubt could hear, until the heavier
vibrations were come. And in a moment there was all about me the
throbbing of the Master-Word, beating in the night a sure answer. Yet,
before this I knew that Mirdath had called; but now had surety.

And immediately, I said "Mirdath," making use of the instruments; and
there came a swift and beautiful answer; for out of the dark there stole
an old love-name, that she only had ever used to me.

And, presently, I minded me of the men, and signed to them that they
should continue; for the Records must not be broken; and now I had the
communication full established.

And by me stood the Master Monstruwacan, quietly as any young
Monstruwacan, waiting with slips to make any notes that were needful;
and keeping a strict eye upon those others; but not unkindly. And so,
for a space of wonder, I had speech with that girl out in the darkness
of the world, who had knowledge of my name, and of the old-earth
love-name, and named herself Mirdath.

And much I questioned her, and presently to my sorrow; for it seemed
that her name was not truly Mirdath; but Naani; neither had she known my
name; but that in the library of that place where she abode, there had
been a story of one named by my name, and called by that sweet love-name
which she had sent out somewhat ruthless into the night; and the girl's
name had been Mirdath; and when first she, Naani had called, there had
come back to her a cry of Mirdath, Mirdath; and this had minded her so
strangely of that olden story which had stayed in her memory; that she
had answered as the maid in that book might have answered.

And thus did it seem that the utter Romance of my Memory-love had
vanished, and I stood strangely troubled for sorrow of a love of olden
times. Yet, even then I marvelled that any book should have story so
much like to mine; not heeding that the history of all love is writ with
one pen.

Yet, even then in that hour of my strange, and quaintly foolish pa