wild, woodland nymph.

Two men, their milk-white bodies naked but for the thick folds of
their loin cloths, were beside Rawson, helping him along. Two others
followed. And, by their haste and their odd whispered words of alarm,
he knew that pursuit had not been expected; they must have thought to
get away unobserved.

Rawson felt his strength returning. He shook himself free from those
who tried to aid him. He was amazed at how easily he ran: his weight
was a mere nothing; his efforts were expended in driving his body
against the blast of wind. The air seemed dense, thick; he had almost
the feeling of forcing himself through water.

Ahead of him the girl darted abruptly through a narrow crack in the
wall. Rawson followed--and then began a wild race through a network of
connecting passages, a vast labyrinth of caves, more like fractures in
this strange red substance which Rawson could think of only as rock,
for lack of a more accurate name, until at last there was no sound
except that of their own hurrying feet.

* * * * *

They stopped and stood panting in one of the wider passages. He heard
nothing but the endless rush of the wind. For the first time Rawson
became aware of his own almost naked condition.

The mole-men had prepared him for the sacrifice. They had decked him
with a loin cloth of woven gold. It felt cold to the touch, and Rawson
did not doubt its being made of fine threads of the precious metal.
About his neck hung a gold chain with a heavy object suspended; he
tore it off, and found again a representation of a golden sun. The
copper priests had arrayed him to meet their fire-god, and again
Rawson wondered at the emblem they employed.

"What in the name of the starlit heavens," he demanded silently of
himself, "could this buried race know of the sun?"

The others were watching him. In the glow of that strange light held
by the girl he saw them smiling. They were congratulating one another
with odd, soft-syllabled words. And Rawson, ignorant of their tongue,
was mute, when his whole soul cried out to thank them.

He gripped the hands of the men. They were as tall as himself, their
gaze level with his own. Their faces were human, friendly; their eyes
sparkled and smiled into his. Then he turned to the girl.

She had seen the method of greeting this stranger employed. She
extended her hand--a white hand, slim, soft, cool. And Rawson, choking
with emotion, knowing th