r tiny body clothed in a
glowing fabric which clung to every curve, accenting her trim figure,
her slender hips. Brown hair wreathed her lovely face, and Roger
choked as the deep longing for her welled up in his throat.
Speechlessly he took her in his arms, holding her close, burying his
face in her hair, sobbing in joy and relief. And then he saw the
glowing circle behind her, casting its eerie light into the far
corners of the dark cell. In fiery greenness the ring shimmered in an
aurora of violent power, but Ann paid no attention to it. She stepped
back and smiled at him, her eyes bright. "Don't be frightened," she
said softly, "and don't make any noise. I'm here to help you."

"But where did you come from?" The question forced itself out in a
sort of strangled gasp.

"We have--means of going where we want to. And we want you to come
with us." She pointed at the glowing ring. "We want to take you back
to the time-area from which you came."

Roger goggled at her, confusion welling strong into his mind again.
"Ann," he said weakly. "What kind of trick is this?"

She smiled again. "No trick," she said. "Don't ask questions, darling.
I know you're confused, but there isn't much time. You'll just have to
do what I say right now." She turned to the glowing ring. "We just
step through here. Be careful that you don't touch the substance of
the portal going through."

Roger Strang approached the glowing ring curiously, peered through,
blinked, peered again. It was like staring at an inscrutable
flat-black surface in the shadow. No light reflected through it;
nothing could be seen. He heard a faint whining as he stood close to
the ring, and he looked up at Ann, his eyes wide. "You can't see
through it!" he exclaimed.

Ann was crouching on the floor near a small metallic box, gently
turning knobs, checking the dial reading against a small chronometer
on her wrist. "Steady, darling," she said. "Just follow me, carefully,
and don't be afraid. We're going back home--to the time-area where we
belong. You and I. I know--you don't remember. And you'll be puzzled,
and confused, because the memory substitution job was very thorough.
But you'll remember Martin Drengo, and John Morrel, and me. And I was
your wife there, too--Are you ready?"

Roger stared at the ring for a moment. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"How far ahead? Or behind--?"

"Ahead," she said. "Eighty years ahead--as far as we can go. That will
bring us to the