us from them," he
said; "that's the answer. But--what does it mean? Those others are in
control; they are attacking our Earth, the world where we lived. Why
do you permit--?"

Again the other's face was set in sterner lines.

"Yes," he said, and his voice was full of unspoken regret, "they do
rule this world; they _have_ attacked your Earth; they intend much
more, and I fear they must be successful. Listen. Your wonderment is
natural, and I shall explain.

"We are the people of Venus. Some centuries ago we ruled this world.
Now you find us a handful only, living like moles in this underworld."

"Underworld?" protested Professor Sykes. He pointed above to the
familiar constellations. "Where are the clouds?" he asked.

The girl, Althora, leaned forward now. "It will please my brother,"
she said in a soft voice, "that you thought it real. He has had
pleasure in creating that--a replica of the skies we used to know
before the coming of the clouds."

* * * * *

Professor Sykes was bewildered. "That sky--the stars--they are not
real?" he asked incredulously. "But the grass--the flowers--"

Her laugh rippled like music. "Oh, they are real," she told him, and
her brother gave added explanation.

"The lights," he said: "we supply the actinic rays that the clouds cut
off above. We have sunlight here, made by our own hands; that is why
we are as we are and not like the red ones with their bleached skins.
We had our lights everywhere through the world when we lived above,
but those red beasts are ignorant; they do not know how to operate
them; they do not know that they live in darkness even in the light."

"Then we are below ground?" asked the flyer. "You live here?"

"It is all we have now. At that time of which I tell, it was the red
ones who lived out of sight; they were a race of rodents in human
form. They lived in the subterranean caves with which this planet is
pierced. We could have exterminated them at any time, but, in our
ignorance, we permitted them to live, for we, of Venus--I use your
name for the planet--do not willingly take life."

"They have no such compunctions!" Professor Sykes' voice was harsh; he
was remembering the sacrifice to the hungry plants.

A flash as of pain crossed the sensitive features of the girl, and the
man beside her seemed speaking to her in soundless words.

"Your mind-picture was not pleasant," he told the scientist; then
continued:

"Rememb