s latch and still he had not
heard her voice. On the lawn path--in that strange lovely wash of
light--he stood, as the sun sank and the afterglow mounted. This was
always Carlin's hour to him--the magic moment of the afterglow. In
such an hour in the outer paths of the tree jungle, they had spoken
life to life.

"Malcolm M'Cord--is that you, Malcolm?"

Her voice was from the playhouse. It was steady but startling.
Something cold in it--very weary. Still he did not see her. The door
was on the western side.

Skag answered.

"Oh--" came from Carlin.

There was an instant intense silence; then he heard:

"Go into the house. I thought it was Malcolm. . . . I'll join you.
Don't come here--"

He turned obediently. He had the male's absurd sense of not belonging.
. . . He might at least be silent and do as she said. A keener gust
of reality then shot through him. His steps would not go on. She must
have heard his change from the gravel to the grass, for she called:

"It's all right, go right in--"

"But, Carlin--"

"Don't come here, dear! It's--not for you to see now!"

He halted, an indescribable chill upon him. The low threshold was in
sight, yet Carlin did not appear in the doorway. It was not more than
sixty feet away, across the lawn. It may have been something that she
had on. . . . A gold something. This came because of a fallen bit of
gold-brown tapestry on the threshold. It had folds. Out of the cone
of it, was a rising sheen like thin gold smoke. A fallen garment was
the first thing that came to Skag's mind, keyed to the suggestion of
some fabric which Carlin was to put on. The thing actually before his
eyes had not dislodged for an instant, the thought-picture in his mind.

Right then Skag made a mistake. He had not taken ten running steps
before he knew it, and halted. That which had been like rising gold
smoke was a hooded head--lifting just now, dilating. Already he knew,
almost fully, what the running had done. The thought of Carlin in the
playhouse had over-balanced his own genius. He walked forward now, for
the time not hearing Carlin's words from within. . . . The door was
open; the windows were screened. The girl was held within by the
coiled one on the stone. . . . She was imploring Skag to go back:

". . . to the house!" he heard at last. "Wait there--don't come! It
is death to come to me!"

He could not see her.

"Where are you standing, Carlin?"

"Fa