l the dignity that became a queen. A
word from her, and the men before him dropped in humbleness to the
ground. The Princess Marahna was among them in honoring salutation to
their king.

Jerry was beyond speech. Not so Winslow. "It looks to me," he said
dryly, "as if you were being offered the kingdom of the earth--I mean
the moon. Think it over, Jerry--think it over."

* * * * *

And Jerry Foster thought it over, deeply and soberly. He could rule
this people, he and Marahna, rule in peace and quiet and comfort. He
could bring them knowledge and wisdom of infinite help; he could make
their new civilization a measure of advancement for a whole race. He
could teach them, train them, instruct them. And he and Marahna--there
would be children who would be princes born--could be happy--for a
time. And then ... and then he would be old. Old and lonely for his
kind, hungering and longing for his own people. As Marahna would be on
earth, so would he be here....

His decision was formed. And with it he knew he must not hurt the
heart of Marahna. She loved him, Jerry Foster, the man. He must leave
her as Jerry Foster, the god, child of the sun. He stood suddenly to
his full height, and who shall say that for a moment the man did not
approach the stature of divinity--for he was wholly kind.

He placed a hand upon the head of the kneeling girl before him. He
held her in her submissive pose, then, turning to the waiting men, he
spoke in measured tones.

"I thank you," he said, and the words came from a full heart, "but my
place it not here. I leave with you one more worthy."

Before their wondering gaze he removed the glowing circlet from his
head; he leaned to place it on the head of Marahna, humbled before
him. With strong hands he raised her to her feet. His look, so tender
yet reserved, was full of meaning. She followed his every sign.

* * * * *

He waved once toward the sun, hidden behind the distant hills: he
pointed again to Winslow and himself and to their shining ship: and
again he marked the going of the sun. His meaning was plain--these
children of the sun must return to their far-off home.

He turned now to Marahna. In his hand was the object he had taken from
his pack. It was a treasured thing, this locket of platinum on its
thin and lacy chain; it had been his mother's, and he thought of her
now as he opened the clasp to show his own face framed