s a silken robe of blue.

Back she floated to us; hovered over Ruth, crouching with her brother's
head upon her knees.

She made a motion as though to draw the girl to her; hesitated as Ruth's
face set in a passion of denial. A shadow of kindness drifted through
the wide, mysterious eyes; a shadow of pity joined it as she looked
curiously down on Ventnor.

"Bathe," she murmured, and pointed to the pool. "And rest. No harm shall
come to any of you here. And you--" A hand rested for a moment lightly
on the girl's curly head. "When you desire it--I will again give
you--peace!"

She parted the curtains, and the eunuch still following, was hidden
beyond them.

CHAPTER XIII. "VOICE FROM THE VOID"

Helplessly we looked at each other. Then called forth perhaps by what
she saw in Drake's eyes, perhaps by another thought, Ruth's cheeks
crimsoned, her head drooped; the web of her hair hid the warm rose of
her face, the frozen pallor of Ventnor's.

Abruptly, she sprang to her feet. "Walter! Dick! Something's happening
to Martin!"

Before she had ceased we were beside her; bending over Ventnor. His
mouth was opening, slowly, slowly--with an effort agonizing to watch.
Then his voice came through lips that scarcely moved; faint, faint as
though it floated from infinite distances, a ghost of a voice whispering
with phantom breath out of a dead throat.

"Hard--hard! So hard!" the whispering complained. "Don't know how long I
can keep connection--with voice.

"Was fool to shoot. Sorry--might have gotten you in worse trouble--but
crazy with fear for Ruth--thought, too, might be worth chance.
Sorry--not my usual line--"

The thin thread of sound ceased. I felt my eyes fill with tears; it was
like Ventnor to flay himself like this for what he thought stupidity,
like him to make this effort to admit his supposed fault and crave
forgiveness--as like him as that mad attack upon the flaming Disk in its
own temple, surrounded by its ministers, had been so bafflingly unlike
his usual cool, collected self.

"Martin," I called, bending closer, "it's nothing, old friend. No one
blames you. Try to rouse yourself."

"Dear," it was Ruth, passionately tender, "it's me. Can you hear me?"

"Only speck of consciousness and motionless in the void," the whisper
began again. "Terribly alive, terribly alone. Seem outside space
yet--still in body. Can't see, hear, feel--short-circuited from every
sense--but in some strange way realize y