t, and as we swung, slowly sinking.

And now I saw the countless eyes of the watching wall again were
twinkling, regarding us with impish mockery.

It was the grip of the living wall that held us; that rocked us from
side to side as though giving greater breadths of it chance to behold
us; that was dropping us gently, carefully, to the valley floor now a
scant two thousand feet below.

A storm of rage, of intensest resentment swept me; as once before any
gratitude I should have felt for escape was submerged in the utter
humiliation with which it was charged.

I shook my fists at the twinkling wall, strove to kick and smite it like
an angry child, cursed it--not childishly. Dared it to hurl me down to
death.

I felt Drake's hand touch mine.

"Steady," he said. "Steady, old boy. It's no use. Steady. Look down."

Hot with shame for my outburst, weak from its violence, I obeyed. The
valley floor was not more than a thousand feet away. Thronging about
where we must at last touch, clustered and seething, was a multitude of
the Metal Things. They seemed to be looking up at us, watching, waiting
for us.

"Reception committee," grinned Drake.

I glanced away; over the valley. It was luminously clear; yet the sky
was overcast, no stars showing. The light was no stronger than that of
the moon at full, but it held a quality unfamiliar to me. It cast no
shadows; though soft, it was piercing, revealing all it bathed with the
distinctness of bright sunshine. The illumination came, I thought, from
the encircling veils falling from the band of amethyst.

And, as I peered, out of the veils and far away sped a violet spark.
With meteor speed it flew toward us. Close to the base of the vast
facade it landed with a flashing of blue incandescence. I knew it
for one of the Flying Things, the Mark Makers--one of the incredible
messengers.

Close upon its fall came increase in the turmoil of the crowding throng
awaiting us. Came, too, an abrupt change in our own motion. The long
arcs lessened. We were dropped more swiftly.

Far away in the direction from which the Flying Thing had flown I
sensed another movement; something coming that carried with it subtle
suggestion of unlikeness to all the other incessant, linked movement
over the pit. Closer it drew.

"Norhala!" gasped Drake.

Robed in her silken amber swathings, red-copper hair streaming, woven
with elfin sparklings, she was racing toward the City like some lovely
witch,