l. "It is destruction, but I love you more than I
fear--death!"

Dan's arms were about her. "No, Galatea! No! Promise me!"

She murmured, "I can promise and then break my promise." She drew his
head down; their lips touched, and he felt a fragrance and a taste like
honey in her kiss. "At least," she breathed. "I can give you a name by
which to love you. Philometros! Measure of my love!"

"A name?" muttered Dan. A fantastic idea shot through his mind--a way of
proving to himself that all this was reality, and not just a page that
any one could read who wore old Ludwig's magic spectacles. If Galatea
would speak his name! Perhaps, he thought daringly, perhaps then he
could stay! He thrust her away.

"Galatea!" he cried. "Do you remember my name?"

She nodded silently, her unhappy eyes on his.

"Then say it! Say it, dear!"

She stared at him dumbly, miserably, but made no sound.

"Say it, Galatea!" he pleaded desperately. "My name, dear--just my
name!" Her mouth moved; she grew pale with effort and Dan could have
sworn that his name trembled on her quivering lips, though no sound
came.

At last she spoke. "I can't, dearest one! Oh, I can't! A law forbids
it!" She stood suddenly erect, pallid as an ivory carving. "Leucon
calls!" she said, and darted away. Dan followed along the pebbled path,
but her speed was beyond his powers; at the portal he found only the
Grey Weaver standing cold and stern. He raised his hand as Dan appeared.

"Your time is short," he said. "Go, thinking of the havoc you have
done."

"Where's Galatea?" gasped Dan.

"I have sent her away." The old man blocked the entrance; for a moment
Dan would have struck him aside, but something withheld him. He stared
wildly about the meadow--there! A flash of silver beyond the river, at
the edge of the forest. He turned and raced toward it, while motionless
and cold the Grey Weaver watched him go.

"Galatea!" he called. "Galatea!"

He was over the river now, on the forest bank, running through columned
vistas that whirled about him like mist. The world had gone cloudy; fine
flakes danced like snow before his eyes; Paracosma was dissolving around
him. Through the chaos he fancied a glimpse of the girl, but closer
approach left him still voicing his hopeless cry of "Galatea!"

After an endless time, he paused; something familiar about the spot
struck him, and just as the red sun edged above him, he recognized the
place--the very point at which he ha