stop. But the rage in his voice only spurred on the girl to greater
effort.

Along the trail they raced, a few yards apart, their sandaled feet
kicking up little puffs of dust and powdered vegetation. The
nimble-footed girl was gradually increasing her lead, seeking to gain
the bend in the trail with enough time for concealment before Meltor
could catch sight of her again.

And then, without warning, something caught at her ankle, plunging her
headlong to the ground with terrific force. Half-stunned, she made a
weak effort to regain her feet, when a strong hand grasped her roughly
by an arm and jerked her upright.

* * * * *

The rage-distorted face of Meltor swam hazily before her. She blinked
rapidly in an effort to dispel the fog.

"You little fool!" The words seemed to come to her from across a great
distance. "Try that again, and I'll--"

There sounded a sharp ringing "crack," and Dylara staggered back, her
left cheek flaming from the force of an open-handed blow.

The slap transformed the girl from a dazed, bewildered child into an
infuriated tigress; and for the next few moments Meltor had all he could
do to keep from being badly mauled.

Exhausted, she finally sank to her knees and burst into a storm of
tears. Meltor stood by, more or less winded himself, fingering a long
scratch alongside his nose, waiting for the girl to regain composure.

At last he pulled her to her feet, and urged her along the path into the
west. Dylara, her once spotless tunic grimy and torn, accompanied him
docilely now, too weary to resist. She knew by this time that Jotan had
nothing to do with her abduction; no hireling of his would dare handle
her so roughly.

An hour later they entered a small clearing, deep in the heart of the
jungle. In the center of the open ground stood a rambling, one-storied
building of gray stone, weather-beaten and unkempt, its unprotected
windows staring vacantly like the dull lifeless eyes of a corpse.
Despite the flame-tipped rays of the mid-afternoon sun which flooded the
clearing, Dylara shivered, conscious of the miasmatic atmosphere of the
place.

Nor was Meltor entirely unaffected by the eerie aspect of dead Rydob's
former residence. Details of stories he had heard about the old hermit
came to him now, and he caught himself glancing nervously about.

A short series of stone steps led to the half open door. A profusion of
vines and creepers had sprung up u