Sun! The sun-god has sent
him--he will set us free. He will restore our lost cities. The People
of the Light will spread out to fill the new land; they will multiply,
and once more will be a mighty nation, living happily as of old in
their own lost world.

"Dean!" he called. "Dean--Messenger of the Sun!" He was drawn to his
full frail height, his arms outstretched. But Rawson saw the old eyes
close, sensed the first slackening of that tense body; it was he who
sprang and caught the sagging figure in his arms, then lowered the
lifeless body to the floor of crystal white.

Even happiness can kill. A feeble heart can cease to beat under the
stress of emotions too beautiful to be borne. And Rotan, wisest of the
wise, had passed on to serve his sun-god in another world.

And thereafter, Rawson, Dean-Rah-Sun, was undeniably a god. But he
wondered, even then, while the others dropped to their knees in humble
worship, why Loah, her eyes brimming over with tears, had broken
suddenly into uncontrollable sobs and had rushed blindly, swiftly,
from the room.

* * * * *

To Rawson the unwavering, simple faith of the White Ones was only an
added misery. Rotan's vision was accepted by them unquestioningly;
their adoring eyes followed Rawson wherever he went, while the
children carpeted his path to the holy mountain with golden flowers.

And there Rawson would sit, cursing silently his own helplessness,
while the voice of the mountain told of further devastation up above.
His plans for leading a force against the mole-men were abandoned. On
the island, all that was left of this inner world, were only some two
thousand persons, men, women and children. And the children were few;
the population had been rigorously kept down. Their present number was
all that the island would support, though every possible foot of
ground was tilled.

"Only a handful of them," Rawson admitted despondently, "and not a
weapon of any sort. They've kept by themselves. Only Loah and a few
of the others had enough curiosity and nerve to scout around where the
mole-men live. She even understands their talk! Lord, what I'd give
for a thousand like her, a thousand men with her nerve! Then, with
weapons, and means of transportation...." But at that he stopped,
aware of the futility of all such thoughts.

He had tried to talk to Gor, tried to tell him of his own limitations.
And Gor had only smiled pleasantly and repeated "Rota