ter, in
the depths of which lurked odd purple shadows. Dandtan stripped and
plunged in, Garin following his example. The water was tinglingly alive
and they did not linger in it long. From it they went to a bubble room
such as the one Garin had rested in after the bath of light rays, and on
the cushions in its center stretched their tired bodies.

When Garin awoke he experienced the same exultation he had felt before.
Dandtan regarded him with a smile. "Now to work," he said, as he reached
out to press a knob set in the wall.

Two of the Folk appeared, bringing with them clean trappings. After they
dressed and broke their fast, Dandtan started for the laboratories.
Garin would have gone with him, but Sera intercepted them.

"There is one would speak with Lord Garin...."

Dandtan laughed. "Go," he ordered the American. "Thrala's commands may
not be slighted."

The Hall of Women was deserted. And the corridor beyond, roofed and
walled with slabs of rose-shot crystal, was as empty. Sera drew aside a
golden curtain and they were in the audience chamber of the Daughter.

A semi-circular dais of the clearest crystal, heaped with rose and gold
cushions, faced them. Before it, a fountain, in the form of a flower
nodding on a curved stem, sent a spray of water into a shallow basin.
The walls of the room were divided into alcoves by marble pillars, each
one curved in semblance of a fern frond.

From the domed ceiling, on chains of twisted gold, seven lamps, each
wrought from a single yellow sapphire, gave soft light. The floor was a
mosaic of gold and crystal.

Two small Anas, who had been playing among the cushions, pattered up to
exchange greetings with Garin's. But of the mistress of the chamber
there was no sign. Garin turned to Sera, but before he could phrase his
question, she asked mockingly:

"Who is the Lord Garin that he can not wait with patience?" But she left
in search of the Daughter.

Garin glanced uneasily about the room. This jeweled chamber was no place
for him. He had started toward the door when Thrala stepped within.

"Greetings to the Daughter." His voice sounded formal and cold, even to
himself.

Her hands, which had been outheld in welcome, dropped to her sides. A
ghost of a frown dimmed her beauty.

"Greetings, Garin," she returned slowly.

"You sent for me--" he prompted, eager to escape from this jewel box and
the unattainable treasure it held.

"Yes," the coldness of her tone was an