tle white hand, my real reward.... Enough!"

And then he offered us a sort of pseudo-liberty. We might all come and
go about the Great City at will. Apparently--to the public eye--allied
to Tarrano. The Princess Maida--as before--hereditary honored ruler;
with Tarrano guiding the business affairs of State, as on Earth our
Presidents and their Councils rule the legendary Kings and Queens. The
one ruling in fact; the other, an affair of pretty sentiment.

It was this condition which Tarrano now desired to bring about. With
Georg already beloved for his medical knowledge; and flying rumors
(started no doubt by Tarrano) that the handsome Earth man would some day
marry their Princess.

Myself--the irony of it!--I was appointed a sort of bodyguard to the
Lady Elza--the little Earth girl whose presence in the Great City would
help conciliate the Earth and bring about universal peace--with Venus in
control.

So ran the popular fancy, guided by Tarrano. We were given our
pseudo-liberty, watched always by the unseen eyes of Tarrano's guards.
And there was nothing we could do but accept our status. Tarrano was
guiding his destiny cleverly. Yet underneath it all, unseen forces were
at work. We sensed them. The _slaans_--submissive at their menial tasks,
but everywhere with sullen, resentful glances. Perhaps Tarrano realized
his danger; but I do not think that he, any more than the rest of us,
realized what the Water Festival was to bring forth.

That night--our first night on Venus--midway between the darkness of
sunset and the dawn--we buried Wolfgar. The air was soft and warm, with
a gentle breeze that riffled the placid waters of the lake. Overhead,
the sky gleamed with a myriad stars--reddish stars, all of them like Red
Mars himself as seen through the heavy Venus atmosphere. Largest of
them, the Earth. My birthplace! Save Elza here with me on Venus, that
tiny red spot in the heavens, red like the tip of a lighted
arrant-cylinder, held all that was dear to me!

The funeral cortege--a solemn line of panoplied boats, started from the
palace. Boats hung with purple fabric. In single file they wended their
way through the city streets. From every landing, balcony, window and
roof-top, the people stared down at us. The street corners were hung
with shaded tubes of light, shining down with spots of color to the
water.

As we passed, the people bowed their heads, hands to their foreheads,
palms outward. The gesture of grief. F