But Maia was not where they had expected. Exercising the privilege of the frissoor, she had taken possession of the dais behind their backs; and here she was lying on the great table, all among the scattered flower-garlands, her parted legs, bent at the knees, clasped about her invisible lover as Lespa writhed in her joy. No one saw her until, she gave a swift, inarticulate cry of pleasure-the only sound she had uttered all through the story-they turned in surprise, pressing forward, all of them consumed to look at her once again as she lay striving in the half-light, head flung back and hair streaming.

So now they themselves had involuntarily assumed the part of the villagers-the mean-minded louts and harridans come to besmirch her bliss, to rub the butterfly's wings between their dirty fingers and thumbs. Lespa, suddenly aware of them, buried her face in her hands, rolled quickly over and dropped off the table into the shadow beneath.

Following the tradition of the senguela, the climax of the reppa-the apotheosis of Lespa through the celestial love of Shakkarn-could be represented in various ways, according to the resources of the occasion and the temperament of the dancer. Sometimes, when her surroundings made this practicable, the girl would pace, divine and unheeding, straight through the audience, ascend a staircase and so be gone; or again, she might be escorted by children dressed as cherubs to a goat-horned throne set

among clouds and stars. But no such help was available to Maia. Neither could Fordil help her. Yet on the music went, an audible expression of that ineffable harmony forever sounding in the ears of the gods, and on she must go with it. Slowly she stood up, her face radiant (and goodness knows I got something to be happy about, she thought, else I'm very much mistook), and began, on the level floor of the dais, to climb easily upward, her limbs unhindered by the least weight from her body-for had she not become a goddess?-first through the trees (she parted their branches before her), then through the clouds and at last among the glittering aisles of the stars. Once or twice she stretched out a hand-the graceful, sturdy girl-to that of her divine lover, manifest now as the god Shakkarn, he whose animal nature she had accepted in herself and embraced in her erstwhile humanity. He ascended with her until, among the last whisperings of the hinnaris and the lightest breathings of the flutes, she stood motionless, arms outspread, head down-bent in blessing, to take up her eternal, nightly task of scattering truth in dreams to all the dwellers upon earth. And thus she remained, aloft upon the table and gazing gravely downward as the music at last died away and ceased.

For long seconds there was silence throughout the hall. Then a murmur like a sigh rose from her audience. As it died away a man in a blue robe, standing a few feet from Sarget, asked him, "Who is the girl?" Before Sarget could reply, however, Elvair-ka-Virrion, looking quickly round, answered "She's Maia-from Serrelind!" At this others, laughing, began teasing the blue-robed man, turning towards him and echoing, "Maia! She's Maia!"

Gradually this took on the nature of an ovation. "Maia!" called Elvair-ka-Virrion again, raising his hand in the traditional sign of salute to the winner of a contest. Shend-Lador and several other young men took it up. One, pushing his way forward, climbed the steps of the dais and fell on his knees before the table. From all sides came cries of "Maia! Maia!" as the company, both men and women, raised their hands, fingers outspread, in the gesture of acclaim.

Maia, bewildered now and uncertain what it would be best for her to do, still made no response, even with a glance or a smile. During the close of the reppa she had become virtually oblivious of being watched. Self-forgot-

ten as a child in play, to herself she had been Lespa, and had even seen the dreams drinting like snowflakes from her down-turned fingers upon the sleeping earth below. She had not forsaken her audience; she had transcended them. She had, in fact, been not far from the presence of the goddess; and was seldom to feel herself so close again (such moments, not to be commanded even through the greatest skill or experience, being a matter of grace and coming when they will). At no time, of course, had she ceased being to some extent aware of her real surroundings, but during the dance their aspect and her relation to them had become transformed. Now they slowly resumed once more their normal, mundane properties. The effect was a kind of shock. As everyone round her was noisily affirming, she was Maia, standing naked on a table before the eyes of some eighty men and women whom she had just excited to fever-pitch. What should she do now? Climb down from the table, scramble back into her dress and accept a drink? This struck her as less than seemly. Yet for the life of her she could not think of any truly fitting way to conclude what she had accomplished.

So there she stood, unmoving. It was Sarget himself- probably the most sensitive man in the room-who, discerning her predicament, came to her rescue. A slave had already retrieved her dress from where she had shed it and was now standing near the doors, holding it over his arm. Sarget, however, ignored him, went quickly out into the corridor and, before the ovation had subsided, returned carrying a fur cloak. Climbing onto the table, he stood for a few moments beside the still-rapt Maia, smiling and waving acknowledgment on her behalf. Then, wrapping the cloak round her shoulders, he helped her down and gave her his arm out of the hall.

Sarget, having led her to a room along the corridor, remained only to speak a few words of praise-Maia could do no more than smile in reply-before leaving her alone. What he might be going to arrange she had no idea and felt too much exhausted even to wonder.

A minute later Nennaunir came in, carrying the cherry-colored dress.

"Do you know what you've done, my dear?" she asked. "They've all gone mad for you! There are forty goats out

there, not just one-and if they're not gods, at least they're real. Gods don't give lygols, either. If you want your pick I shouldn't leave it too long, 'cos you've put all the girls in heat as well."

"The girls?" answered Maia vaguely. "How's that, then?"

"Oh, really, my dear, surely you know-women get almost more excited than men when they watch that sort of thing. Every woman fancies it's herself up there, driving all the men out of their minds. But you were splendid, you know. Wherever did you learn?"

"Occula taught me-just to pass the time, kind of style."

"Really? Then, Maia dear, all I can say is you've got great talent: you certainly mustn't waste it. I'll gladly help you. I'll-" She broke off. "But how can I, while you belong to that pig? Does he know you can do that?"

Maia laughed. "Didn't know it myself. No, he don't; nor he wouldn't care if he did."

Suddenly there rose before her mind's eye the face of Chia, the cast-eyed girl whom she and Occula had met at Lalloc's. What sort of luck might Chia have had since then? Little enough, most likely. How strange, she thought, to find myself sorry to belong to the High Counselor of Bekla! Don't know when I'm well off, do I?

"Whose is this cloak, d'you suppose?" she asked, to change the subject; for Nennaunir would not want to continue talking about Sencho. "What a beauty, isn't it?" She slipped it off and began getting dressed.

"It's mine," said the shearna. "I told Sarget to take it for you. The governor of Kabin gave it me last time he was here. It cost eight thousand meld."

"Eight thousand meld?" Maia stared.

"Governors collect taxes; didn't you know? Otherwise why be a governor? Don't worry, pet-you go on as you've started and you'll be getting as good before long, take my word for it. Anyway, I'll give you a hand with your dress if you like: and here's a comb. You ought to go back while they're still asking for you, you know. Who's the girl who came with you, by the way? Pretty, isn't she? Does she belong to filthy Sencho, too?"