terial expectations. Besides, through her care and devotion he might in time recover, which would be matter for great pride. Yet inwardly she shrank from such a prospect, and prayed with all her heart that it might not have to be. Of all the afflictions that oppress mankind, insanity is the hardest for friends to accept and the hardest to reconcile with any faith in divine order.

"How is he this evening?"

"The poor lad? I reckon he's a lot better. The young chap's with him."

Clystis went across to the fire, over which, on a heavy chain, hung a bronze caldron. She was understandably proud of this, for there were not many to be seen in farm kitchens in the empire. Into it, of course, went practically everything edible. During harvest, Kerkol and Blarda had been lucky enough to kill two hares in the corn. These had been duly hung, skinned and quartered, and had gone into the pot that morning. This, as Maia well knew, was luxury.

Clystis added more water, stirred the pot with a wooden ladle and sipped.

"M'm, that's a nice broth! I'll put in a few brillions. I reckon he might manage some of it for supper, don't you?"

"Ah!" answered Maia. "I'll take it along, if you like."

"He's been talking to the young chap, you know," remarked Clystis casually.

"What?" Maia turned, staring as if unable to believe her ears. "Talking sense, d'you mean?"

"Young chap said so. Said he seemed ever so much better."

"Oh, Clystis!" Maia came over to the fire. "You couldn't have told me anything better!"

"Reckoned you'd be pleased."

Clystis had never said a word to suggest that she had perceived Maia's feelings about Zen-Kurel but, as Maia was well aware, not to have done so she would have to have been a lot stupider than she was.

Ladling out the broth, she gave Maia the bowl and a spoon. Across the steam and the savory smell the two girls met each other's eyes and smiled complicitly. Then Maia, holding the bowl carefully in both hands, made her way down the short, dark passage-way towards Zen-Kurel's room.

The door was just ajar. She had not yet reached it when her ear caught the sound of two voices-Zirek's and Zen-

ka's. She felt so happy that she could scarcely contain herself. It was she who should be talking to him, of course, not Zirek. Nevertheless, it occurred to her that in her present state of emotion it might perhaps be better not to burst in upon them. He still needed to be kept free from excitement. She paused to compose herself, and as she did so caught the tail-end of what Zirek had been saying.

"No, no, Fornis isn't here. You'll probably never see her again."

There was a pause, and then Zen-Kurel's own voice, the voice she remembered, restoring on the instant, as might a smell or a song, the entire feel of that night in Melvda-Rain, replied, "I don't-understand. Is she dead?"

Prom where Maia was standing his utterance was barely audible, thin as a stream shrunken by drought.

"Not that we know," answered Zirek. "She's in Bekla."

Zen-Kurd seemed, as best he could, to be weighing this. At length he said, "And we're not. Is that right?"

Zirek must have nodded, for after a moment he went on, "Then-where?"

"You're safe," said Zirek, "with friends. Nothing to worry about, sir. But you've been very ill. Why don't you just try to rest now?"

This time there was a still longer pause, almost as though Zen-Kurel had decided to follow this advice. Maia tiptoed forward and had just reached the threshold when he spoke again.

"Where's Anda-Nokomis, then? Is he dead?"

"Who?"

"Suban leader-withered hand-"

"Oh, he's here too; he's all right-more or less."

"Where-are we, then-with Erketlis?"

"No, but we're safe. Why don't you just rest now, sir?"

Zen-Kurel's next words, though still weak, were spoken in a tone of authority.

"I shall be able to rest better if you'll tell me a little more, please. What is this place?"

"A farm; a good way outside Bekla, quite lonely. We brought you here. We all escaped from Bekla together, you see, sir."

"Why-why did you need to escape, then?"

"Well; it was me as killed Sencho, you see-me and a girl. She's here too."

"You killed Sencho? You yoursclf?"

"You lie down, now!" said Zirek sharply. "You've been very ill, sir, and if you don't keep quiet you may be ill again, and that won't help anybody. These questions'll keep. I can't tell you everything all at once. Anyway, either Clystis or Maia'll be bringing your supper in a minute."

For a few moments Zen-Kurel made no reply. Then, in a tone of puzzled uncertainty, he asked, "Maia? Who's Maia?"

Zirek did not answer at once and he went on more urgently, "You don't mean-not the girl who swam the Valderra?"

"Yes, she's here with us," said Zirek.'

"Maia? But-but why don't you kill her, then?"

"Kill her? What you talking about? Why, it was her as got you and your friend out of prison in Bekla. Near as a touch got killed herself doing it."

Maia, holding her breath behind the door, stood still as moss.

"Then," said Zen-Kurel, "it can only have been for some vile, mean purpose. That bitch-" She heard Zirek try to answer, but he ran on, his voice rising, "She's the most treacherous, rotten whore in the world! Oh, yes, she fooled me all right! She betrayed us all and she'll betray you, too, if you don't kill her! I know what I'm talking about! Go and kill her now, before it's too late! Tell Anda-Nokomis I want to see him-get him in here-"

Maia heard no more. Still clutching the bowl of broth, she stumbled back up the passage and into the kitchen. Clystis, busy at the table, looked up in surprise.

"Wouldn't he have it, then?"

Maia, not answering and almost upsetting the bowl in putting it down, went across to the door that led into the yard.

"Maia, you all right?"

"Yes; I'll-I'll be back in a minute."

Out she ran, across the yard to the belt of trees. He wasn't there and she pushed through them, down the slopes beyond to the bank of the stream.

"Anda-Nokomis?" she called.

He stood up. He had been sitting in a kind of little arbor about a hundred yards downstream, where a tangle of scarlet trepsis trailed over the bushes. She ran along the bank, but just as she reached him tripped and measured

her length at his feet. He bent to help her up, but she only lay sobbing, face down, her head on her arms.

He knelt beside her. "What's happened, Maia? What's the matter?"

"Zenka! Zen-Kurel, Anda-Nokomis-"

"O gods! Has he taken a turn for the worse?"

"No no! He's able to talk now. He told Zirek-I heard him, I was in the passage-he said I was the rottenest- woman in the world; he said why didn't you kill me-" Her weeping became passionate and uncontrollable.

Bayub-Otal waited in silence. At length, in a cold, expressionless tone, he asked, "Are you so very much surprised?"

"What, Anda-Nokomis?" She knelt up and looked at him, her face swollen and tear-wet. After a moment, like a child driven to desperation by someone else's inexplicable failure to understand the obvious, she shouted, "Well, 'course I am! What d'you think-"

He took her hand and she allowed him to lead her the few steps into the arbor. Here there was a big log, from which a segment had been cut, making a flat seat. They sat side by side. The stream below was a mere trickle, almost lost among clumps of water-plants and dried beds of weed. A pair of green dragonflies were hovering and darting here and there.

"There's a lot I'm extremely puzzled about," he said, "and obviously if we're to go on at all it's got to be sorted out. Do you want to talk, or shall I?"

She was still weeping, but he made no attempt to check or comfort her. After a little he went on, "One thing's plain: you evidently don't see what's happened in the same light as I do or as Zen-Kurel does. If you did, you wouldn't be here."