In the Antarctic land, news is the one thing that travels fast. Thought still moves with comparative quickness there, and whatever lies in the mind of one is as though put on a bulletin board, to become the property of all.

Through the darkness of the approaching storm we saw before we reached the foot of the stairway the gathering of many torches on the shore beyond. Evidently there was some unusual movement abroad which could not be wholly due to the coming tempest. In the gathering dusk I saw now that the faces of those about us were filled with deep and increasing concern. At the water’s edge Ferratoni turned to us and said hurriedly:

“The people are much aroused at the plans we have discussed on the temple. They believe the innovations proposed would destroy their present mode of life and result in their downfall as a race. They believe, too, that the Sun has darkened in anger, and they have joined it yonder in a great protest against us. The Princess considers it unsafe that we should cross over until she has pacified them with her presence. She asks that we keep here the smaller barge, and remain for the present in the sanctity of the temple, where harm may not befall us. She will communicate with me mentally, and inform us as to further advisabilities.”

We gazed across at the torches that were now crowding to the water’s edge. Gale had said that we would make things hum, but he had not counted on the humming beginning with such promptness. A medley of mingled voices and angry shouts was borne to us by the cool air that preceded the coming storm. We could see faces distorted by the torch-flare and strange rage until they had lost all semblance to those of the gentle people we had known. The old savagery of the benighted and unsceptred race that two thousand years before had been eager to destroy the gentle prophet risen among them, and that again long afterwards had sought the life of him who would harness the winds to serve them, was once more abroad, and its cry was for blood.

“But see here, Tony,” protested Gale. “We’re not going to let the Princess and these friends of ours go over into that mob. I stirred up this racket, and I’ll see it through. Any one of us can handle a dozen of those sissies. They might make a set at their own people, but four fellows like us can wade through them like a cyclone.”

“Not as they are now,” said Ferratoni. “They are not the people we have known. As for the Princess, she is holy—they will not harm her—and these others have in no way offended. It is wiser to accept the advice of the Princess and remain here. We should only make her task harder by going.”

I had been ready to join with Gale in facing the people beyond the lake, but I realized the wisdom of Ferratoni’s words and said nothing. Mr. Sturritt too was silent, though I could see that, as usual, he was “with the Admiral,” in whatever the latter might undertake or agree upon.

The Princess and the others now embarked without further delay. The storm overhead was almost upon us. Lightning was more frequent, and the thunder rolling nearer. Large drops of rain were already falling.

The Princess was first to enter her barge. As she did so, she turned and took both of Ferratoni’s hands. Whereupon the three maidens to whom we others had paid some slight attention, likewise turned, and each followed her royal example. Through the mirk a gentle face for a brief instant looked up into mine. Then there came a flash of lightning that turned into an aureola her silken yellow hair. Our attentions had been the merest courtesies, as I have said, but in the instant of blackness that followed I leaned hastily down, and——

What the others did I do not know; I could not see well in the darkness.

We watched them until they reached the other side. The torches crowded thickly to the landing as the barge approached, and a wave of turbulent voices was borne across to us. We saw the torches go swaying to the palace, and a flash of lightning showed them crowding through the gates—the canopy of the Princess borne ahead. Then we retired within the temple, for the storm broke heavily.

It was dark in there, and the air was heavy with the odor of mingled flowers. We groped about until we found something that had steps and cushions on it, where we sat down. We believed it to be the great altar of the sun, which we had been told was so placed in the center of the temple that from every point the sun’s rays touched it, and so lingered throughout the long day. It was probably about the safest spot we could find for the present. Then we waited, while the thunder roared and crashed and the rain outside came down.

“Say,” whispered Gale, “but haven’t I set them swarming! Oh, Lord—what’s a bull without a bee-hive!”

Ferratoni left us presently and went to the doorway, perhaps for a better mental current. We followed him, but all was dark beyond the lake. We presently left him there and returned to our comfort within. The thunder gradually died and the rain slackened, though the darkness did not pass. Suddenly Ferratoni hurried back to us.

They were coming, he said. They had refused to respect the desires of the Princess, or even the sanctity of the temple. They considered that we had violated their hospitality, and they demanded our lives. They had not put anybody to death in that country for five hundred years, but they were ready to do so now, and to begin with us. They had condemned all new mechanisms, and even the invention of the Princess and her brother—the dark-dispeller—they were at this moment preparing to throw into the lake. The telephones they had destroyed, utterly.

“Don’t blame ’em much for pitching that lighting machine into the lake,” muttered Gale, “I wanted to do that, myself. But how about us? Are we going to let ’em pitch us in?”

“There are two chances,” replied Ferratoni. “One is immediate flight to the court of the Prince, who will endeavor to give protection and assistance. The other is safety, here. It is pardon—the Pardon of Love.”

“The what?” asked Gale. “Oh, yes, I remember, now. The old law that—um—yes—who are they?”

“The three,” said Ferratoni, “the three whose hands were pressed in parting. They are willing to grant life—and love. They are coming even now, with the others. You must decide—and quickly!”

It had grown very still in the temple. So still that Gale said afterwards he could hear his hair falling out. It was probably but a few seconds before he spoke, though it seemed much longer.

“Nick,” he said, “we’re up against it, hard. It’s marry or move; which will you do?”

My mind was a tumult and a confusion, but the memory of Edith Gale’s words became a path of light.

“Move!” I said, “and with no waste of time!”

“What about you, Tony? Are you in on the deal, too?”

“I know not. I am at the will and service of the Princess. She has not yet spoken.”

“And you, Bill, what do you vote for?”

“I—I—that is—I’m with the Admiral, as always.”

“And the Admiral is for getting out of here. I’ve no fault to find with the young ladies, but I’ve got business in Bottle Bay. Come!”

We hastened outside. It was still dark and a second shower had gathered, though we did not notice this fact. What we did see was that more than half-way across the strip of water that separated us from the shore there was a crowd of torchlit barges, and that they were coming rapidly. For once in their lives these people had forgotten, and were hurrying. In front of the others came a smaller barge, driven by the sturdiest of their rowers. In it sat the Lady of the Lilies, and the three who had pressed our hands at parting. Clearly, there was no time to lose.

We made a hasty attempt to loosen our boat, but fumbled the knot and lost time.

“Haste, or you will be too late,” urged Ferratoni.

“Oh, Lord,” groaned Gale, “if we just hadn’t left our propeller boat down yonder!”

But at that instant the knot untied, and we tumbled in. We had no light and we did not believe they could see us, though they were now very near. Ferratoni still lingered on the step, looking at the approaching barges.

“Come on, Tony,” urged Gale, “don’t take any chances!”

But bending over he caught our boat, and with a push sent us down the tide.

“Go,” he said, “I am not coming. I wait the will and service of the Princess!”

Yet we hesitated to leave him. A heavy projection, or coping, extended from the lower terrace out over the water, and in the blackness beneath we drifted and waited. We could not see Ferratoni from where we lay, but we could watch the oncoming barges and were near enough to get quickly into the midst of things in case of violence. In the end it would almost certainly mean death to us all, but we felt that with the serviceable oars as weapons, we could give some previous account of ourselves.

On came the barges. The first with the Princess was presently at the steps, and almost immediately the others. We saw the Lady of the Lilies and her three companions ascend hastily to where we had left Ferratoni. From the other barges poured a horde of wild-faced creatures, curiously armed with quaint weapons of a forgotten age. We waited until with a fierce clamor they were rushing up the stairs, then with a push against the abutment to which we were clinging, we sent our boat up nearer, and out where we could see.

And now we realized that Ferratoni was no longer where we had left him, but had retired within the temple that we might have a better opportunity to escape unseen. The mob was pushing through the entrance noisily.

“We’ll get round to the north door quick!” whispered Gale. “Mebbe we can see there what’s going on inside, and it’ll be handier to leave suddenly if we decide to.”

By north, Gale meant the direction from which we had entered the country, and by which we now hoped to get out of it. The current ran strongly in that direction, and a stroke of the oars sent us swiftly along the wall. A vivid flash of lightning as we turned the corner, followed by quick thunder, told that the second shower was upon us.

Just below the temple we were caught in a fierce swirl. For a moment it well-nigh swamped our light craft. Then with scornful violence it flung us to the landing steps on that side. We leaped out, each with an oar, and seizing the barge drew it up a little on the lower step, so that it would hold, without fastening. Then we hurried up the stair, and crept cautiously to the entrance.

From the great depths within, there came a general babel that seemed to increase as we approached. By the tone of it they had not yet found Ferratoni. I believe now that in the turbulence of an anger heretofore unknown to them, their perceptions must have been disordered, that they had become mentally blind. But suddenly, just as we slipped into the dark tunnel-like entrance, and parted the heavy curtains beyond, there came a wild uproar as of discovery, then—silence.

We had been about to rush in and do what we could to aid our companion, but Gale, who was ahead and got the first glimpse beyond the curtain, stopped us. Then he drew the curtain still farther aside, and we all looked in.

About the center of the vast depths, the crowded torches were swaying. They made a lurid circle, beyond which the symboled and draped walls melted into shadows and blackness. But in the midst of the torches rose the great central altar, still bestrewn with the flowers of their recent ceremonial. About its base the angry ones had gathered, while above them, before the very shrine of the Sun itself, there stood two of the fairest creatures under heaven—our own beautiful Ferratoni, and at his side, her arms laid about his shoulders, the Princess of the Lilied Hills.

Chauncey Gale insists that grouped on a lower step of the altar, bowed like the children of Niobe, were those who would have granted also to us the sacred Pardon of Love. But I did not see them, nor did Mr. Sturritt, and I do not believe Gale did, either. Indeed, we had eyes only for those other two. Like the populace, spellbound and speechless, forgetting our own existence, we stood and gaped at them. Gale was first to recall himself.

“Tableau!” he said, “show’s over! Let’s ring down the curtain, now, and get out of here, quick!”

Yet we lingered for one final look. And lo, all at once, from some high oriel window, there fell upon them a long golden bar of the returning sunlight. And the silence about them awakened to a wondering murmur that grew to a low chant, then quickly increased in volume, bursting at last into a mighty anthem which we recognized as their marriage chorus.

“Come! Come!” insisted Gale. “That isn’t for us. The orchestra is playing us out. Let’s take the hint and go before they change their minds. ’Tisn’t our wedding, and we don’t want it to be our funeral, either.”

Reluctantly we dropped the curtains then, and hastened down the steps. It was still raining wispily, but the sun was rifting through, and a wonderful rainbow arched the black sky opposite. We pushed off our boat, and bent to the oars with all our strength, sending the light barge swiftly down the tide that between the Lilied Hills, through the Purple Fields, and under the Plains of White found its way at last to the far-off Billowcrest—and home.