stopped yet?"
The dark eyes dropped; he was amazed to see a deep, embarrassed flushspread over her cheeks. She looked at Leucon nodding reflectively on hisbench, then back to Dan, meeting his gaze.
"Not yet," he said.
"And when will you, Galatea?"
"When I have had the one child permitted me. You see"--she stared downat her dainty toes--"one cannot--bear children--afterwards."
"Permitted? Permitted by whom?"
"By a law."
"Laws! Is everything here governed by laws? What of chance andaccidents?"
"What are those--chance and accidents?"
"Things unexpected--things unforeseen."
"Nothing is unforeseen," said Galatea, still soberly. She repeatedslowly, "Nothing is unforeseen." He fancied her voice was wistful.
Leucon looked up. "Enough of this," he said abruptly. He turned to Dan,"I know these words of yours--chance, disease, death. They are not forParacosma. Keep them in your unreal country."
"Where did you hear them, then?"
"From Galatea's mother," said the Grey Weaver, "who had them from yourpredecessor--a phantom who visited here before Galatea was born."
Dan had a vision of Ludwig's face. "What was he like?"
"Much like you."
"But his name?"
The old man's mouth was suddenly grim. "We do not speak of him," he saidand rose, entering the dwelling in cold silence.
"He goes to weave," said Galatea after a moment. Her lovely, piquantface was still troubled.
"What does he weave?"
"This," She fingered the silver cloth of her gown. "He weaves it out ofmetal bars on a very clever machine. I do not know the method."
"Who made the machine?"
"It was here."
"But--Galatea! Who built the house? Who planted these fruit trees?"
"They were here. The house and trees were always here." She lifted hereyes. "I told you everything had been foreseen, from the beginning untileternity--everything. The house and trees and machine were ready forLeucon and my parents and me. There is a place for my child, who will bea girl, and a place for her child--and so on forever."
Dan thought a moment. "Were you born here?"
"I don't know." He noted in sudden concern that her eyes were glisteningwith tears.
"Galatea, dear! Why are you unhappy? What's wrong?"
"Why, nothing!" She shook her black curls, smiled suddenly at him. "Whatcould be wrong? How can one be unhappy in Paracosma?" She sprang erectand seized his hand. "Come! Let's gather fruit for tomorrow."
She darted off in a whirl of flashing silver, and Dan followed heraround the wing of the edifice. Graceful as a dancer she leaped for abranch above her head, caught it laughingly, and tossed a great goldenglobe to him. She loaded his arms with the bright prizes and sent himback to the bench, and when he returned, she piled it so full of fruitthat a deluge of colorful spheres dropped around him. She laughed again,and sent them spinning into the brook with thrusts of her rosy toes,while Dan watched her with an aching wistfulness. Then suddenly she wasfacing him; for a long, tense instant they stood motionless, eyes uponeyes, and then she turned away and walked slowly around to the archedportal. He followed her with his burden of fruit; his mind was once morein a turmoil of doubt and perplexity.
The little sun was losing itself behind the trees of that colossalforest to the west, and a coolness stirred among long shadows. The brookwas purple-hued in the dusk, but its cheery notes mingled still with theflower music. Then the sun was hidden; the shadow fingers darkened themeadow; of a sudden the flowers were still, and the brook gurgled alonein a world of silence. In silence too, Dan entered the doorway.
The chamber within was a spacious one, floored with large black andwhite squares; exquisite benches of carved marble were here and there.Old Leucon, in a far corner, bent over an intricate, glisteningmechanism, and as Dan entered he drew a shining length of silver clothfrom it, folded it, and placed it carefully aside. There was a curious,unearthly fact that Dan noted; despite windows open to the evening, nonight insects circled the globes that glowed at intervals from niches inthe walls.
Galatea stood in a doorway to his left, leaning half-wearily against theframe; he placed the bowl of fruit on a bench at the entrance and movedto her side.
"This is yours," she said, indicating the room beyond. He looked in upona pleasant, smaller chamber; a window framed a starry square, and athin, swift, nearly silent stream of water gushed from the mouth of acarved human head on the left wall, curving into a six-foot basin sunkin the floor. Another of the graceful benches covered with the silvercloth completed the furnishings; a single glowing sphere, pendant by achain from the ceiling, illuminated the room. Dan turned to the girl,whose eyes were still unwontedly serious.
"This is ideal," he said, "but, Galatea, how am I to turn out thelight?"
"Turn it out?" she said. "You must cap it--so!" A faint smile showedagain on her lips as she dropped a metal covering over the shiningsphere. They stood tense in the darkness; Dan sensed her nearnessachingly, and then the light was on once more. She moved toward thedoor, and there paused, taking his hand.
"Dear shadow," she said softly, "I hope your dreams are music." She wasgone.
Dan stood irresolute in his chamber; he glanced into the large roomwhere Leucon still bent over his work, and the Grey Weaver raised a handin a solemn salutation, but said nothing. He felt no urge for the oldman's silent company and turned back into his room to prepare forslumber.
* * * * *
Almost instantly, it seemed, the dawn was upon him and bright elfinpipings were all about him, while the odd ruddy sun sent a broadslanting plane of light across the room. He rose as fully aware of hissurroundings as if he had not slept at all; the pool tempted him and hebathed in stinging water. Thereafter he emerged into the centralchamber, noting curiously that the globes still glowed in dim rivalry tothe daylight. He touched one casually; it was cool as metal to hisfingers, and lifted freely from its standard. For a moment he held thecold flaming thing in his hands, then replaced it and wandered into thedawn.
Galatea was dancing up the path, eating a strange fruit as rosy as herlips. She was merry again, once more the happy nymph who had greetedhim, and she gave him a bright smile as he chose a sweet green ovoid forhis breakfast.
"Come on!" she called. "To the river!"
She skipped away toward the unbelievable forest; Dan followed, marvelingthat her lithe speed was so easy a match for his stronger muscles. Thenthey were laughing in the pool, splashing about until Galatea drewherself to the bank, glowing and panting. He followed her as she layrelaxed; strangely, he was neither tired nor breathless, with no senseof exertion. A question recurred to him, as yet unasked.
"Galatea," said his voice, "Whom will you take as mate?"
Her eyes went serious. "I don't know," she said. "At the proper time hewill come. That is a law."
"And will you be happy?"
"Of course." She seemed troubled. "Isn't everyone happy?"
"Not where I live, Galatea."
"Then that must be a strange place--that ghostly world of yours. Arather terrible place."
"It is, often enough," Dan agreed. "I wish--" He paused. What did hewish? Was he not talking to an illusion, a dream, an apparition? Helooked at the girl, at her glistening black hair, her eyes, her softwhite skin, and then, for a tragic moment, he tried to feel the arms ofthat drab hotel chair beneath his hands--and failed. He smiled; hereached out his fingers to touch her bare arm, and for an instant shelooked back at him with startled, sober eyes, and sprang to her feet.
"Come on! I want to show you my country." She set off down the stream,and Dan rose reluctantly to follow.
What a day that was! They traced the little river from still pool tosinging rapids, and ever about them were the strange twitterings andpipings that were the voices of the flowers. Every turn brought a newvista of beauty; every moment brought a new sense of delight. The
ytalked or were silent; when they were thirsty, the cool river was athand; when they were hungry, fruit offered itself. When they were tired,there was always a deep pool and a mossy bank; and when they wererested, a new beauty beckoned. The incredible trees towered innumberless forms of fantasy, but on their own side of the river wasstill the flower-starred meadow. Galatea twisted him a bright-blossomedgarland for his head, and thereafter he moved always with a sweetsinging about him. But little by little the red sun slanted toward theforest, and the hours dripped away. It was Dan who pointed it out, andreluctantly they turned homeward.
As they returned, Galatea sang a