that once had echoed to the footsteps of Peruvian kings, fared about the rich streets where coral now grew instead of tree and flower.

The things were speechless, with no seeming means of communication, and I saw, too, that they could not leave the sea-bottom, but walked upon it as we do upon earth, and could no more rise than we can leap into the air and swim upon it.  I tried to push my difficult way through the clinging swarm, who seemed friendly enough in a weird, inhuman way, but I could not pass through.  Dimly through the swinging water I could see others coming from every carven doorway down the silent street.  I thought then of the weights attached to me, and I decided to cut them loose at once and rise from the ghostly place, of which I had seen quite enough to suit me.  But I determined to take with me at least one thing from the vast mounds of treasure which held me breathless with utter bewilderment.

So I turned and with my long knife began prying from its doorway a ruby as large as my fist.  Instantly, without warning, the creature nearest me raised its scaly hand in a flinging gesture, and I felt a hot and rushing pain just above my right elbow.  I felt, too, a coldness of water spurting down my arm and clutched wildly at the sleeve of my diving-suit to seal the little hole which I saw in it.  Holding it tightly with my left hand, I slashed with my right at the creatures who were now moving upon me menacingly, pressing me close.  If they forced me back into the doorway, all hope would be gone.  I cut desperately at the fastenings that secured the weights; felt myself rising; felt my legs pull out from the clinging, slimy arms; looked down at them—­a sea of bobbing smooth heads, of round, expressionless, black eyes; saw them waving their tentacle-like arms in fury; saw at last the dim, golden crest of the tallest tower below my feet; burst above the blessed sea-level and saw good blue waves slapping the bow of the brigantine drifting lazily down toward me.

I know nothing of the voyage home.  I must have been poisoned by the missile, whatever it was, that the sea-creature flung at me. (I bear the scar to this day.) For I have no recollection of much more, until I sat in the library bow-window of my father’s house, very tired and stiff and thoroughly thankful that the voyage was over.  It was dark, and my mother sat sewing beside a shaded lamp and singing to herself.  I fingered the book that lay beside me, on the window-seat, and said: 

  “Mother, did you keep the book just here all the time I was
  gone because you were sorry I went and wanted to remember
  me?”

  She laughed, and said:  “Yes, all the time while you were
  sailing to the Port of Stars.  Come now to supper, my dear.”

  So I got up very stiffly, for I felt weak and dizzy still,
  and went with her.  I said: 

  “I’m sorry, Mother, that after all I couldn’t bring you any
  of the jewels.”