All I know is that it was Hooja who brought Dian to the prospector, still wrapped from head to toe in the skin of an enormous cave lion which covered her since the Mahar prisoners had been brought into camp.  He deposited his burden in the seat beside me.  I was all ready to get under way.  The good-byes had been said.  Perry had grasped my hand in the last, long farewell.  I closed and barred the outer and inner doors, took my seat again at the driving mechanism, and pulled the starting lever.

As before on that far-gone night that had witnessed our first trial of the iron monster, there was a frightful roaring beneath us—­the giant frame trembled and vibrated—­there was a rush of sound as the loose earth passed up through the hollow space between the inner and outer jackets to be deposited in our wake.  Once more the thing was off.

But on the instant of departure I was nearly thrown from my seat by the sudden lurching of the prospector.  At first I did not realize what had happened, but presently it dawned upon me that just before entering the crust the towering body had fallen through its supporting scaffolding, and that instead of entering the ground vertically we were plunging into it at a different angle.  Where it would bring us out upon the upper crust I could not even conjecture.  And then I turned to note the effect of this strange experience upon Dian.  She still sat shrouded in the great skin.

“Come, come,” I cried, laughing, “come out of your shell.  No Mahar eyes can reach you here,” and I leaned over and snatched the lion skin from her.  And then I shrank back upon my seat in utter horror.

The thing beneath the skin was not Dian—­it was a hideous Mahar.  Instantly I realized the trick that Hooja had played upon me, and the purpose of it.  Rid of me, forever as he doubtless thought, Dian would be at his mercy.  Frantically I tore at the steering wheel in an effort to turn the prospector back toward Pellucidar; but, as on that other occasion, I could not budge the thing a hair.

It is needless to recount the horrors or the monotony of that journey.  It varied but little from the former one which had brought us from the outer to the inner world.  Because of the angle at which we had entered the ground the trip required nearly a day longer, and brought me out here upon the sand of the Sahara instead of in the United States as I had hoped.

For months I have been waiting here for a white man to come.  I dared not leave the prospector for fear I should never be able to find it again—­the shifting sands of the desert would soon cover it, and then my only hope of returning to my Dian and her Pellucidar would be gone forever.

That I ever shall see her again seems but remotely possible, for how may I know upon what part of Pellucidar my return journey may terminate—­and how, without a north or south or an east or a west may I hope ever to find my way across that vast world to the tiny spot where my lost love lies grieving for me?