would extend under the water. When I thought that—that I had helped produce this thing to kill you—I must have gone mad for the time, because I suddenly found myself, breathless, fumbling at the door to the control station. Father was still sleeping peacefully. I understood then I must move quietly and quickly. I forgot that I would have to guess at the radius of the wave. Our control board was for long range. I could only hope to hit the dam. If I thought that I might get the whole hillside, I did not stop to care, because you were gone then, dear, and nothing else mattered, except that Father should not do the terrible thing he planned. You were dead, I had killed you, and there would be no more killing if I could prevent it.
"I set the towers, and closed the switch. As I opened it again, the whole hill trembled, and a roar that seemed to tear my eardrums open followed the trembling. Father awoke and saw me. I think he struck me as he rushed to the door. I crept after him and watched a great wall of water sweeping down. I hid my eyes, and Father raved above me. I did not care. I must have fainted. When I came to, Father was sprawled on the floor—asleep. I was afraid at first, but I awakened him and he was so gentle. He will always be gentle now. We must take care of him, Doug. Then I came down here, and I had been dying inside, until I saw you returning to me, like some god, up the hill."
She lay quietly in his arms, stroking his cheeks. The sun was up now. The chickens were clucking behind the house. A pig squealed for its breakfast. The little waterfall was singing a peaceful song to the rising sun. Blandon stroked the sun-shot hair and bathed himself in the blue of her eyes.
"If ever I go away from you again, dear, it will be only that I may return."
[THE END]
ASTARTE
Your lips half part in a painted smile,
Hiding your thoughts, revealing but your guile;
Your dark-veiled, dusky, Saracenic eyes
Look down, and look but to despise
The fools who bend to kiss your dainty feet;
Your scornful, mocking lips are poison-sweet
As hasheesh mingled with Shirazi wine. . . .
And yet your lovers gather at your shrine,
Pale simulacrum wreathed in mystery:
Infatuated by your sorcery,
Lured by flame and shadow alternate,
They worship you who neither love nor hate.
