A door parted and admitted us into a small vestibule, at the other end of which a full and bright light streamed through a portal of translucent crystal.

A sentinel, armed only with the antiquated spear which may have been held by his first predecessor in office ten thousand Martial years ago, now demanded our names.

Mine he simply repeated, but as I gave that of Eveena, daughter of Esmo, he lowered his weapon in the salute still traditional among Martial sentries; and bending his head, touched with his lips the long sleeve of the cloak of _therne_-down in which she was on this occasion again enveloped.

This homage appeared to surprise her almost as much as myself, but we had no leisure for observation or inquiry.

From behind the crystal door another challenge was uttered.