CHAPTER VIII.
They must have carried me, still under the influence of wine fumes, to the chamber where I slept that night, for when I woke the following morning my surroundings were familiar enough, though a glorious maze of uncertainties rocked to and fro in my mind.
Was it a real feast we had shared in overnight, or only a quaint dream?
Was Heru real or only a lovely fancy?
And those hairy ruffians of whom a horrible vision danced before my waking eyes, were they fancy too?
No, my wrists still ached with the strain of the tussle, the quaint, sad wine taste was still on my lips--it was all real enough, I decided, starting up in bed; and if it was real where was the little princess?
What had they done with her?
Surely they had not given her to the ape-men--cowards though they were they could not have been cowards enough for that.

And as I wondered a keen, bright picture of the hapless maid as I saw her last blossomed before my mind's eye, the ambassadors on either side holding her wrists, and she shrinking from them in horror while her poor, white face turned to me for rescue in desperate pleading--oh! I must find her at all costs; and leaping from bed I snatched up those trousers without which the best of heroes is nothing, and had hardly got into them when there came the patter of light feet without and a Martian, in a hurry for once, with half a dozen others behind him, swept aside the curtains of my doorway.
They peeped and peered all about the room, then one said, "Is Princess Heru with you, sir ?" "No," I answered roughly.

"Saints alive, man, do you think I would have you tumbling in here over each other's heels if she were ?" "Then it must indeed have been Heru," he said, speaking in an awed voice to his fellows, "whom we saw carried down to the harbour at daybreak by yonder woodmen," and the pink upon their pretty cheeks faded to nothing at the suggestion.
"What!" I roared, "Heru taken from the palace by a handful of men and none of you infernal rascals--none of you white-livered abortions lifted a hand to save her--curse on you a thousand times.

Out of my way, you churls!" And snatching up coat and hat and sword I rushed furiously down the long, marble stairs just as the short Martian night was giving place to lavender-coloured light of morning.

I found my way somehow down the deserted corridors where the air was heavy with aromatic vapours; I flew by curtained niches and chambers where amongst mounds of half-withered flowers the Martian lovers were slowly waking.
Down into the banquethall I sped, and there in the twilight was the litter of the feast still about--gold cups and silver, broken bread and meat, the convolvulus flowers all turning their pallid faces to the rosy daylight, making pools of brightness between the shadows.