The Golden Girl leaned over; called softly, and up from the sparkling mass shot a green vine whose heads were five flowers of flaming ruby--shot up, flew into her hand and coiled about the white arm, its quintette of lambent blossoms--regarding us! It was the thing Lakla had called the _Yekta_; that with which she had threatened the priestess; the thing that carried the dreadful death--and the Golden Girl was handling it like a rose! Larry swore--I looked at the thing more closely.

It was a hydroid, a development of that strange animal-vegetable that, sometimes almost microscopic, waves in the sea depths like a cluster of flowers paralyzing its prey with the mysterious force that dwells in its blossom heads![2] "Put it down, Lakla," the distress in O'Keefe's voice was deep.

Lakla laughed mischievously, caught the real fear for her in his eyes; opened her hand, gave another faint call--and back it flew to its fellows.
"Why, it wouldn't hurt me, Larry!" she expostulated.

"They know me!" "Put it down!" he repeated hoarsely.
She sighed, gave another sweet, prolonged call.

The lake of gems--rubies and amethysts, mauves and scarlet-tinged blues--wavered and shook even as it had before--and swept swiftly back to that place whence she had drawn them! Then, with Larry and Lakla walking ahead, white arm about his brown neck; the O'Keefe still expostulating, the handmaiden laughing merrily, we passed through her bower to the domed castle.
Glancing through a cleft I caught sight again of the far end of the bridge; noted among the clustered figures of its garrison of the frog-men a movement, a flashing of green fire like marshlights on spear tips; wondered idly what it was, and then, other thoughts crowding in, followed along, head bent, behind the pair who had found in what was Olaf's hell, their true paradise.
[1] The _Akka_ are viviparous.