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"It was days after his wife was taken, that the Dweller seized Throckmartin," I cried. "How, if their wills, their life, were indeed gone, how did they find each other mid all that horde? How did they come together in the Dweller's lair?" "I do not know," she answered, slowly. "You say they loved and it is true that love is stronger even than death!"
The girl of the rose wall had been beautiful, yes! But her beauty was human, understandable. You could imagine her with a babe in her arms but you could not so imagine this woman. About her loveliness hovered something unearthly. A sweet feminine echo of the Dweller was Yolara, the Dweller's priestess and as gloriously, terrifyingly evil! The Justice of Lora
And strangely, strangely, it was like the Dweller's beauty when with its dazzling spirallings and writhings it raced amid its storm of crystal bell sounds! The abyss was behind us; we had paused at the golden portals; they swung inward.
The burial cists are built usually in a corner or against a wall of a cliff dweller's house, but sometimes they are built against a cliff wall, and occasionally stand out alone. The masonry is always rough, much inferior to the old walls against which it generally rests, and usually very flimsy.
For I had determined that if enter the Dweller's embrace they must, they should not go alone. They paused before the Golden Portals; the handmaiden pressed its opening lever; the massive leaves rolled back. Heads high, proudly, serenely, they passed through and out upon the hither span. I followed. On each side of us stood the Dweller's slaves, faces turned rigidly toward their master.
Did the thought of sacrifice, the will toward abnegation, have to be as strong as the eternals, unshaken by faintest thrill of hope, before the Three could make of it their key to unlock the Dweller's guard and strike through at its life? Here was a mystery a mystery indeed! Lakla softly closed the crimson stone.
Out of the drifting ruck swam the body of Throckmartin! Throckmartin, my friend, to find whom I had gone to the pallid moon door; my friend whose call I had so laggardly followed. On his face was the Dweller's dreadful stamp; the lips were bloodless; the eyes were wide, lucent, something like pale, phosphorescence gleaming within them and soulless.
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