The figure grew indistinct, misty. Tiny sparks in infinite numbers leaped from it⁠—like, I thought, the radiant shower of particles hurled out by radium when seen under the microscope. Mistier still it grew⁠—there trembled before us for a moment a faintly luminous shadow which held, here and there, tiny sparkling atoms like those that pulsed in the light about us! The glowing shadow vanished, the sparkling atoms were still for a moment⁠—and shot away, joining those dancing others.

Where the gnomelike form had been but a few seconds before⁠—there was nothing!

O’Keefe drew a long breath, and I was sensible of a prickling along my scalp.

Yolara leaned toward us.

“You have seen,” she said. Her eyes lingered tigerishly upon Olaf’s pallid face. “Heed!” she whispered. She turned to the men in green, who were laughing softly among themselves.

“Take these two, and go!” she commanded.