Beside the pimalia stood Astok, his dark eyes narrowed to mere slits of hate beneath his lowering brows as he watched the retreating forms of the woman who had aroused the fiercest passions of his nature and the man whom he now believed to be the one who stood between his love and its consummation.

As they disappeared within the structure Astok shrugged his shoulders, and with a murmured oath crossed the gardens toward another wing of the building where he and his retinue were housed.

That night he took formal leave of Thuvan Dihn, and though no mention was made of the happening within the garden, it was plain to see through the cold mask of the jeddak's courtesy that only the customs of royal hospitality restrained him from voicing the contempt he felt for the Prince of Dusar.

Carthoris was not present at the leave-taking, nor was Thuvia. The ceremony was as stiff and formal as court etiquette could make it, and when the last of the Dusarians clambered over the rail of the battleship that had brought them upon this fateful visit to the court of Ptarth, and the mighty engine of destruction had risen slowly from the ways of the landing-stage, a note of relief was apparent in the voice of Thuvan Dihn as he turned to one of his officers with a word of comment upon a subject foreign to that which had been uppermost in the minds of all for hours.

But, after all, was it so foreign?

«Inform Prince Sovan,» he directed, «that it is our wish that the fleet which departed for Kaol this morning be recalled to cruise to the west of Ptarth.»

As the warship, bearing Astok back to the court of his father, turned toward the west, Thuvia of Ptarth, sitting upon the same bench where the Prince of Dusar had affronted her, watched the twinkling lights of the craft growing smaller in the distance. Beside her, in the brilliant light of the nearer moon, sat Carthoris. His eyes were not upon the dim bulk of the battleship, but on the profile of the girl's upturned face.

«Thuvia,» he whispered.

The girl turned her eyes toward his. His hand stole out to find hers, but she drew her own gently away.

«Thuvia of Ptarth, I love you!» cried the young warrior. «Tell me that it does not offend.»

She shook her head sadly. «The love of Carthoris of Helium,» she said simply, «could be naught but an honour to any woman; but you must not speak, my friend, of bestowing upon me that which I may not reciprocate.»

The young man got slowly to his feet. His eyes were wide in astonishment. It never had occurred to the Prince of Helium that Thuvia of Ptarth might love another.

«But at Kadabra!» he exclaimed. «And later here at your father's court, what did you do, Thuvia of Ptarth, that might have warned me that you could not return my love?»

«And what did I do, Carthoris of Helium,» she returned, «that might lead you to believe that I DID return it?»

He paused in thought, and then shook his head. «Nothing, Thuvia, that is true; yet I could have sworn you loved me. Indeed, you well knew how near to worship has been my love for you.»

«And how might I know it, Carthoris?» she asked innocently. «Did you ever tell me as much? Ever before have words of love for me fallen from your lips?»

«But you MUST have known it!» he exclaimed. «I am like my father-witless in matters of the heart, and of a poor way with women; yet the jewels that strew these royal garden paths-the trees, the flowers, the sward-all must have read the love that has filled my heart since first my eyes were made new by imaging your perfect face and form; so how could you alone have been blind to it?»

«Do the maids of Helium pay court to their men?» asked Thuvia.

«You are playing with me!» exclaimed Carthoris. «Say that you are but playing, and that after all you love me, Thuvia!»

«I cannot tell you that, Carthoris, for I am promised to another.»

Her tone was level, but was there not within it the hint of an infinite depth of sadness? Who may say?

«Promised to another?» Carthoris scarcely breathed the words. His face went almost white, and then his head came up as befitted him in whose veins flowed the blood of the overlord of a world.

«Carthoris of Helium wishes you every happiness with the man of your choice,» he said. «With-«and then he hesitated, waiting for her to fill in the name.

«Kulan Tith, Jeddak of Kaol,» she replied. «My father's friend and Ptarth's most puissant ally.»

The young man looked at her intently for a moment before he spoke again.

«You love him, Thuvia of Ptarth?» he asked.

«I am promised to him,» she replied simply.

He did not press her. «He is of Barsoom's noblest blood and mightiest fighters,» mused Carthoris. «My father's friend and mine-would that it might have been another!» he muttered almost savagely. What the girl thought was hidden by the mask of her expression, which was tinged only by a little shadow of sadness that might have been for Carthoris, herself, or for them both.

Carthoris of Helium did not ask, though he noted it, for his loyalty to Kulan Tith was the loyalty of the blood of John Carter of Virginia for a friend, greater than which could be no loyalty.

He raised a jewel-encrusted bit of the girl's magnificent trappings to his lips.

«To the honour and happiness of Kulan Tith and the priceless jewel that has been bestowed upon him,» he said, and though his voice was husky there was the true ring of sincerity in it. «I told you that I loved you, Thuvia, before I knew that you were promised to another. I may not tell you it again, but I am glad that you know it, for there is no dishonour in it either to you or to Kulan Tith or to myself. My love is such that it may embrace as well Kulan Tith-if you love him.» There was almost a question in the statement.

«I am promised to him,» she replied.

Carthoris backed slowly away. He laid one hand upon his heart, the other upon the pommel of his long-sword.

«These are yours-always,» he said. A moment later he had entered the palace, and was gone from the girl's sight.

Had he returned at once he would have found her prone upon the ersite bench, her face buried in her arms. Was she weeping? There was none to see.

Carthoris of Helium had come all unannounced to the court of his father's friend that day. He had come alone in a small flier, sure of the same welcome that always awaited him at Ptarth. As there had been no formality in his coming there was no need of formality in his going.

To Thuvan Dihn he explained that he had been but testing an invention of his own with which his flier was equipped-a clever improvement of the ordinary Martian air compass, which, when set for a certain destination, will remain constantly fixed thereon, making it only necessary to keep a vessel's prow always in the direction of the compass needle to reach any given point upon Barsoom by the shortest route.

Carthoris' improvement upon this consisted of an auxiliary device which steered the craft mechanically in the direction of the compass, and upon arrival directly over the point for which the compass was set, brought the craft to a standstill and lowered it, also automatically, to the ground.

«You readily discern the advantages of this invention,» he was saying to Thuvan Dihn, who had accompanied him to the landing-stage upon the palace roof to inspect the compass and bid his young friend farewell.

A dozen officers of the court with several body servants were grouped behind the jeddak and his guest, eager listeners to the conversation-so eager on the part of one of the servants that he was twice rebuked by a noble for his forwardness in pushing himself ahead of his betters to view the intricate mechanism of the wonderful «controlling destination compass,» as the thing was called.

«For example,» continued Carthoris, «I have an all-night trip before me, as to-night. I set the pointer here upon the right-hand dial which represents the eastern hemisphere of Barsoom, so that the point rests upon the exact latitude and longitude of Helium. Then I start the engine, roll up in my sleeping silks and furs, and with lights burning, race through the air toward Helium, confident that at the appointed hour I shall drop gently toward the landing-stage upon my own palace, whether I am still asleep or no.»