"Oh," she answered, "why do you say it?" Her eyes snapped and she
grew rigid. "The Rhamda! My husband! If you only knew. I hate him!
We are enemies. It was he who opened the Blind Spot. I am here
because he is evil. To watch him. I love your world, I love it
all. I would save it. I love--"

She dropped her head. Whatever she was, she was not above sobbing.

I touched her hair; it was of the softest texture I have ever
seen; the lustre was like all the beauty of night woven into silk.
She loved, loved; I could love--I was on the point of surrender.

"Tell me," I asked, "just one thing more. If I gave you this ring
would you save the doctor and Chick Watson?"

She raised her head; her eyes glistened; but she did not answer.

"Would you?"

She shook her head. "I cannot," she answered. "That cannot be. I
can only save you for--for--Charlotte."

Was it vanity in myself? I don't know. It seemed to me that it was
hard for her to say it. Frankly, I loved her. I knew it. I loved
Charlotte. I loved them both. But I held to my purpose.

"Are the professor and Watson living?"

"They are."