"You young men," she said. "You young men! You are all alike! Why
must it be? I am so sorry. And you fought with the Rhamda? You
could not overcome him, of course. But tell me, how could you
resist him? What did you do?"

What did she mean? I had felt his flesh and muscle. He was a man.
Why could he not be conquered--not be resisted?

"I don't understand," I answered. "He is a man. I fought him. He
was here. Let him account for Watson. We fought alone at first,
until he tried to throw me into this Thing. Then Hobart stepped
in. Once I thought we had him, but he was too slippery. He came
near putting us both in. I don't know. Something happened--a
bell."

Her hand was on my arm, she clutched it tightly, she swallowed
hard; in her eyes flashed the fire that I had noticed once before,
the softness died out, and their glint was almost terrible.

"He! The bell saved you? He would dare to throw you into the Blind
Spot!"

I lay back. I was terribly weak and uncertain. This beautiful
woman! What was her interest in myself?

"Harry," she spoke, "let me ask you. I am your friend. If you only
knew! I would save you. It must not be. Will you give me the ring?
If I could only tell you! You must not have it. It is death--yes,
worse than death. No man may wear it."