from him--goes with the sun, and he becomes such as you see me now."

"Then that is not the sun?" said Nycteris, thoughtfully, pointing up
to the moon.

"That!" cried Photogen, with utter scorn; "I know nothing about
_that_, except that it is ugly and horrible. At best it can be only
the ghost of a dead sun. Yes, that is it! That is what makes it look
so frightful."

"No," said Nycteris, after a long, thoughtful pause; "you must be
wrong there. I think the sun is the ghost of a dead moon, and that is
how he is so much more splendid as you say.--Is there, then, another
big room, where the sun lives in the roof?"

"I do not know what you mean," replied Photogen. "But you mean to be
kind, I know, though you should not call a poor fellow in the dark a
girl. If you will let me lie here, with my head in your lap, I should
like to sleep. Will you watch me, and take care of me?"

"Yes, that I will," answered Nycteris, forgetting all her own danger.

So Photogen fell asleep.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE SUN.