“What causes it?” asked Alan eagerly.
“Sometimes a blow or a fall—or it can be produced artificially by inhaling morka, a gas used in the weaving of our silks. The workers wear shields over their mouths when using it, and are very careful. Never have I known such an accident to occur, but it could. It was thus I dreamt of you, my Alan.”
Alan smiled. He had come across as strange proofs of telepathy as in the old world between kindred spirits. Whatever happened he knew Waz-Y-Kjesta was his friend. “Perhaps I am in danger, my friend,” said he. “If so can I count on you?”
“My Alan, I would suffer even serquor for you,” he answered fervently. And Alan knew he spoke truly.
CHAPTER VIII
THE UNFORGIVEABLE KISS
The day passed slowly. Still the Princess remained in her cabin. Alan passed Waiko with his usual cheery smile, and the guilty student trembled and turned white at sight of the healthy man, who he thought had been doomed to serquor. Kulmervan remained in his cabin near the princess, and had his meals served him there. Waz-Y-Kjesta realized that something was wrong, but as Alan did not confide in him, he made no effort to find out the cause of his friend’s restlessness.
“My Waz,” said Alan suddenly, “is it possible for me to see the Ipso-Rorka? I wish to speak to her.”
“Not unless she sends for you, my friend. It is impossible else.”
“It is a matter of grave import,” said Alan earnestly. “To me, to her—”
“Nothing can alter custom, my friend. If she sends for you—well. Otherwise—” and he shrugged his shoulders expressively. Alan, however, was determined to speak with Chlorie by foul means or fair. Her cabin was situated in the front of the ship, and round it was a tiny balcony railed in just above the level of the deck.