Help our just cause, O my friend, and our gratitude will not be lacking.
Trust Modah.
Zola.
The notes made a profound impression upon Robert. He pictured the girl of his vision again for the hundredth time. Could it really have been she whom he had already dreamed of thrice? But no matter who she was, he was firmly determined to find some means of helping her.
By this time he had a fair command of the Martian writing— enough, at least, to write an intelligible, if elementary, message. That night he succeeded in passing a brief note to Modah, unobserved by Numid, the other attendant. In this note Robert asked Modah to see him in the seclusion of the East Room as soon as he could elude the sharp-eyed Numid.
He had selected the East Room, a sort of library in their apartment, for the rendezvous because it had but one entrance. Here Robert waited anxiously for what seemed hours. Finally there came a light, furtive tapping on the door. Then Modah slipped into the room quickly.
It had been the professor’s suggestion that Robert talk to Modah alone, since it was evident that it was Robert in whom his interest and that of his mistress was centered.
“Numid wasted much time, Elah, Talk, talk, talk. I waited till he slept—then came. He must not know. Would get suspicious.”
“I want to help your mistress,” Robert told him. “How will it be possible for me to see her?”
“I have arranged to take you to her this night, if you wish.”