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 forth in song, nor was he to be disappointed, for presently, as the circling cave folk commenced to clap their palms in time to her steps, Nadara lifted her voice in clear and bird-like notes—a worldless paean of love and life and happiness.

At last, exhausted, she paused, and as her eyes fell upon Thandar they broke into a merry laugh.

“The king is not the only one who can leap and play upon his feet,” she cried.

Thandar came to the center of the circle and kneeling at her feet took one of her hands in his and kissed it.

“The king is only mortal and a man,” he said. “It is no reproach that he cannot equal the divine grace of a goddess. You are very wonderful, my Nadara,” he continued, “From loving you I am coming to worship you.”

And within the deep and silent wood another was stirred with mighty emotions by the sight of the half-naked, graceful girl. It was Thurg, the bad man, who had sneaked back alone to the edge of the forest that he might seek an opportunity to be revenged upon Thandar and his people.

Half formed in his evil brain had been a certain plan, which the sight of Nadara, dancing in the firelight, had turned to concrete resolution.

With the dancing and the feasting over, the tribe of Thandar betook itself by ones and twos to the