Render selected one, reached up and pressed it. The others vanished as he did so, and the world brightened;

the humming went out of the air.

He circled the lake to gain a subjective respite from the rejection-action and his counter to it. He moved up along an aisle of pines toward the place where he wanted the cathedral to occur. Birds sang now in the trees. The wind came softly by him. He felt her presence quite strongly.

"Here, Eileen. Here."

She walked beside him then, green silk, hair of bronze, eyes of molten emerald; she wore an emerald in her forehead. She walked in green slippers over the pine needles, saying: "What happened?"

"You were afraid."

"Why?"

"Perhaps you fear the cathedral. Are you a witch?"

he smiled.

"Yes, but it's my day off."

He laughed, and he took her arm, and they rounded an island of foliage, and there was the cathedral recon- structed on a grassy rise, pushing its way above them and above the trees, climbing into the middle air, breath- ing out organ notes, reflecting a stray ray of sunlight from a plane of glass.

"Hold tight to the world," he said. "Here comes the guided tour."

They moved forward and entered.

"' . . . With its floor-to-ceiling shafts, like so many huge tree trunks, it achieves a ruthless control over its spaces,' " he said. "-Got that from the guidebook. This is the north transept...."

" 'Greensleeves,' " she said, "the organ is playing 'Green- sleeves.' "

"So it is. You can't blame me for that though.-Observe the scalloped capitals-"

"I want to go nearer to the music."

"Very well. This way then."

Render felt that something was wrong. He could not put his finger on it.

Everything retained its solidity....

Something passed rapidly then, high above the cathe-

106 .

dral, uttering a sonic boom. Render smiled at that, re- membering now; it was like a slip of the tongue: for a moment he had confused EUeen with JiU-yes, that was what had happened.

Why, then ...

A burst of white was the altar. He had never seen it before, anywhere. All the walls were dark and cold about them. Candles nickered in corners and high niches.

The organ chorded thunder under invisible hands.

Render knew that something was wrong.

He turned to Eileen Shallot, whose hat was a green cone towering up into the darkness, trailing wisps of green veiling. Her throat was in shadow, but...

"That necklace-Where?"

"I don't know," she smiled.

The goblet she held radiated a rosy light. It was re- flected from her emerald. It washed him like a draft of cool air.

"Drink?" she asked.

"Stand still," he ordered.

He willed the walls to fall down. They swam in shadow.

"Stand still!" he repeated urgently. "Don't do any- thing. Try not even to think.

"-Fall down!" he cried. And the wails were blasted in all directions and the roof was flung over the top of the world, and they stood amid ruins lighted by a single taper. The night was black as pitch.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, still holding the goblet out toward him.

"Don't think. Don't think anything," he said. "Relax.

You are very tired. As that candle nickers and wanes so does your consciousness. You can barely keep awake.

You can hardly stay on your feet. Your eyes are- closing.

There is nothing to see here anyway."

He willed the candle to go out. It continued to burn.

"I'm not tired. Please have a drink."

He heard organ music through the night. A different tune, one he did not recognize at first.

"1 need your cooperation."

"All right. Anything."

"Look! The moon!" he pointed

She looked upward and the moon appeared from behind an inky cloud.

"... And another, and another."

THE LAST DEFBNDER OF CAMELOT.

107.

Moons, like strung pearls, proceeded across the black- ness.