And roaring down from it in solid sheets came the rain.
From the Pit arose a hissing as though within it raged Babylonian Tiamat, Mother of Chaos, serpent dweller in the void; Midgard-snake of the ancient Norse holding in her coils the world.
Buffeted by wind, beaten down by rain, clinging to each other like drowning men, Ventnor and I pushed on to the elfin globe.

The light was dying fast.

By it we saw Drake pass within the portal with his burden.
The light became embers; it went out; blackness clasped us.

Guided by the lightnings, we beat our way to the door; passed through it.
In the electric glare we saw Drake bending over Ruth.

In it I saw a slide draw over the open portal through which shrieked the wind, streamed the rain.
As though its crystal panel was moved by unseen, gentle hands, the portal closed; the tempest shut out.
We dropped beside Ruth upon a pile of silken stuffs--awed, marveling, trembling with pity and--thanksgiving.
For we knew--each of us knew with an absolute definiteness as we crouched there among the racing, dancing black and silver shadows with which the lightnings filled the blue globe--that the Metal Monster was dead.
Slain by itself!.