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You are a man indeed. Do not overdo; save yourself for the Senestro." Clothes were brought, and Chick taken back to his apartment. The time passed with Rhamdas constantly at his side. The Geos was not present, nor the little queen.
It was plain that the Thomahlia was blest with odd rulers. If the Bar Senestro was a priest, he was clearly still more of a soldier. The fiery challenge of the man struck an answering chord in Watson; he knew the time must come when he should weigh himself up against this Alexander, and it was anything but displeasing to him. "What must I say and do?" he asked the Rhamda Geos.
"And impertinent," continued the other, quite without malice. "Do you know anything about the Bar, to whom you speak so saucily?" "I know that you have intimated that I may be an impostor. You have done this, after hearing what the learned Rhamda Geos has said. You know the facts; you know that I have come from the Jarados. But it wasn't Watson's words that held the Bar's attention.
Holcomb for the Jarados!" And she led the way. Watson followed in silent wonder; behind him came the Geos and the rest, quiet and reverent. The soft glow still held, so that they seemed to be walking through the walls of cold fire. At the end of the passage they came to a door. The Nervina touched three unmarked spots on the walls. The door opened.
Watson nodded. He remembered hearing another man make just such a statement Dr. Holcomb. "For years he worked in private," went on Geos. "We never knew just what he was doing; until, one day, he called us together and delivered his lecture." "His lecture?" "Rather, his prophecy. For it was all that. Not that he spoke at great length; it was but a talk.
Whatever feeling Chick entertained for the one was offset by what he felt for the other. He was between two forces; his instinct warned him of the Bar, sceptical, powerful, ruthless, a man to be reckoned with; but his better nature went out to the young queen. At a motion from Geos, the whole assembly of Rhamdas stood up. The action was both dignified and reverent.
How hold you that this one is proof out of the occult?" "You are sceptical," returned the Rhamda, evenly. "Even as you behold him, you are full of doubt. But do you not recall the words of the great Avec? Do you not know the Prophecy of the Jarados?" "Truly, Geos; I remember them both. Especially the writing on the wall of the temple.
But none of them spoke. After the first murmur of comment they lapsed into silence again. It was the Bar Senestro who broke the tension. "May I ask, Rhamda Geos, why you make such an assertion? What proof have you, to begin with, that this man," indicating Watson with a nod, "is not merely one of ourselves: a D'Hartian or a Kospian?"
Of course, they had the benefit of the pull of gravity, now; apparently they would make the journey in a few minutes. But incredible though the speed might be, there was nothing but the red dot to show it. The Geos felt like talking. "My lord, the sign is conclusive. It is a marvel, such as only the prophet could possibly have produced; with all our science we could not duplicate such splendour.
Though Chick was, in their eyes, a miracle, there was no unseemly staring nor jarring of curiosity; all was quietness, ease, poise; the only sound was that of the constant subtle music of those invisible bells. Rhamda Geos began speaking. At the same time he placed a friendly hand on Watson's shoulder, a signal for every other Rhamda to resume his seat. "The Fact and the Substance, my brothers."
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