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Updated: May 19, 2025
He glanced quickly over his shoulder to where the massive form and agitated face of Bale-Corphew was framed in the doorway. At his peremptory look the Arch-Mystic seemed to gather himself together. Stepping forward, he made a slightly tardy reverence. "Master," he said, huskily, "what the Precursor tells you is the truth.
As though it exercised some potent spell, his calm, imperious gesture subdued the turmoil. When silence had been restored he began to speak; and never, since he had addressed the first Gathering, had so deep a note of domination and decision been audible in his voice. "Mystics!" he cried, "there is no time for preamble or delay. As the Arch-Mystic says, you must have truth!
With a thrill of apprehension she saw that in place of the humble member of the congregation who usually attended there, the tall, fair-bearded Arch-Mystic known as George Norov was guarding the door. Small though the incident might appear, it conveyed to her, as no spoken declaration could have done, the spirit of action and vigilance reigning in the House.
The Arch-Mystic shook his head. "The Prophet holds private Audience only in the morning." "But the Prophet is generous. Five minutes alone with him will satisfy me three minutes two minutes " Her tone quickened as her anxiety increased. Still Norov's blue eyes met hers unswervingly. "The Prophet holds private Audience only in the morning."
"I have come," she added, with gathered resolution, "because I desire private Audience with the Prophet because there is something on my Soul of which I must unburden myself." The Arch-Mystic looked at her and his eyes seemed cold as steel. "The Prophet holds private Audience only in the morning," he replied, in an even voice. Enid flushed. "I know that. But there are exceptions to the rule "
She waited irresolute, until the cold, inquiring gaze of the Arch-Mystic made action compulsory; then, scarcely conscious of the movement, she inclined her head in mechanical acknowledgment of his courtesy, and, turning away, passed down the lofty, sombre hall.
With a movement full of fire, full of authority, the Prophet stepped from the Throne. "Silence!" he cried. "There is no need for interference. This matter is between the People and myself." With a pale face and burning eyes he stepped forward, and standing beside the Arch-Mystic confronted the congregation. "I will tell you everything that this man would tell you," he said, in a steady voice.
With a mind rendered supersensitive by its own emotions, she realized what the next five hours might hold; and like a tangible menace the dark, angry face of the Arch-Mystic flashed back upon her consciousness.
My uncle, Andrew Henderson, was an Arch-Mystic of your sect; and on the night he died, your sacred Scitsym was in his house!" The congregation thrilled, and the blind Arch-Councillor turned and clutched Bale-Corphew's arm. "My first impulse was to destroy that book. Look at it, look at it!" He pointed to the lectern.
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