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Updated: June 10, 2025
May the gods permit the possible." "Do you mean to say," asked St. George, "that we too would better look out the prince at once?" "The adôn is wise," said Jarvo simply, "but nothing is hid from Prince Tabnit." St. George considered.
Jarvo went before, lighting the way, and they threaded vaulted corridors and winding passages, and emerged at last in a silent, haunted chamber whose stones had been hewn and sunken there, before Issus. This was the chamber of the tombs of the kings, and its floor echoed to their footsteps, now hollowly, now with ringing clearness.
From a tour of the temple Amory came listlessly back to the king's chapel. There, where the descendants of Abibaal had worshiped until their idols had been refined by Time to a kind of decoration, the Americans and Jarvo had spent the night. They had slept stretched on benches of beveled stone.
"Are you ready, adôn?" asked Jarvo and Akko at the same moment. "Ready!" cried St. George impatiently. "Ready," said Amory languidly, and added one thought more: "I hope for Chillingworth's sake," he said, "that Frothingham is a notary public. We'll have to have somebody's seal at the bottom of all this copy." The baskets were lightly lifted.
Olivia was it indeed Olivia whom he was following down lustrous ways of a land vague as a star; or was his pursuit not for her, but for the exquisite, incommunicable Idea, and was he following it through a world forth-fashioned from his own desire? Suddenly indistinguishable sounds were in his ears, words from Amory, from Jarvo certain exultant gutturals.
"To the right, adôn," Jarvo was saying, "where the walls are highest that is the palace of the prince, the Palace of the Litany." "And the king's palace?" St. George asked eagerly. Jarvo lifted his face to the solitary summit light upon the mountain. "But how does one ascend?" cried St. George.
The moon was not yet full, but its light in that warm world was brilliant. The air was drowsy and scented with something that might have been its own honey or that might have come from the strange blooms, water-sealed below. Now and then St. George went aside for a space and walked up and down the deck or sent below for Jarvo. Once, as Jarvo left St.
But the other is ten thousand times worse than death." "What do you mean?" cried Amory roughly. "What are you talking about? If the stuff is poison can't you say so?" Jarvo looked at him swiftly. "These things are not spoken aloud in Yaque," he said simply, and after that he held his peace. Amory threatened him and laughed at him, but Jarvo shook his head.
And when presently Amory stood up unsteadily from the seat of the window, he could see clearly enough that Jarvo, with terrified eyes, was turning the vase in his hands. "It is the same," he was saying, "it must be the same. The gods have permitted the possible. I was here to tell you." "Tell me what?" demanded Amory with ungrateful irritation.
Which, if you come to think of it, and no matter how absurdly you learn it, is a thing immeasurably worth realizing in this world of possibilities. It is one of our two magics. "And this," Jarvo said softly, pausing before a vacant niche opposite the tomb of King Abibaal, "this will be the receptacle for the present king of Yaque, his Majesty, King Otho, by the grace of God."
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