"Forgive me!" he said in a low tone, and speaking with some effort.. "forgive me and have patience with my laggard comprehension, . . I am perplexed at heart and slow of thought; wilt thou assure me faithfully, that this God-Man thou speakest of is not yet born on earth?"
The faintest shadow of a wondering smile flickered over the old man's wrinkled countenance, like the reflection of a passing taper-flame on a faded picture.
"My son, my son!" he murmured with compassionate tolerance--"Have I not told thee that five thousand years and more must pass away ere the prediction be accomplished? ... I marvel that so plain a truth should thus disquiet thee! Now, by my soul, thou lookest pallid as the dead! ... Come, let us hasten on more rapidly,--thy fainting spirits will revive in fresher air."
He hurried his pace as he spoke, and glided along with such a curious, stealthy noiselessness that by and by Theos began dubiously to wonder whether after all he were a real personage or a phantom? He noticed that his own figure seemed to possess much more substantiality and distinctness of outline than that of this mysterious Zuriel, whose very garments resembled floating cloud rather than actual, woven fabric. Was his companion then a fitting Spectre? ...
He smiled at the absurdity of the idea, and to change the drift of his own foolish fancies he asked suddenly,--"Concerning this wondrous city of Al-Kyris...is it of very ancient days, and long lineage?"
"The annals of its recorded history reach over a period of twelve thousand years"--replied Zuriel, . . "But 'tis the present fashion to count from the Deification of Nagaya or the Snake,--and, according to this, we are now in the nine hundred and eighty-ninth year of so-called Grace and Knowledge,--rather say Dishonor and Crime! ... for a crueler, more bloodthirsty creed than the worship of Nagaya never debased a people! Who shall number up the innocent victims that have been sacrificed in the great Temple of the Sacred Python!--and even on this very day which has just dawned, another holocaust is to be offered on the Veiled Shrine,--or so it hath been publicly proclaimed throughout the city,--and the crowd will flock to see a virgin's blood spilt on the accursed altars where Lysia, in all the potency of triumphant wickedness, presides. But if the auguries of the stars prevail, 'twill be for the last time!" Here he paused and looked fixedly at Theos. "Thou dost return straightway to Sah-luma ... is it not so?"
Theos bent his head in assent.
"Art thou true friend, or mere flatterer to that spoilt child of fair fame and fortune?"