Manchurian Books

But was she there--was she there? If there
was an oracle for the answer, it was not St. George. The little
white stars danced and signaled faintly on the far horizon. Whatever
they had to reveal was for nearer eyes than his.
The glass passed from hand to hand, and in turn they all swept the
low sky where the faint points burned; but when some one had cried
that the lights were no longer visible, and the others had verified
the cry by looking blankly into a sudden waste of milky black--black
water, pale light--and turned baffled eyes to Jarvo, the little man
spoke smoothly, not even reaching a lean, brown hand for the glass.
"But have no fear, adon," he reassured them, "the chart is not
exact--it is that which has delayed us. It will adjust itself. The
light may long disappear, but it will come again. The gods will
permit the possible."
They looked at one another doubtfully when the two little brown men
had gone below, where Barnay had immediately retired, tucking his
beard in his collar and muttering sedition.


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