George
knew that this was Olivia's voice.
"No," she cried--but half as if she distrusted her own strange
impulse, "let him stay--let him stay."
St. George saw the prince's look question her. He himself was unable
to account for her unexpected intercession, and so, one would have
said, was Olivia. She looked up at the prince almost fearfully, and
down the length of the listening table, and back to the old man
whose eyes were upon her face.
"He is an old man, your Highness," St. George heard her saying, "let
him stay."
Prince Tabnit, who gave a curious impression of doing everything
that he did in obedience to inertia rather than in its defiance,
indicated some command to the puzzled guards, and they led old
Malakh to a stone bench not far from the dais, and there he sank
down, looking about him without surprise.
"It is well," he said simply, "Malakh has come."
While St. George was marveling--but not that the old man spoke the
English, for in Yaque it was not surprising to find the very madmen
speaking one's own tongue--Balator explained the man.
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