This was a waste place of the island,
and if one were to lift a handful of the soil, St. George thought,
it was very likely that one might detect its elements; as, here the
dust of a temple, here of a book, here a tomb and here a sacrifice.
He felt himself near the earth, in its making. He looked away to the
sugar-loaf cone of the mountain risen against the star-lit sky.
Above its fortress-like bulk with circular ramparts burned the clear
beacon of the light on the king's palace. As he saw the light, St.
George knew himself not only near the earth but at one with the very
currents of the air, partaker of now a hope, now a task, now a
spell, and now a memory. It was as if love had made him one with the
dust of dead cities and with their eternal spiritual effluence.
At length they crossed the broad avenue that led from the
Eurychorus to Melita, and struck into the road that skirted the
mountain; and where a thicket of trees flung bold branches across
the way, three figures rose from the ground before them, and Akko
stepped forward and saluted, his white teeth gleaming.
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