When he had spoken the old
man turned and moved slowly down the ways of strange light, between
the fallen temples builded to forgotten gods, and he seemed like the
very spirit of the ancient mountain, ignorant of itself and knowing
all truth.
"How strange," said St. George, looking after him, "how unutterably
strange and sad."
"That is good of you," said Olivia. "Aunt Dora and Antoinette
thought I'd gone quite off my head, and Mr. Frothingham wanted to
know why I didn't bring back some one who could have been called as
a witness."
"Witness," St. George echoed; "but the whole place is made of
witnesses. Which reminds me: what is the sentence?"
"The sentence?" she wondered.
"The potatoes of Yaque," he reminded her, "and my head?"
"Ah well," said Olivia gravely, "inasmuch as the moon came up in the
east to-night instead of the west, I shall be generous and give you
one day's reprieve."
"Do you know, I _thought_ the moon came up in the east to-night,"
cried St. George joyfully.
* * * * *
It was half an hour afterward that Amory's languid voice from
somewhere in the sky broke in upon their talk.
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