Past grim latchless doors sealing, with appropriate gestures, their
forgotten secrets, past outlying passages winding into the heart of
the mountain, past niches filled with shapeless crumbling rubbish
they hurried--the mad old man and his bewildered pursuer. Twice the
way turned, gradually narrowing until two could hardly have passed
there, and at last apparently terminated in a short flight of
steps. Old Malakh mounted with difficulty and St. George, waiting,
saw him standing before a blank stone wall. Immediately and without
effort the old man's scanty strength served to displace one of the
wall's huge stones which hung upon a secret pivot and rolled
noiselessly within. He stepped through the aperture, and St. George
sprang behind him, watched his moment to cross the threshold,
crouched in the leaping shadow of the displaced stone and
looked--looked with the undistinguishing amazement that a man feels
in the panorama of his dreams.
The room was small and low and set with a circular bench, running
about a central pillar.
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