Back there, where the light glimmered beside the tomb
of King Abibaal, nobody could tell what awaited him. If the man
could change like this, might he not take on some shape too hideous
to bear in the silence? St. George stood still, suddenly
clenching his hands, trying to reach out through the dark and to
grasp--himself, the self that seemed slipping away from him. But was
he mad already, he wondered angrily, and hurried back to the far
flickering light, stumbling, panting, not daring to look at the
figure on the floor, not daring not to look.
He resolutely caught up the candle and peered once more at the face.
As steadily and swiftly as change in the aspect of the sky the face
had gone on changing. St. George had followed to the chamber an old
tottering man; the figure before him was a man of not more than
fifty years.
St. George let fall the candle, which flickered down, upright in its
socket; and he turned away, his hand across his eyes. Since this was
manifestly impossible he must be mad, something in the stuff that
he had tasted had driven him mad.
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