George's lips. But if it had been to ransom the rest of the
world from its night he could not have understood what the prince
was saying. Every word was a word that belonged as much to St.
George as to the prince; but in some unfathomable fashion the inner
sense of what he said for ever eluded, dissolving in the air of
which it was a part. And yet, past all doubting, St. George knew
that he was hearing the essence of that strange knowledge which the
Isle of Yaque had won while all the rest of mankind struggled for
it--he knew with the certainty with which we recognize strange
forces in a dozen of the every-day things of life, in electricity,
in telepathy, in dreams. With the same certainty he realized that
what the prince was saying would, if he could understand, lift a
certain veil. Here, put in words at last, was manifestly the secret,
that catch of understanding without which men are groping in the
dark, perhaps that mere pointing of relations which would make
clear, without blasphemy, time and the future, rebirth and old
existence, it might be; and certainly the accident of personality.
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