Chick was fascinated. The thing was over-strange. While he looked and listened the whole scene turned to conflict; the voice of the throng became ominous. The guards still held the cables, still beat back the populace. Could they hold out, wondered Chick idly; and what was it all about?
Something touched his shoulder. He wheeled. One of the tall, red-uniformed guards was standing beside him. Watson instinctively drew back, and as he did so the other stepped forward, touched the snap, and closed the window.
“What's the idea? I was just getting interested!”
The soldier nodded pleasantly, respectfully—reverently.
“Orders from below, my lord. Were you to remain at that window it would take all the guards in the Mahovisal to keep back the Thomahlians.”
“Why?” Chick was astonished.
“There are a million pilgrims in the city, my lord, who have waited months for just one glimpse of you.”
Watson considered. This was a new and a dazing aspect of the affair. Evidently the expression on his face told the soldier that some explanation would not be amiss.
“The pilgrims are almost innumerable, my lord. They are all of the one great faith. They are, my lord, the true believers, the believers in the Day.”
The Day! Instantly Watson recalled Senestro's use of the expression. He sensed a valuable clue. He caught and held the soldier's eye.