But with his words, the priests were startled at perceiving a change in Oltis. They pointed; and the king looked to see him slowly raising his hand from the table. Then it paused as if to warn.
“Ah—he doth rouse.” And Atlano arose, and went to him. Lightly he seized the hand, saying as if to it, “Thou wouldst warn us—wouldst thou? Down!”
But the hand, in this position, was as iron; and moved not when Atlano, with all his strength, would have pressed it to the table again. It remained fixed in the air, enforcing its warning.
After several trials, Atlano returned to his couch. Very pale, but determined was his face. He said to the trembling priests as he stood and looked his haughtiest,
“Why cower ye? Think ye this is also of the gods? Think ye this will baffle me?”
The silent one, the only priest calm and undaunted, arose, and looked at the king in rebuke. Atlano, unwilling to own to himself the strange effect of this look, struggled to shout:
“And I would tell thee, ‘Silent Priest,’ that whether thou comest of heaven or hell—thou art not to stand and look at me thus. To thy couch! Further, turn from me thine evil eye. Or, thou too, wilt find that, when the king willeth, the highest in the temple, if it needeth, shall feed the holy fire.”
The silent one stood calm, unblenching.
“Wilt thou to thy couch?”
And King Atlano made a step forward as if he would fall upon the man towering so grandly before him. Another step, and he called: