“Urgis, Hafoe, Sudor, Kluto—come—that we may bring him to the earth!”
But neither Urgis, Hafoe, Sudor, Kluto,—nor any other priest—moved at his bidding. They could but stare at this priest as he stood in his majesty and fearlessness, could but wonder at the strange power of his eyes. This strength of look must be what held them. Though, why held it not Atlano, who was still advancing, with hand stealing within his garment after his weapon, the mysterious liquor, that had rendered Hellen impotent.
Well the priests knew this liquor, for they, in their secret laboratory, had concocted it after an almost illegible receipt found among the possessions of the dead Viril, who had been their instructor in alchemic arts. Well they knew its power! Now, they awaited, in their immobility, for its sure effect.
Onward drew Atlano with gleaming eyes and stealing hand. And, when well upon the ‘Silent Priest,’ who still maintained his wonderful look, would have drawn the weapon forth to fell him. But, with the significant attempt, came dread resistance. The hand refused to move, to come from out the folds that held it!
Atlano, in his struggle to free the helpless member, grew black in the face, black of his terror and desire for revenge. Yet, he made as though he would still advance upon the immovable figure, desisting only when he found himself inert. Then did his tones ring through the sanctuary.
“Man—or demon—I fear thee not! I fear not thy spells. Think not this will confound me. I say to the voice—to those not seen—that I will not obey. I will not yield the Pelasgian children!”
Then went up the cry of terror from this inner sanctuary, from the priests so motionless before. But it was not because of Atlano’s words. No, the earth was threatening again. Again was smiting upon their ears the terrific rumbling of the day before. Again was the earth lurching as does a ship when at mercy of wind and wave.
Vibration after vibration increased in such force and velocity that it seemed the hanging lamps must come crashing down, the walls fall in upon them. Terrible was it to witness the statues of Amen and Poseidon sway as though they would kiss the floor—and this continuously. More terrible to hear Oltis’ hand fall with a loud thud upon the table, and yet perceive that he remained rigid and staring. Most terrible to see Atlano wrench forth his hand, turn from the silent one, and fly to the passage, calling after him: “Come—come—ere it be too late!”
Never had he been so well obeyed. After him sprang the priests, Urgis leading. Scarce had the last escaped than the ceiling yielded its lamps, which fell with terrific noise, one almost grazing the hapless Oltis, who still sat as iron, listening to the swift running in passages and apartments, the shrieks that filled the air.
Through the tottering temple sped all to the great court—king, priests, handmaids, attendants—when there, pausing to watch the temple as it swayed in the semi-darkness. And, oh the fierce rocking of the earth beneath! Where could they run? Not toward the ocean, for that was white in its threatening. Naught was left but to fall on their knees, and utter prayers that for once were heartfelt.