The slow improvements continued without any material aid from the bird men. The wings which Regan had always so hated now gave them that supremacy which he had always foreseen. It was fully demonstrated that a winged race were only subject when they chose to be, “temporarily.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
“FAREWELL!”
One sunset they were all upon the lake-cooled roof, where was the glass island with its golden temple; the sun was bathing the star in liquid ruby; the emerald moon, at a point seeming nearer than ever before, came glinting its green into their skies. There were other moons, too, but only a single green one.
The loud clamoring of the bird men was even more emphatic than usual. It resolved itself into words. These words were: “Farewell! farewell!”
“What does this mean?” exclaimed Regan, starting to hinder them; but he returned to his seat. They had their wings and they had spread them.
From all the vales, from all the hills they rose in black flocks, shadowing the palace, darkening the air. And with the thunder of many wings added to the music of their voices, they left the star, sailing till they changed into a black spot, and that soon lost to view in the distance.
“A migration to that emerald moon,” said Father Renaudin. “That explains their restlessness for the past years.”
“Yes, and that accounts for my half-finished cities and my slowly-built temples of commerce and art,” said Regan. “Do not grieve, Rondah,” he added. “They are gone, but more will soon blossom.”
“Not so,” said Father Renaudin. “Yesterday I visited the plain and found that the southern sea had penetrated the chasm. All the bird pods sleep beneath hundreds of feet of water.”
“Alas! alas! My beautiful, true friends! I did not dream that they would leave us like this!” said Rondah.