“That is my world! Oh, blessed home!” said the man of might.
They looked on works of such magnitude that the surface of the star had not been able to uphold them—steeds of immense strength and majestic in motion, vehicles moving a thousand men at once. As this vision also vanished, Regan asked:
“Is then our Earth so inferior?”
“In size and in beauty, yes; in revelation from God blessed above many others.”
Then rose their star as it was to look in the future.
“The dearest land of all!” exclaimed Rondah. “Parzelia!”
“What moving thing is that? What crosses in those swallowing waters?” cried Regan. “Is it a ship for my seas at last?”
“Why need a ship where silver bridges span all channels?” and the man laughed, which strangely shocked them all till they remembered he was not a god. He was even no angel. The island grew as a plant; the visions might be the product of any mind which had had so long to invent. A holier man of greater length of life. This only.
And still in the picture moved the immense vehicle safely through the sea. The sides were veiled in silver and diamond foliage. Sometimes the water surged on its sides, sometimes it was hidden behind smoke of volcano. It moved on. Then Regan saw stone paws stamping in the water heavily.
“It is the island—the island, which lives!” cried he, in triumph.