“Leo Vincey, yes, Leo Vincey,” he repeated, as though the name were familiar to him but had slipped his mind. “But you have not answered my question. Is it needful that I should repeat the warning?”
“Not in the least; but you can do so if you wish when he awakes.”
“Nay, I think with you, that it would be but waste of words, for—forgive the comparison;—what the wolf dares”—and he looked at me—“the tiger does not flee from,” and he nodded towards Leo. “There, see how much better are the wounds upon your arm, which is no longer swollen. Now I will bandage it, and within some few weeks the bone will be as sound again as it was before you met the Khan Rassen hunting in the Plains. By the way, you will see him again soon, and his fair wife with him.”
“See him again? Do the dead, then, come to life upon this Mountain?”
“Nay, but certain of them are brought hither for burial. It is the privilege of the rulers of Kaloon; also, I think, that the Khania has questions to ask of its Oracle.”
“Who is its Oracle?” I asked with eagerness.
“The Oracle,” he replied darkly, “is a Voice. It was ever so, was it not?”
“Yes; I have heard that from Atene, but a voice implies a speaker. Is this speaker she whom you name Mother?”
“Perhaps, friend Holly.”
“And is this Mother a spirit?”