"Why, Mary!" he exclaimed, pausing in his walk. "What have we here?"
She took his hand with a smile and drew him gently forward.
"Trust thy Mary yet further, Guy," she said. "Thy watchword must be, 'Trust and question not.'"
He smiled in reply and, sheathing his sword, stepped boldly forward into the interior of the Panchronicon. Phœbe knew the power of superstition in that age, and she glowed with pride and tenderness, conscious that in this act of faith in her the knight evinced more courage than ever he might need to bear him well in battle.
When the electric lights shed a sudden bright glare down the spiral staircase, Sir Guy cowered and stopped short again, turning pale with a fear irrepressible. But Phœbe put one arm about his neck and drew his head down to hers, whispering in his ear. What she said none heard save him, but the spell of her words was potent, for the young knight stood erect once more and firmly ascended to the room above.
Droop stood nervously waiting at the engine-room door.
"Are ye all in?" he said, sharply. "Where's Cousin Rebecca?"
"Here I be!" came a voice from below. "I'm jest lockin' the door tight."
"Well, hurry up—hurry! Come up here an' lay down. I'm goin' to start."
In a few moments all was in readiness. Droop pulled the lever, and with a roar and a mighty bound the Panchronicon, revived by its long period of waiting, sped upward into the night.