"This very night," said he, "I shall be dismissed with ignominy from Pen Maelgwyn. John Lewis, the old labourer, is already jealous and hostile, and there will shortly arise a quarrel between us, wherein I shall unsheathe this knife. A hubbub will then ensue; Mrs Davies will uphold her servant, and Mr Davies, who seems less unworthy than the majority of his type, will reluctantly consent to my immediate dismissal. I shall be given my wages; I shall collect my humble store of clothing; and at early dawn to-morrow I shall quit Pen Maelgwyn. This day week, which will be the twenty-seventh day of the month, you will prepare for my secret return. Wait until midnight in your room, and then listen for the unmistakable call for your presence without delay at the farthest point of the headland yonder. All will be in readiness for your easy departure from the inn; even the lurcher in the stable-yard will be silenced that night. Have no qualms or fears; your Majesty will only have to traverse the two furlongs of ground between the inn and the rocky cape, whereat our craft will rest till we have embarked.
"One other matter however I wish your Majesty to understand. Is it not the case that you dispatched a manuscript to Earth some three years ago?" (I nodded assent.) "That scroll was duly delivered on Earth, was found, read, discussed and printed, with the only possible result that could arise therefrom. The person who gave your narrative to the world was one Edward Cayley, a learned recluse, and he was naturally only accounted a credulous fool for his pains. The book was certainly published, and though the absurd venture scarcely deserved their serious attention, our envoys here have contrived to destroy nearly all copies of the volume. Perhaps also Cayley himself might have succumbed later to some of our peculiar methods of removal, had he not suddenly expired of the heart disease from which he had long suffered. The whole matter of your communication from Meleager has however been entrusted unconditionally to myself, and as I apprehend no danger whatsoever from anything you may publish, it is open to you to act freely in this connection. Here is Mr Cayley's book—keep it for any purpose you may require. I assure your Majesty I fear no ill result will accrue either from the late Mr Cayley's romance or from the manuscript which you yourself" (here I gave a start of genuine astonishment) "have been inditing almost daily in your chamber at Glanymôr. I cannot conceive either the contemporary pleasure or the ultimate object of your Majesty's constant occupation with the pen; it may be the old literary bacillus of Earth that is not yet eradicated from your semi-divine system; it may be some fanciful desire to benefit the planet of your birth by showing its leaders that human happiness is not necessarily involved in human progress, which is the fundamental error of these modern Herthians; it may be that a sheer sense of humorous amusement prompts you to this action. But whatsoever your goal, it is clear that you intend to charge your excellent friend Dr Wayne with the editing of your manuscript." (Again I gave an involuntary start.) "Be it so. I have not the wish or the intention to thwart your Majesty in this innocuous pastime; nor shall I seek to disappoint Dr Wayne in his hungry expectation of the unveiling of the complicated enigma whose nature he dimly realises. Indeed, I am anxious to do a service to that interesting man, for whose hospitality to our errant King on Earth I am grateful, and whose rare spiritual qualities I admire and respect. Let him publish what you have written here in Glanymôr; what benefit can happen to you or what injury to us from proclaiming such a farrago of the impossible and the improbable? Very few will read the book, and none will give credence to its contents. Yours is not so much a mad world, as it has been arraigned by your leading poet, as an unbelieving world, which rejects with fury of derision all evidence of whatsoever is not obvious to its recognised scholars and astronomers."
I acquiesced in silence. It was astounding to me to learn that so much was known of my most private concerns, and I saw little use in arguing or asking questions. It was evident too that Fajal regarded my return to Meleager as a settled matter past all debate, and this mental admission induced in me a welcome sense of peace and deliverance.
Thus we stood on this misty solemn October afternoon beside the grey placid sea, surely the most extraordinary pair of mortals—if as mortals we could be faithfully so described—on the surface of the globe. No sound save the regular silvery tinkle of the tiny waves lapping on the beach and an occasional movement from the stolid cart-horse beside us broke the spell of oppressive stillness, so that when finally Fajal spoke, his voice seemed to proceed from some far-off unseen place, which had no connection with our present environment.
"Has your Majesty no other aim than to escape the terrors of the grave in thus deciding once more to exchange your Mother Earth for Meleager? Do the loyalty and the prayers of your subjects weigh as nothing in the scales of your predilection? Has your abandoned palace no remembered charms? Our temple bells, our sunlit city, our shining harbour, our dawns and our sunsets, do these count for naught? O King, have none of the fibres of your once generous heart struck root in our soil? Have you already forgotten your splendour, your kingdom, your people, your friends in these few weeks spent upon your blood-soaked insurgent Earth?"
With a look of sorrowful reproach accompanying these words of rebuke, Fajal bade me examine a small tablet of crystal or of some transparent substance that he held in the hollow of his left hand. I gladly lowered my ashamed and burning face in its direction, but could perceive no more than a mass of variegated colours that seemed to be perpetually shifting and changing. I strained my eyes for long, vainly seeking to identify any of the minute objects thus depicted, till at last I ceased from the attempt in despair of success. With a sigh of resignation, Fajal now presented me with a pair of large horn-rimmed spectacles, which I adjusted to my eyes, with the immediate result that the scenes in the crystal seemed enlarged and clarified. I saw distinctly my palace at Tamarida with the warm sunbeams flickering on marble pillars and dancing in golden bars on the frescoed vaulting; I saw the gardens, cool and umbrageous, with their many fountains spurting their foamy jets upon the drenched fronds of fern and palm; I saw my aery balcony with its table of audience and faithful Hiridia standing disconsolate beside my favourite chair; under the external awnings of blue and yellow I saw the deep purple line of the harbour beyond the enclosing balustrade. A veritable wave of nostalgia seemed to engulph me, as I watched thus every familiar scene of my Meleagrian existence pass in procession before my gaze.
As a lost soul might gaze on Paradise I beheld the pillared court of the great temple displayed before me, with its sunlit space filled with the usual throng of worshippers upon a holy day. There was the medley of colours, like some huge bed of gorgeous tulips, the white of the hierarchy, the crimson of the nobles, the green of the merchants, and the many varied tints of the garments of the populace; what past memories of my reign did not such a vision evoke in me! I fretted to be gone, so as to regain that rich and varied crowd beneath that glowing sky, to reassume my accustomed place of honour and adoration in their midst. And then, even as I yearned, chafing at the ties which still bound me to Earth, my companion was able to inflame yet further my longing to return. With his disengaged right hand he searched the pocket of his coat and a moment later I beheld in his fingers a strange-looking instrument bearing some resemblance to the mystical sistrum of ancient Egypt. Bidding me continue to fix my eyes on the crystal before me, Fajal waved aloft this curved and stringed spherule, whereupon a soft murmuring seemed to fill the languid heavy autumnal air, and this muttering again developed into advancing waves of harmony that concentrated in an ultimate crashing note of triumph in my very face. The sounds now appeared to shrink and retreat, now to advance and expand in volume, but after some moments of vague, desultory, erratic come-and-go the music at length seemed to collect and pour as through some invisible funnel into the actual crystal lying in Fajal's palm. The ambient air was now completely free of its reverberations, and the music subsided into moderate compass, convenable with the scale and setting of the variegated scene that still lay exposed on the crystal tablet. Finally, the compressed sound blended with the multitude of figures in this miniature reproduction of the temple of Tamarida, so that I could distinguish the articulation of the many worshippers as well as the canticles of the choristers wafted from afar to my ears. So might the Olympian Zeus in heroic days have heard the daily orisons of his earth-born suppliants, and have sought for the sparse note of sincerity amidst that vast uproar of human prayer ascending from a thousand altars to his ivory throne set amidst the unattainable clouds of highest heaven. But here from Meleager the issuing petition rang out unanimous, solemn and unfeigned....
I had heard and seen sufficient; there was no more room nor any need for further colloquy with Fajal. I have but a dim impression of my hands being saluted, and of my striding rapidly with downcast head from the beach, leaving my fate behind me in the person of the humble Indian labourer with the horse and cart. In the waning light of the October evening I hastened back to the inn, and threw myself on my bed to digest my latest experience, the ultimate phase of my unique mission. In an hour's time I had shaken off the bewilderment of my encounter by the beach, and was able to converse naturally with Dr Wayne. It was now merely a matter of waiting seven days for the call, and there was nothing to prevent my passing this brief span of time pleasantly and profitably. I hope I have done what lay in my power to conciliate Dr Wayne, with whom I enjoyed some interesting walks in the mild drizzling weather along the summits of the rocky coast. Once or twice the notion arose in me of taking the good man into my complete confidence, but eventually I decided against this course, and confined my efforts to preparing him for the task of publication of my second manuscript and of Mr Cayley's book which I shall leave behind me when I am called to quit this Earth. I have an overwhelming desire to see this purpose fulfilled, and as Fajal has given me express permission to do so, why should not I indulge this innocent whim of mine, however useless and trivial it may be deemed? I think it was Dean Swift who once declared that the man who contrived to make two blades of grass grow where but one had bloomed before bestowed more solid advantage on the human race than all the combined clique of the politicians. So, if I can attract one convert into seeing through my own experienced eyes that what is called progress is not the sole thing needful and desirable for this sorely tried old world of my birth, I shall have accomplished my most modest aim. I shall have sown a seed of arresting reflection amidst the rampant tares of self-sufficiency and materialism which now clog the Herthian soil.
It is my last night, my last hour on Earth. Midnight has struck some time ago, and already the air is resonant with that strange haunting musical susurration that Fajal's spherule has made familiar to me. My few preparations are all completed, and I have but to descend quietly, loosen the bolt of a certain door, cross the haggard, and follow the path to the headland where the royal vessel awaits the King of Meleager who now bids farewell for ever and for ever to the World and all that therein is.