I saw Drorathusa's eyes fixed upon his face, then, a few moments after he ceased speaking, return to the clump of cycads.
"Live things?" said I. "There may be things in this place of mystery more terrible than any live thing."
"Come, Bill, come. It can't be so bad as you imagine it, or our Dromans wouldn't be here.
"I wish," he added, "I knew what that thing is that I saw."
"Hello!" I cried the next moment, my look raised up to the vaulted roof. "What does that mean? Good Heaven, what next?"
The light, which was brightest up along the roof—in fact, it seemed pressed up against the rock-canopy like glowing, diaphanous mist—was changing, fading. The wonderful opalescence of it was disappearing before our eyes.
Of a sudden the spot where we stood was involved in a gloom indescribably strange. Up above, the light-mist was quivering and flickering, pale and dreadful.
"What in the world is it?" I cried.
"Queer place, this!" said Milton Rhodes.
"What can it mean?" I asked.