Chapter 40
BEFORE LEPRAYLYA
One by one, in twos and threes and then in a body, the small craft had dropped behind, and now we were alone on the black waters, across which, from the shores and from many of the boats, came quivering lines of light.
"It must be the eclipse," said Rhodes, "that has affected the Dromans in this manner so remarkable. It is plain, Bill, that there is something about this sudden darkness that is mysterious and awful to these Hypogeans. It must be that it is in some way a most extraordinary eclipse."
It was a most extraordinary eclipse, and there was something awful about it—something more awful than we thought. And what troubled me the most was this: they seemed to think that we men from the World Above had something to do with this dread darkness—already one of far longer duration than any eclipse any living Droman had ever known. Indeed, none such had been recorded for what we would call centuries, and the last had been the harbinger of the most fearful calamities.
We knew full well that some superstition was pointing a fell finger in our direction; but through the mind of neither flickered the thought that this eclipse might so to speak, be metamorphosed into a death-charge against us.
As we were drawing in to the palace, a heavy voice came across the water. On the instant the rowers rested on their oars. Our commander answered the hail, the heavy voice came again, whereupon the oars were dipped and our craft glided in toward the landing-place.
This hailing, by the way, was pure formality, for they on the island knew who we were.
"What a scene!" said Milton Rhodes, his eyes shining. "What a moment, old tillicum, is this for you and me! We shall never, in all likelihood, know another such as this is!"
Like a great lovely water-bird, our boat swung in to the landing-place, where she was at once made fast.