“The prayer was heard,” spoke Lamara’s tranquil voice. “But let her peril keep you mindful of your own! It is better for you as well as for her to trust in God than to the impious suggestion of your own heart!”
“A moment more and the whole globe on which she stood would have been shattered to atoms!” he groaned. “Oh, Miriam—Miriam!”
“Love is the greatest thing in the world,” said Lamara; “but if, for the sake of that supreme good, you work evil against another fellow creature—if you summon the demon to save the angel—the demon triumphs and the angel is withdrawn.”
“But to stand here helpless!” he groaned again, clenching his fists.
“No one is alone in the world; it may happen that a pygmy may succor a giant,” she replied. But she did not interpret the apolog.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE HIGH COURT
AT a high point of the seacoast there lay a great amphitheater, the period of whose construction was known to none living; it had stood there for more than a thousand Saturnian generations; and there was a general belief that it was substantially a natural phenomenon, shaped out by unknown forces before the dawn of man, and added to or modified by human architects to adapt it more completely for its function. It possessed a mountainous grandeur and dignity, such as mortal hands might enhance, but not create.
The land sloped sharply toward the sea, and the amphitheater was delved out of the eastern face of the declivity. Its form was a complete oval; the benches, rank after rank, following the curve, only the eastward or seaward end of the vast sweep being left open. At the focus of the ellipse at this end was the raised level space used for a stage. The longer diameter of the structure may have been a thousand yards, and there was ample accommodation for a million persons. Dimensions so vast would have rendered the place useless for practical purposes on our planet, but offered no hindrance to the sight or hearing of a people endowed with the superior senses of the Saturnians.
It was the meeting-place of the people, who were summoned thither on occasions both of affairs of state and of entertainment or instruction. No one was barred from these sessions; but, as a rule, the population was present by deputies from each society. High courts of judgment were held here, but these had become rare, because social order was spontaneous and almost invariable in a community which had solved the problem of combining universal cooperation with gradations of rank.
At noon of the day following Lamara’s interview with Jack, the amphitheater stood apparently empty. Row after row of vacant benches mounted skyward, the light and shadow making them look like finely etched lines in an innumerable series, divided by radiating divisions at right angles to the curve, defining to each society its appointed section. On the stage, facing the auditorium, were placed twelve chairs or thrones, one of which stood somewhat behind and above the others, which formed a semicircle. At the sides of the stage were several seats, to be occupied by persons having some subordinate share in the proceedings. Directly opposite the thrones was a single chair assigned to the individual to be tried; for this was to be a day of judgment. Between this chair and the judges stood an altar of black marble on which rested a piece of crystal fashioned into the shape of a heart.