Rossiter got to his feet. In his normal voice, which sounded very loud in the darkness, he said, "I know what made the sun go out."
The murmur of low talking ceased suddenly. There was a sense of listening, of half-seen bodies leaning forward intently in the starlight. Rossiter said, "On Earth there was always somebody dancing."
"Dancing? I don't see—" Bernard spoke in wonderment, but there was an odd, apprehensive note in his voice.
"There was always somebody dancing," said Rossiter. He halted. Then he continued in a stronger voice, "Always, in the high mountains there was somebody fasting and praying. Always before dawn there was the sound of the rattles and the stamping footsteps.
"In the winter the flame leaped high on the rock through the swirls of snow as they made fire magic. They danced. They prayed. They chanted. And the sun came up."
"What are you trying to say?" Bernard demanded. He had risen and was standing facing the older man.
"That people used to think, before we taught them better, that they had something to do with the sun's rising. They grew too wise to believe it any longer. But who knows? Who knows whether they were not right? Whether the force that impels the stars is not, finally, the human will?"
There was a silence. Somebody laughed nervously.
Dr. Ferguson had already stepped forward and was holding Rossiter by the elbow. Together, he and Bernard urged the older man toward the Elpis. They spoke to him gently. They did not argue or disagree with him. They led him inside the ship.
Much later Bernard came out alone. Dr. Ferguson had remained with Rossiter, quieting him with sedatives. It was still quite dark.