is no man may go.

"And surely the Shining One is jealous of his own honor," said Constans,
guardedly. "Will he not bring to naught these foolish contemners of his
majesty? Without doubt, else he were no god."

It was the afternoon of the following day, and the two men had been busy
with the care of the machinery in the great hall, polishing up the
bright parts and examining with infinite patience the innumerable
bearings, their oil-cups and dust-caps. The conversation had naturally
been colored by the pious character of their task, and Prosper had
spoken more unreservedly than was his wont, emboldening Constans to ask
the question recorded above. "Else he were no god," he repeated,
insistently. The old man turned on him.

"And who shall tell us whether he be a god or no?" he demanded, with
startling vehemence. "What manner of divinity can he be who allows these
feeble hands to call him into existence and again to reduce him to
nothingness? A god! This senseless block of iron that lives only at my
will and pleasure. Behold, boy! shall the Shining One suffer indignity
such as this and not worthily avenge himself?" and as he spoke, he
caught up a handful of refuse from the floor and deliberately threw it
at the great dynamo before which they were standing.

"A god!" he reiterated, with contemptuous bitterness, and spat upon the
mass of polished metal.

There was a moment of suspense so real that Constans, despite his
vantage ground of superior knowledge, trembled with an inexplicable
terror. Surely, the outraged divinity had started into life; it was
preparing to strike down the blasphemer.

"Perchance he is on a journey, or he sleeps," said the old priest,
coldly. "He is a wise man who knows in whom he believes, and the Shining
One shall, doubtless, be justified of his children." Then, with a
gesture of indescribable dignity, he drew a corner of his flowing outer
cape across his face and passed out into the gathering shadows of the
winter day.

The task was still unfinished, but not for worlds would Constans have
remained alone in that echoing, wind-swept cavern, surrounded by these
monstrous shapes of metal. Lever and piston, wheel and shaft, the
familiar outlines had disappeared, and in their stead a vast,
indefinable bulk loomed through the dusk. It hung in the background like
a wild beast, eternally watchful and waiting, waiting. Of a sudden,
Constans felt horribly afraid. Stumbling and panting he ran up-stai