that this deadness
be taken away from my hand. It's an awful thing for a man to be forced
to go through life like this, for no real fault of his own. And Zaemon
could cure it from where he sat, if he was so minded."

"You seem still to have a very full faith in some of the old Gods'
priests," I said. "But so far, I do not see that your errand is done. I
have had no message yet."

"Why, the message is so simple that I do not see why he could not have
got some one else to carry it. You are to make a great blaze. You may
fire the grasses of the plain in front of this wood if you choose. And
on the night which follows, you are to go round to that flank of the
Sacred Mountain away from the city where the rocks run down sheer, and
there they will lower a rope and haul you up to their hands above."

"It seems easy, and I thank you for your pains. I will ask Zaemon that
your hand may be restored to you."

"You shall have my prayers if it is. And look, Deucalion, it is a small
matter, and it would be less likely to slip your memory if you saw to it
at once on your landing. Later, you may be disturbed. Phorenice is bound
to pull you down off your perch up there now she has made her mind to
it. She never fails, once she has set her hand to a thing. Indeed,
if she was no Goddess at birth, she is making herself into one very
rapidly. She has got all the ancient learning of our Priests, and more
besides. She has discovered the Secret of Life these recent months--"

"She has found that?" I cried, fairly startled. "How? Tell me how? Only
the Three know that. It is beyond our knowledge even who are members of
the Seven."

"I know nothing of her means. But she has the secret, and now she is as
good an immortal (so she says) as any of them. Well, Deucalion, it is
dangerous for me to be missing from my temple overlong, so I will go.
You will carry that matter we spoke of in your mind? It means much
to me."--His eye wandered over my ragged person--"And if you think my
service is of value to you--"

"You see me poor, my man, and practically destitute."

"Some small coin," he murmured, "or even a link of bronze? I am at
great expense just now buying nourishment for my wife. Well, if you have
nothing, you cannot give. So I'll just bid you farewell."

He took himself off then, and I was not sorry. I had never liked Ro. But
I wasted no more precious time then. The grass blazed up for a signal
almost before his timorous heels were clea