And at the last, as the ultimate atoms drove through, the holding tendrils were thrust almost within it; touched it, certainly.
A score of times they repeated this process while we watched.

Unaware of us they seemed, or--if aware, then indifferent.

More rapid became their movements, the glassy ingots streaming through the floating braziers with hardly a pause in their passing.

Abruptly, as though switched, the incandescences lessened into candle-points; instantly, as at a signal, the crescent of crosses closed into a crescent of cubes.
Motionless they stood, huge blocks blackened against the dim glowing of the cones--sentient monoliths; a Druid curve; an arc of a metal Stonehenge.

And as at dusk and dawn the great menhirs of Stonehenge fill with a mysterious, granitic life, seem to be praying priests of stone, so about these gathered hierophantic illusion.
They quivered; the slender pedicles cupping, the waned lights swayed; the lights lifted and soared, upright, to their backs.
Two by two with measured pace, solemnly the cubes glided off into the encircling darkness.