It did not appear again.

And when the train of the prince rolled into the yard of the Palace of the Litany it trembled upon St.George's lips to ask whether the formalities of the court would permit him that day to scale the skies and call upon the royal household.
"For whatever he says, I've got to do," thought St.George, "but no matter what he says, I shall go.

Doesn't Amory realize that we've been more than twelve hours on this island, and that nothing has been done ?" And then as they crossed the grassy court in the delicate hush of the merging light--the nameless radiance already penetrating the dusk--the prince spoke smoothly, as if his words bore no import deeper than his smile: "You are come," he said courteously, "in time for one of the ceremonies of our regime most important--to me.

You will, I hope, do honour to the occasion by your presence.

This evening, in the Hall of Kings in the Palace of the Litany, will occur the ceremony of my betrothal." "Your betrothal, your Highness ?" repeated St.George uncertainly.
"You will be attended by an escort," the prince continued, "and Balator, the commander of the guard, will receive you in the hall.
May the gods permit the possible." He swept through the portico before them, and they followed dumbly.
The betrothal of the prince.
St.George heard, and his eager hope went down in foreboding.