You don't know what courage this will give us all." She said "us all," but that had to mean merely "us," as well.

St.
George turned and looked over the terrace.

What an Arabian night it was, he was saying to himself, and then stood in a sudden amazement, with the uncertain idea that one of the Schererazade magicians had answered that fancy of his by appearing.
A little shrine hung thick with vines, its ancient stone chipped and defaced, stood on the terrace with its empty, sightless niche turned toward the sea.

Leaning upon its base was an old man watching them.
His eyes under their lowered brows were peculiarly intent, but his look was perfectly serene and friendly.

His stuff robe hung in straight folds about his singularly erect figure, and his beard and hair were not all grey.