The great silent place, with its shoulders of sarcophagi jutting from the gloom was black save for the little ring of pallid light about that prostrate form.

St.
George sent his hand to his forehead, and shook himself a bit, and straightened his shoulders with a smile.
"It must be the stuff you've tasted," he addressed himself solemnly.
"Heaven knows what it was.

It's the stuff you've tasted." Though he had barely touched his lips to the rock-crystal vase St.
George's blood was pounding through his veins, and a curious exhilaration filled him.

He looked about at the rims and corners of the tombs caught by the light, and he laughed a little--though this was not in the least what he intended--because it passed through his mind that if King Abibaal and Queen Mitygen, for example, might be treated with the contents of the mysterious vase they would no doubt come forth, Abibaal with memories of the Queen of Sheba in his eyes, and Queen Mitygen with her casket of Alexander's letters.

Then St.George went down on his knees again, and raised the old man's head until it rested upon his own breast, and he passed the candle before his face, his hand trembling so that the light flickered and leaped up.
This time there was no mistaking.