Back there, where the light glimmered beside the tomb of King Abibaal, nobody could tell what awaited him.

If the man could change like this, might he not take on some shape too hideous to bear in the silence?
St.George stood still, suddenly clenching his hands, trying to reach out through the dark and to grasp--himself, the self that seemed slipping away from him.

But was he mad already, he wondered angrily, and hurried back to the far flickering light, stumbling, panting, not daring to look at the figure on the floor, not daring not to look.
He resolutely caught up the candle and peered once more at the face.
As steadily and swiftly as change in the aspect of the sky the face had gone on changing.

St.George had followed to the chamber an old tottering man; the figure before him was a man of not more than fifty years.
St.George let fall the candle, which flickered down, upright in its socket; and he turned away, his hand across his eyes.

Since this was manifestly impossible he must be mad, something in the stuff that he had tasted had driven him mad.