The great crowd
was rolling forward, breaking on the edge of the spear-armed
guards like the surf of a rolling sea.
Chick had a sudden thought. Were they not looking up at his
window? He could glimpse arms uplifted and hands pointed. Even the
guards, those held in reserve, looked up. Then--such was the
distance--the rumble of the mob reached his ears; at the same
time, spreading like a grass fire, the commotion broke out in
another street, to another and another, until the air was filled
with the new undertone of countless human tongues.
Chick was fascinated. The thing was over-strange. While he looked
and listened the whole scene turned to conflict; the voice of the
throng became ominous. The guards still held the cables, still
beat back the populace. Could they hold out, wondered Chick idly;
and what was it all about?
Something touched his shoulder. He wheeled. One of the tall, red-
uniformed guards was standing beside him. Watson instinctively
drew back, and as he did so the other stepped forward, touched the
snap, and closed the window.
"What's the idea? I was just getting interested!"
The soldier nodded pleasantly, respectfully--reverently.
"Orders from below, my lord. Were you to remain at that window it
would take all the guards in the Mahovisal to keep back the
Thomahlians."
"Why?" Chick was astonished.
"There are a million pilgrims in the city, my lord, who have
waited months for just one glimpse of you.
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