But the crowning splendor of the whole was concentrated on the place of the secret Inner Shrine. There an Arch of pale-blue fire spanned the dome from left to right, . . there, from huge bronze vessels mounted on tall tripods the smoke of burning incense arose in thick and odorous clouds,--there children clad in white, and wearing garlands of vivid scarlet blossoms, stood about in little groups as still as exquisitely modelled statuettes, their small hands folded, and their eyes downcast, . . there, the steps were strewn with branches of palm, flowering oleander, rose-laurel, and olive-sprays,--but the Sanctuary itself was not visible.
Before that Holy of Holies hung the dazzling folds of the "Silver Veil," a curtain of the most wonderfully woven silver tissue, that seen in the flashing azure light of the luminous arch above it, resembled nothing so much as a suddenly frozen sheet of foam. Across it was emblazoned in large characters: I AM THE PAST, THE PRESENT, THE FUTURE, THE MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN, AND THE SHALL-NOT-BE, THE EVER, AND THE NEVER, NO MORTAL KNOWETH MY NAME.
As Theos with some difficulty, owing to the intense brilliancy of the Veil, managed to decipher these words, he heard a solitary trumpet sounded,--a clear-blown note that echoed itself many times among the lofty arches before it finally floated into silence. Recognizing this as an evident signal for some new and important phase in the proceedings, he turned his eyes away from the place of the Shrine, and looking round the building was surprised to see how completely the vast area was filled with crowds upon crowds of silent and expectant people. It seemed as though not the smallest wedge could have been inserted between the shoulders of one man and another, yet where he stood with Sah-luma there was plenty of room. The reason of this however was soon apparent,--they were in the place reserved for the King and the immediate officers of the Royal Household,--and scarcely had the sweet vibration of that clear trumpet-blast died away, when Zephoranim himself appeared, walking slowly and majestically in the midst of a select company of his nobles and courtiers.
He wore the simple white garb of an ordinary citizen of Al-Kyris, together with a silver belt and plain-sheathed dagger, . . not a jewel relieved the classic severity of his costume, and not even the merest fillet of gold in his rough dark hair denoted his royal rank. But the pride of precedence spoke in his flashing eyes,--the arrogance of authority in the self-conscious poise of his figure and haughtiness of his step,--his brows were knitted in something of a frown, and his face looked pale and slightly careworn. He spied out Sah-luma at once and smiled kindly,--there was not a trace of coldness in his manner toward his favored minstrel, and Theos noted this with a curious sense of sudden consolation and encouragement. "Why should I have feared Zephoranim?" he thought. "Sah-luma has no greater friend, . . except myself! The King would be the last person in the world to do him any injury!"