Now Yolara was there⁠—all this had taken barely more than five seconds. She thrust herself between the three men and the Dweller. She spoke to it⁠—and the wild buzzing died down; the gay crystal tinklings burst forth again. The Thing murmured to her⁠—began to whirl⁠—faster, faster⁠—passed down the ivory pier, out upon the waters, bearing with it, meshed in its light, the sacrifices⁠—swept on ever more swiftly, triumphantly and turning, turning, with its ghastly crew, vanished through the Veil!

Abruptly the polychromatic path snapped out. The silver light poured in upon us. From all the amphitheatre arose a clamour, a shouting. Marakinoff, his eyes staring, was leaning out, listening. Unrestrained now by Rador, I vaulted the wall and rushed forward. But not before I had heard the green dwarf murmur:

“There is something stronger than the Shining One! Two things⁠—yea⁠—a strong heart⁠—and hate!”

Olaf, panting, eyes glazed, trembling, shrank beneath my hand.